tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16654456705782272022024-03-14T00:54:50.251-06:00Alligators 'n Roadkilljdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.comBlogger257125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-56200035723168883962022-02-01T08:22:00.002-06:002022-02-07T12:10:00.069-06:00Too Much Stuff<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">There is a web site that is probably national, maybe even international,
called <i>Nextdoor</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think of it
more accurately as <i>KarensNextdoor</i>, or something along those lines,
because it is certainly chockful of posts from worried citizens warning their
neighbors about suspicious cars in the area, or suspicious people, and missing
or wandering dogs or cats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, of
course, it is already dominated by paid advertising, so you have to click a lot
of links to actually see your neighbors’ posts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lately, I have seen a number of posts bemoaning or reporting
stolen cars or personal possessions being stolen from parked cars, either on
the street in front of somebody’s home, or even in their driveway.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These posts, about cars and possessions being stolen, remind
me of a few other things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all,
of course we have all heard, seen, and read, long and long ago, that we should
not leave personal possessions in sight in our cars, and we should always lock
our cars, and like that, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, my first
questions are these:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was your car locked?
Were your possessions in sight?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But my next questions are like, why was your car parked
outdoors?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why was it on the street?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, you see, my observation over the
last twenty or thirty years is that new homes are built with garages, but for
some reason, most folks don’t bother to use their very convenient and safe
garages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, all too often their garages are full
of stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too much stuff.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Now, we’ve all heard all there is to know about
decluttering, such as go through all your stuff, and pick each item up one by
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it gives you joy, keep it; if
not, toss it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, better, go through all
your stuff, wherever it may be, in the junk drawer, in the garage, in the
storage shed, wherever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you find an
item that you have not touched or used or needed within the past six months,
toss it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, none of us can do this,
can we?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, the next thing to try is to consider all your stuff, say
all of that stuff crammed into your garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Is it worth more to you than your car?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After all, it is just stuff, and your car is so much more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What deserves to be in the garage?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your very valuable car, or your stuff?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m betting, if we’re honest, the only thing that belongs in
the garage is your car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that we
have a lot of stuff around our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hell, I can’t get into most of the closets because of all the stuff my
wife has crammed into them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you know
what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of our cars are in the garage
all night, every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along with a lot
of stuff, including the washer and the dryer!</p><p class="MsoNormal">In short, my best recommendation to alla y'all is to use your garage as per design, and let's stop trying to keep so much stuff!<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBYVRERVf8Q">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBYVRERVf8Q</a></p><p></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-57258879327690142912021-12-13T08:29:00.003-06:002021-12-13T08:29:52.819-06:00Part X of my little Memoir: Fun and Games in El Paso's Lower Valley<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We then drove around the neighborhood
looking for the thief, but saw nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Later that morning, we learned that some neighbors – who had also been
burglarized – did chase him down, and beat him up before letting him go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did recover their stolen items, but we
never did see the missing car stereo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The police speculated that he had someone waiting nearby with a car, and
they likely got away clean, albeit the one guy had to take his lumps.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">During these years, we still struggled, but
we had a good time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned/taught
myself how to work on cars, as I had to do my own maintenance, and many
repairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reality I became a plumber,
an electrician, a carpenter, and an all-around handy man, as I replaced water
heaters, evaporative air coolers, electrical things of all kinds, and pretty
much kept up with all of our homes, over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also continued with electronics as a sort
of paying hobby, repairing and installing car stereos for friends and family
for many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also, from the time
we lived on Valley View, made many trips to Chihuahua, Mexico, where Blanca had
a lot of family, and where my best friend lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Our kids all remember the rush to load the
car with them, an ice chest (for the beer, of course), a few clothes, whatever
we were taking to whoever had asked for it, as soon as we got off work on a
Friday afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, four hours on
the road, where the kids had to listen to Dad’s tapes of the Beatles, Billy
Joel, Atlanta Rhythm Section, etc., while I smoked my head off, all the way to
the home of our friends, or Blanca’s Aunt and Uncle, or a cousin, and a weekend
of partying.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We lived on Moses from June of 1986, until
we sold it and moved to Tom Ulozas Drive, on El Paso’s East Side, in December
of 1993.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this time, our two oldest
had left the nest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arthur graduated in
1989, and went off to UT - Austin, never to return, except, of course, for
visits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John, Jr. graduated a year
later, and first went into the Army, then moved to the Denver area, before
returning to the El Paso area, in late 1993.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since Blanca was teaching in the Ysleta District, all of our children
were able to continue their schooling in the same district, so that they were
able to stay with their childhood friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Blanca, Jr. (AKA, Ikis) graduated from Ysleta High School, then took
classes at UT, before coming back home to attend El Paso Community College, and
work at a number of jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Andrew, our
baby, changed schools in his senior year, to Hanks High School, which was much
closer to home, and then graduated from that school.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We were very happy in this house (me,
mostly because it had a swimming pool, so a lot less grass to cut; never could
get any of the kids to help me out with cutting the grass…), and our first
grand daughter was born while we were there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bryan, our oldest grandchild, spent most of his weekends with us, and a
lot of his summers, after his parents divorced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After he started school, while he lived with his mother, I drove across
town every Friday afternoon to pick him up, and he spent his weekends with
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were some job changes during
the years we spent on Tom Ulozas, for both of us, until Blanca reached a point
where she felt that she could not find a decent job in El Paso.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">So, in the summer of 2004, we went to visit
Blanca, Jr., in Arlington, and while there Blanca landed a job with the Dallas
ISD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t really want to leave El
Paso by this time, but while in Arlington, I went online and found a job during
the four days we were there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I
returned to El Paso, gave notice at my job, packed a few things, and returned
to Arlington, where we both began new jobs in the first week of August.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we were there, I first worked as a
Telephonic Case Manager, with a commute from Arlington, all the way up the
Dallas North Tollway, almost to Plano (nearly forty miles, one way).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was doable, but I really didn’t like the
work, and hated the commute and the odd hours (I went in at 10:00 AM, and got
out at 7:00PM), so after only four months there, I changed to doing a Medicare
fraud investigative thing for the insurance company that serves as third party
payer for Texas Medicare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This still
involved a long commute, in very heavy traffic, but the hours were a little bit
better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While there, I was approached by
a head hunter to go to work for a company that wanted a bilingual RN Case
Manager.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I had never been recruited for any job, and
have to say that I did enjoy the experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I kept refusing, and they kept raising the offers, until I couldn’t say
no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, Blanca was doing fine
with her job, but then, she had a fall on MLK Day in early 2005, and she broke
her left wrist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She received pretty
crappy care, and had to go to a second specialist after coming out of her first
cast, because the first Orthopedic Specialist never set the broken bones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The break healed crookedly, leaving her wrist
with a permanent disfigurement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had
to have an Open Reduction, Internal Fixation procedure in March, after coming
out of the first cast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The surgery by
this second specialist involved placing pins and plates, and some metal screws,
and of course, then they put her in a bigger cast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All together, she spent something like five
months in casts, and then had many weeks of Physical Therapy, with the end
result that her wrist has lost a lot of movement, and even looks crooked today,
more than five years later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">By making the move to Arlington, we were
able to immediately accelerate our retirement plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stayed with our truly darling (yeah, I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t talk this way, do I?) daughter and
her girls for just over one year, then bought a house in Farmers Branch,
located between our two work locations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We stayed there until our move to Costa Rica, in early 2009.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I began drawing a small pension from the
state of Texas when I turned sixty, and that income became the basis for our
application to live in Costa Rica as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pensionados</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blanca then retired at the end of the
2007-2008 school year with something like 21 years’ service as a classroom
teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continued working mostly
because we had a mortgage and knew that this was not a time to be trying to
sell a house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This part of our life all
ended rather abruptly when I was suddenly laid off on Jan. 5, 2009.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been very ill, in bed over the New Year
holiday, and I remember at one point, sometime around the first of the year, in
the midst of all the sneezing and coughing, I got up to go to the bathroom, and
discovered that I had developed double vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was, to say the least, a bit off-putting, which is just a way to
avoid saying that it scared the podwaddin’ right on out of me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I had to wait a day or two, until Friday of
that first week of the new year, to get to the doctor, and he immediately
arranged for me to see an Ophthalmologist (that same day), and scheduled me for
an MRI, which was then done on Tuesday evening, the 6<sup>th</sup> of January.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">The Ophthalmologist said that something was
causing pressure on the fourth cranial nerve (a condition usually associated
with high blood pressure, or Diabetes, but I had neither), and this pressure
was causing the double vision (dipoplia). This condition usually lasts for six
to eight weeks, and then gets better on its own, depending on the root cause.
The temporary fix was that I had to find a pair of glasses with plain lenses
(after four years of no glasses), not an easy thing to do, and then, upon
returning to his office late that afternoon, his staff affixed a plastic
‘prism’ lens to the inside of the clear lens (I later learned that this is what
is known as a Fresnel lens, and if you want to know a little something more
about a Fresnel lens, read Jimmy Buffet’s charming book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Salty Piece Of Land</i>).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">The weirdness was just beginning: It was my
Right eye that was focusing wrong, by the way, but it was to the left lens that
this prism was affixed. This bends the light before it gets to the retina,
causing that eye to match (more or less) the weak eye. Not comfortable, and not
really clear vision, but it is better than double vision. I could at least watch
a little TV, but reading was pretty much out of the question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Now, comes the bad news part of this little
episode: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called my boss on Monday
morning, January 5, 2009, to let her know what I had learned, and to bring her
up to date with what I considered a potentially serious personal health
issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coincidentally (I’m with all
those TV detectives, in that I don’t believe in coincidence in situations like
this – and, yes, the pun is intended), not two hours later, I received a
conference call from the big boss, my boss, and a third party, informing me
that at an unspecified point during the previous year a ‘business’ decision was
reached in regards to the “Texas Market” (blah, blah, blah, blah, yada, yada,
yada, yada), and my position had been eliminated, effective Jan. 16. It was
supposedly also decided that previous year to hold off on informing me until
after the holidays, so as not to spoil my holiday. Very generously, they “offered”
me a three-month extension of COBRA, in addition to paying me through the end
of January, provided that I sign a waiver saying that I wouldn’t sue them, or
talk about them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, the company is
called Coventry Health Care, so I guess you can easily surmise that I did NOT sign
their frickin’ chicken$hit waiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Well, I got over it (obviously), but it was
still a very low blow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the wake of
this sudden job loss, I decided it might be the better part of valor to just go
on ahead and move to Costa Rica at that time, rather than to continue working
for a couple more years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, in February
I put in for my Social Security, since I was already 62, and arranged for a
mover, and we got everything packed, took a final, farewell tour of Texas to
say goodbye to kids, grandkids, and family, and flew on down there on April
29.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest, as they say, is
history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OMG, that was more than 12 years ago!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, that is just about where
I began writing my Blog, aptly (I thought so, anyway) named "Grumbles from
Arenal."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Basically, if you want to know what came
next, you can go back through the links in today's Blog, and find all of my
entries from our three years in Costa Rica, through to today. I must admit, however, that I have become very lax in posting to this thing, name change and all, since our return to the States. We basically lead a very boring retired life in the middle of the Covid pandemic, just trying to stay afloat.</span><o:p></o:p></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-25370710232618807282021-10-04T14:02:00.002-06:002021-10-07T13:41:59.253-06:00Part IX……..out of the Army, and the newlyweds arrived in Seattle…….<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br />We did buy our first home on North 36<sup>th</sup>
Street, in what was known as the Fremont area, in early 1969.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is what that hous</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">e looked like in approximately 2019 (Thanks, Google Maps):</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLegSsEd15J5LpNG29rWZ8y9sN8Fwi5Y5LZApT6gqqr9VwJ0LZ61l1ha51cOs0ILoXciLpafo6g1vLRHgexpLa-wqkgkjvGQHHFKl4AoMu_p2umc_Js3PCcQIxeCVif6ADymkyh9u5Pblo/s741/423+N+36th+St+-+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="741" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLegSsEd15J5LpNG29rWZ8y9sN8Fwi5Y5LZApT6gqqr9VwJ0LZ61l1ha51cOs0ILoXciLpafo6g1vLRHgexpLa-wqkgkjvGQHHFKl4AoMu_p2umc_Js3PCcQIxeCVif6ADymkyh9u5Pblo/s320/423+N+36th+St+-+2019.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">And, here is what it looked like in 1937,
according to the Fremont Historical Society:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5h62l_2wk1_mOEvHlx1nt-hQV7RqPAreFHZeqBKJxjbeuTC4w1oTB-8iKWISJCDcagwptKgKvHZQOqjq4a0iJBk1ISfSM1xKrbJhbOSzhlLXteSVo3o2S8Bi-lvakIrag27vyl9887RS2/s1430/No+36.1937.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="1430" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5h62l_2wk1_mOEvHlx1nt-hQV7RqPAreFHZeqBKJxjbeuTC4w1oTB-8iKWISJCDcagwptKgKvHZQOqjq4a0iJBk1ISfSM1xKrbJhbOSzhlLXteSVo3o2S8Bi-lvakIrag27vyl9887RS2/s320/No+36.1937.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="1937.jpg" id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_i1026" style="height: 351pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 468pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="1937" src="file:///C:/Users/jdoco/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image002.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I have no idea who Denny + Hoyt’s refers
to, but I did see that caption on some other photos located on the web site for
the Fremont Area Historical Organisation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, finally, this is the only photo of it from our time there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is Blanca standing on the little porch
(you can see the overspray from the paint job we - Mike, David, and I- did) :<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="Seattle House.JPG" id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 351.6pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 383.4pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="Seattle House" src="file:///C:/Users/jdoco/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image003.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvR-qGFm0nJtEdcRWi9FSHP_Lhfoo-Yz-fP-xpcDwJkTu2F8FRQtl_uW6n-UJ3yJ5LLVoc7WyBL0c4MHGgoE7Qd2btHGTBlCbyOEEG_qVxgtJQzew31U0dW4jbuK8O6d2e4DXbkISIWCS/s767/No+36.1969.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="767" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvR-qGFm0nJtEdcRWi9FSHP_Lhfoo-Yz-fP-xpcDwJkTu2F8FRQtl_uW6n-UJ3yJ5LLVoc7WyBL0c4MHGgoE7Qd2btHGTBlCbyOEEG_qVxgtJQzew31U0dW4jbuK8O6d2e4DXbkISIWCS/s320/No+36.1969.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">After a short 14 months or so in Seattle,
we decided – literally overnight – to move to El Paso, mostly because Blanca’s
parents arrived mysteriously for a visit, the very day after I had gotten fed
up and quit my job at Boeing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just
seemed somehow convenient to have their assistance with loading our things into
a U-Haul, and to make the drive back down to Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Yes, there is another story here, but I
think I’ll save it for the novel).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">El Paso was a struggle at first, but we did
manage to find work, and even were able to buy a house within about three
months of our arrival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The struggle
continued from 1970, until a friend prevailed upon me to finally use my head
for something besides a hat rack (“Use the GI Bill, fool, before it’s too
late!” he said).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We already had two
children when I started college, and by the time Blanca finished her
university, we had four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent many
years on the brink of disaster, living from paycheck to paycheck, never seeming
to get ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">All of the above having been said, I am
reminded that this was supposed to be a more positive piece, uplifting, as it
were, as compared to what I usually write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, to get back on track, let’s focus on some of those more positive
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, as the kids grew up,
our careers advanced, and we not only made plans for our eventual retirement,
and (despite some adjustments along the way) we ultimately reached a point
where we felt we could end our working lives, and begin our new life here in
Costa Rica.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">This is not to say that our lives begin and
end here in paradise, because we certainly have many fond memories of people
and places.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We had many great times while living in El
Paso’s lower valley (8153 Valley View) where all the kids were born, and
launched on their educational paths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
lived there for some sixteen years, and these are just a few of the
highlights:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arthur, the oldest, was born
in 1971, started Head Start, and attended Pasodale Elementary, Ysleta Junior
High, and Ysleta High School – we moved from this address in about 1986, when
he was going into his junior or senior year of high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John, Jr., was born in 1973, and followed the
same path, with the possible exception that he may have missed Ysleta Junior
High (correct me if I’m wrong, John).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Both of them were able to graduate from Ysleta High School.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blanca, Jr., our darling daughter, was born
in 1977, and was able to graduate from Ysleta, but had to go a year or two to
other schools (one year in the Socorro District, and another year of Junior
High with her cousin, Melissa).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Andrew,
the baby, was born in 1979, and started school in Ysleta, but switched to
Socorro District when we moved to the edge of El Paso, very close to Socorro,
in 1986.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did attend Ysleta High
School, like his siblings, but graduated from Hanks High School.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We moved from the Ysleta area, to the very
edge of the city of El Paso, almost to the town of Socorro (we found ourselves
located about three houses from the city limits, on Moses Drive) in 1986.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had decided it was time to move when our
home was burglarized while on one of many trips to Mexico (Chihuahua) over
Easter Weekend in, I believe 1986.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
new neighborhood was a very different kind of neighborhood, with the homes on
our block being owner occupied, mostly owner-built, but we were surrounded by
lower class developments, and two street gangs (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Los Ortiz Bros</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">La F Troop</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a fantastic home, with some 2400 sq.
ft., four bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, a living room, a den, and a room
that had been converted from what was originally intended to be a garage, into
a play room, and a huge yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a
pool table there, with a wet bar and a beer fridge (that actually stayed with
me from Valley View, up until we moved to Dallas many years later; here’s
another side story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bought it used
from Bertha, Blanca’s sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It started
life as one of those milk dispenser fridges you see on the back counter at a
diner, like Denny’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is still working
today, in the garage at Bucko’s house in Austin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I foolishly gave it to him while we were in
Dallas because I bought a new, slightly bigger fridge that I then sold before
we moved here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shoulda kept it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re off to Pt. VIV…..<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">The time spent there (on Moses) was,
overall, very good to us, but it was marked by a frequent sound of actual
gunshots, followed by the sirens of the police and ambulances, and accompanied
by the police helicopter, with high intensity searchlight sweeping the night
sky looking for whatever gang members were responsible for the latest violence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Oddly enough, we only had one incident
while living there, where a thief from Mexico came into our yard, took clothes
off the clotheslines, and stole a stereo from my brother-in-law’s motor home
that had been parked in our driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What made this even more odd was that Blanca happened to get up early
that morning (a Sunday, I think), and had gone into the yard, maybe to bring in
the clothes, and encountered the thief, carrying a bag and some sort of
implement in his hands (maybe bolt cutters).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were both so startled that neither reacted in a manner one might
expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blanca told the guy, in Spanish,
that he was on private property, and walked him out the front gate, and he
left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, we discovered that some
things were missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The clothes were
found on the ground near the back fence, as if he had moved them there to pick
up later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gap in the dashboard of
the motor home (where the stereo used to be) was not noticed until sometime later.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">So, we’ll leave you now, while the hunt for
the thief continues………..<o:p></o:p></span></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-87123194489832743472021-09-30T10:08:00.005-06:002021-09-30T10:08:47.950-06:00Las Orquidias – Costa Rica’s Best Kept Secret<p> <b style="background-color: white; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12pt;">(Note: This article was originally posted on Monday, May 10, 2010, and was edited for one previous update).</b></p><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-172510257285211644" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 920px;"><br /><span xmlns=""><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12pt;">"If the divine creator has taken pains to give us delicious and exquisite things to eat, the least we can do is prepare them well and serve them with ceremony".<br />(<i>Fernand Point – (1897–1955) was a French restaurateur and is considered to be the father of modern French cuisine)</i>.<br /><br /></span></span><br /><span xmlns=""><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have mentioned my favorite restaurant in the world, on other websites. Years ago, like at least five, maybe more, I remember posting a report on the guest list for Pura Vida Hotel, in Alajuela, about this restaurant. (Which, by the way, is another very special place; check it out: http://www.puravidahotel.com/info.html ).</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;" xmlns=""><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Now, Ticos have told me for years that the best cooks in Costa Rica are Colombians. I do believe this, based solely on our experience at this place. The owner, chef, headwaiter, and all-around very nice guy is <i>Don Alfonso Restrepo</i>, who has been at the same location for as long as I've been coming to Costa Rica. And, he is from Colombia.<br />As I hope you already know, we live between the village of <i>Aguacate de Tilaran, Guanacaste</i>, and the small town of <i>Nuevo Arenal</i>, on the highway (highway is a very overblown term for this little road, but it is designated as such – actually, <i>Ruta</i> 142 – by the highway department of Costa Rica) that runs around the north side of Lake Arenal, between Tilaran, county seat of the Canton by that same name, and <i>La Fortuna, Alajuela</i>, county seat of another Canton, in that other province. Off this highway is a side road, that goes right up the mountains, over them, and down again, to the town of <i>San Antonio de Guatuso, Alajuela</i>. After the first 50 meters of cement, this road is mostly rocks - big ones - and at certain times of the year, a lot of mud, as well.<br />About 8 or 9 kilometers up this road is the village of <i>Cabanga</i>, a really interesting place. At one time <i>Cabanga</i> was noted for leather work, with at least two different families operating little store fronts, with saddles, belts, hats, just about anything you could ask for made of leather. It also had some renown for wood work, and one of the best native cabinet makers around is still there (Danilo, the guy who did our kitchen cabinets and all of our doors, plus my bread making table, and Blanca's sewing desk). There is, of course, a small pulperia, and one bar, <i>Napos</i>, a real rustic, less than sanitary place, that rarely has more than one or two beers in the whole place, and maybe one general <i>gaseosa</i> (soda pop), besides mostly the local <i>guaro</i> (cheap cane sugar liquor, refined much less than rum). (Ed Note: There is now a second bar, on a side street, off to the right about 250 meters, very close to the soccer field).<br />There is a town salon (like a ball room/meeting place), the requisite soccer field, a small school, and a number of Tico houses scattered about. And, of course, there is <i>Las Orquidias</i>, a restaurant bar that is on the main road, and reached by walking through the car port of the owner's home, down to the back. The restaurant features two levels, open on the west side, and the north, to a truly panoramic view, that, on a clear day, allows you to glimpse <i>Nicaragua</i>, way off in the distance to the north. The north wall of the upper level is screened, with a large variety of orchids placed all over the screen. The lower level is overflowing with potted plants, now featuring a wide variety of African Violets. The bar features a beautiful wood bas relief depicting a typical Costa Rican scene, and a surprisingly extensive selection of booze.<br />As to the menu at <i>Las Orquidias</i>, usually there isn't one. I think the only times I have ever been offered a menu have been those occasions when he was not there. The routine we have followed for some years is this: As we enter, we greet any and all who might be present. This being Costa Rica, that does not usually mean very many people. If there are customers present, we usually seat ourselves. If not, then we go straight to the kitchen door, and greet Don Alfonso, his wife, <i>Yadira</i>, and her mother, whose name I don't remember. If he is busy, then, a bit later, as soon as he gets the chance, he will come to our table, and we will exchange <i>abrazos</i>, and expressions of good will, bonhomie, and generally nice things. If he has run out of my favorite beer, he immediately begins to apologize, and lets me know what is available that day. I can even drink Imperial, as long as it is very cold (poured over ice), and as long as it is served by him.<br />Once we have our beers, he comes back to our table, where we visit for a bit, before we get down to business. This means, it is time for him to tell us what he has available that day. Generally, he can offer beef (best would always be the Filet Mignon, with a mushroom sauce guaranteed to go right to work creating more plaque in your arteries), <i>pollo</i> (chicken), usually grilled, but he does one of the world's best <i>Cordon Bleu</i>'s, with another sauce that makes my mouth water, just thinking about it, and usually either <i>Tilapia</i> or <i>Corvina</i> that he can bread and fry, or grill, with a garlic touch. I still remember a shrimp dish he prepared for me one time that had my mouth watering for weeks afterward (a sauce that I just knew had gone straight to the walls of my arteries, but what a journey). He almost always will suggest a preparation method, or an entrée that is just a bit different from the normal, and his suggestions are usually well worth listening to, and even heeding. He also makes a great <i>ceviche</i>, usually with tilapia, but shrimp is also available.<br />Beyond the simple fact that his food is always exquisite, Don Alfonso's old world manner, and his charm are guaranteed to impress you. He always makes our dining experience special, with his welcome, and his concern for our pleasure. We make it a point to take all of our visitors up there, and we try to get up there more than once a month, whether we have visitors or not. You should know that I have seen him handle a group of 14 people, with total aplomb, not allowing the sheer numbers to upset him in the least, and his skill is so great (long practice, no doubt) that he timed the preparation of all those different requests, so that everything was delivered to our table at the same time, with universal acclaim. That's not to mention that every single plate was thoroughly cleaned by all and sundry.<br />The reality of eating out in Costa Rica is that most places are comparable in price to eating establishments in the states (i.e., not really cheap any more), so it should be no surprise that a meal for two, with at least two beers does run about $25-30. However, what we get for that with Don Alfonso is the pleasure of his company, the opportunity to watch a master chef at work, a spectacular view, and some of the best food anywhere. More important, Alfonso and his wife, Yadira have become our friends. (I have told you about our first 'date' in another post about a live music event in December of 2009).<br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;" xmlns=""><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Now, for the bad news: The ongoing, and now, long-standing, financial crisis has begun to take its toll on this fine establishment. In years past, despite the truly awful road up to Cabanga, some few people did manage to trek on up this way. Now, however, Don Alfonzo tells us that people just are not coming up the mountain. Business has fallen off so much that he has found it necessary to take a job in a restaurant in nearby Guatuso, meaning that he is no longer able to be present in his own place most of the week. The food is still great, but there is now a very real danger that he may have to close his doors, and/or move his operation to Guatuso. This would be a very serious loss to those of us who like good food. So, if you are within driving distance of Cabanga, please go see these nice people, and enjoy a great meal in their presence – before it is too late!</span></span></div>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-17192516749040650882021-08-05T07:07:00.002-06:002021-08-05T07:07:17.723-06:00Our Monopoly is Heard From<p> </p><div align="center">
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<p class="lead" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
just got this email this morning, and have made some comments about it:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="lead" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dear
EP Electric Customer, <br />
<br />
You may have heard that El Paso Electric (EPE) has filed a "rate
case" that may result in rate increases for certain EPE customers. We
have received many questions about what a rate case is and our reason for
filing it. We hope this information helps answer those questions. <br />
<br />
A rate case is a regulatory proceeding during which a utility requests a
review of its expenses and an adjustment to customer rates in order to
recover costs on investments that have already been made to serve customers.
Unlike other companies, we can't raise our rates unilaterally even if our
costs have gone up and even if we have spent significant additional funds on
serving our customers. To get compensated for those investments, we must make
a regulatory filing to prove those expenditures were reasonable and
justified. Texas also requires every electric utility to file a rate case
with the Public Utility Commission of Texas (PUCT) every four years. For EPE,
the last rate case filed was in 2017*. <br />
<br />
Accordingly, our next rate case had to be submitted in 2021. Rate cases are
lengthy processes and the submission is the first step followed by many
hearings and discussions. At the center of these discussions will be whether
EPE should be allowed to include the nearly $1 billion spent to upgrade our
infrastructure and meet the increasing energy demands in our rates. We are
confident that we made these investments to reliably generate and deliver
power to your home and business and to position our region well for economic
development opportunities. However, the ultimate decision on our rates will
be made by our regulators. We would expect that decision to be made by early
2022.</span></p><p class="lead" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebVj3y9UhLn7jKiiA2yEoQGQPHoZZIpfiFQ12y9fN60dgo4YOG4cmHlPyontF2MHpqVNL7Na0ytVtWQy_HnFCV42V0ZZQLk-LuDj_fmImDw-KDzdap89xoe58-DvwTdnt_kvh4ZrIGkmb/s760/EPEC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="760" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebVj3y9UhLn7jKiiA2yEoQGQPHoZZIpfiFQ12y9fN60dgo4YOG4cmHlPyontF2MHpqVNL7Na0ytVtWQy_HnFCV42V0ZZQLk-LuDj_fmImDw-KDzdap89xoe58-DvwTdnt_kvh4ZrIGkmb/w549-h243/EPEC.jpg" width="549" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
<br /><br />
<br />
In the last few years, we have -and we hope you have-seen the value of our
investments. For example, while the rest of Texas was without power during
the recent winter freeze, we were not. When the rest of Texas was dealing
with curtailments during extreme heat, we were not. We - the customers and
the Company - benefited greatly from the investments to weatherize our
equipment and develop diverse generation, among other actions**. Our responsibility
to make sure you are safe and secure with the energy you need for your life
and business is something we take seriously. We work hard to surpass the
level of quality and service every year. <br />
<br />
Whatever the outcome is, we will continue to provide you the energy needs you
have come to expect and deserve. You can count on us, every day and in every
type of weather, to not only deal with the challenges of today, but to
prepare for the growth of tomorrow. <br />
<br />
Kelly A. Tomblin<br />
President and CEO<br />
El Paso Electric <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table><span style="text-align: left;">*The notice of rate increase that I received made no mention
of these funds already having been invested.</span><span style="text-align: left;">
</span><span style="text-align: left;">And, again, if these expenditures were indeed investments, doesn’t that
mean they were spent in anticipation of a return through normal income?</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>**Re: His claim that we
did not experience the outages that the rest of the state suffered is
true. But what he fails to mention is
that we did not have temperatures as low as the rest of the state, or did they
persist for as long a time period. Nor,
does he admit that EPE serves a tiny number of customers in comparison to the
Texas grid.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-8100595809925828082021-06-27T08:06:00.003-06:002021-06-27T12:47:40.629-06:00An Eighth Part<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Part VIII, Tacoma was just about done…..<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">The end result?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two totaled cars, the Chevy and the
Chrysler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pretty hefty fine for
brother Mike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ordered to get a
driver’s license, or more correctly, my parents were ordered to make sure that
I get one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a certain irony in
this, as I had taken driver’s ed at school (in those days it was offered at no
cost, as a elective course and part of the high school curriculum, believe it
or not), but had not been able to go for my license exam, since there was
either no money, or the old man wasn’t available to take me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">OK, back to the next move……..At any rate,
we lost that house late in my senior year, and moved into the “projects”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sequence of events was that we had to
move out before the old man even got out of Steilacoom, or, possibly he got out
one day, and the next day, we moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think this area that we moved to was called Hillside, and later became truly
notorious for such violent gang activity that the local police were afraid to
enter the neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only stayed
there until I could finish high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We left there the day after I graduated from high school, moving to a
small town (Enumclaw) almost due east of Tacoma, making it southeast of
Seattle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stayed with my parents mostly
because I had no clue as to what to do with myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly was never encouraged (or informed
enough, for that matter) to look into going to college, so I rather foolishly
and desperately looked for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
recall the time, you would realize that I had a monster bulls eye on me that
said something about cannon fodder (but, then, that term is probably too old
for this era, huh?), since I was ripe for the Draft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eventually ended up obtaining some limited
training under the Manpower Development and Training Act of 1964 that
purportedly had me ready to seek gainful employment as an attendant in a Mental
Health facility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those days, almost
all mental health facilities that were not exclusively private, were State run,
and therefore had pretty bad reputations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Think of the Academy award winning movie, with Jack Nicholson, <u>One
Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Meanwhile, we moved yet again, back over to
the Eastern part of the state, to Moses Lake, near the boom town (a pretty
large area of what had formerly been mostly desert enjoyed something of a boom
due to the increased irrigation provided from the nearby Columbia River) of
Othello, WA, where my father had gotten a position as a bookkeeper in a frozen
food processing plant (peas, corn, etc.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He got me a job as a forklift operator, and I worked most of that summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to buy my first ever car, a 1954
Ford Crestline Skyliner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a choice
between this car and a 1952 Cadillac, two door hard top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The price for the Caddie was something like
$150.00, and for the Ford only $125.00.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I bought it and never looked back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now, the car did not- ever – look as good as the below photo, but it was
not all that bad, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mine was two
toned, blue and white, and had been converted from an automatic transmission to
a stick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This resulted in a three speed,
on the floor, with a cheap knock-off of a Hurst Conversion, that had been
installed backwards (forward should have been first gear, but was actually
reverse):<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmHod_LLbHKGUv_TiuAtIUPbXNy-g5HI2AtrhFB2IsjfoSyHhD9ahYCLghvaA2RAUVvuKQltRx6O0N2Li5FjPGXE0LsIgHqH7M5BnCvbHZmoiXGZJJteFP_1IgredyhE_pC5qtK6t9XYq/s710/54+Ford.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="710" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmHod_LLbHKGUv_TiuAtIUPbXNy-g5HI2AtrhFB2IsjfoSyHhD9ahYCLghvaA2RAUVvuKQltRx6O0N2Li5FjPGXE0LsIgHqH7M5BnCvbHZmoiXGZJJteFP_1IgredyhE_pC5qtK6t9XYq/s320/54+Ford.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 9pt;">1954 Ford Crestline
Skyliner – note the plexiglass roof (wasn’t called a sun roof).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I finally got smart enough to leave home
(or, finally reached the point where I just couldn’t take it anymore) late that
summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OK, here’s what happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was working at the plant, I opened my
first ever checking account, and that is actually how I was able to buy the car
when I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My best friend, Rich Oxley,
had come up from California, where he was going to college, to spend the
summer, and to work with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the
plant had processed all the peas in the area, and before it switched over to
the next crop, which I think may have been corn, we had a short break, so the
plant was closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rich and I took off on
the Greyhound to go see some old friends (former neighbors of mine, actually)
in Tacoma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This family had a place on
one of the many lakes near Tacoma (I think Spanaway), we stayed with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were the Cresos, mom, dad, daughter,
Connie, who was maybe two or three years younger than us, two smaller boys, and
another girl, who was our age, who lived with them, and served as sort of a
nanny to the little boys.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">While Rich and I were there, I got the
opportunity to buy that Ford, and I paid for it by writing a check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rich decided that he did not want to go back
to Moses Lake with me (I wonder why), so I drove back on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon my arrival, I first learned that my
father had lost his car to repossession (like that never happened before).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been driving a ’57 Chevrolet since we
had lived in Enumclaw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only had he
lost his car, but when I took him and I to work the next day, I learned that my
job was gone, and I had been demoted to scraping the spills off the plant’s
floor (it seems that the nephew of the plant manager needed my job more than I
did).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I was, of course pissed at
this, and immediately quit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Next, the old man hustled the management at
the plant to help him find another car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This necessitated a road trip down to Hermiston, Oregon (might have been
Umatilla).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, somehow, I wound up
carrying him, my mother, and little brother David in my car down to that place
on a Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people at the plant had
arranged for a dealer in Hermiston to give the old man a car, with the
understanding (I guess) that they would stand behind the deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked out a Rambler station wagon, maybe
as new as a 1960 model.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was
actually a pretty decent car, especially for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At any rate, we then drove back up to Moses
Lake, and the next morning after the old man had left for work, I packed all my
earthly possessions into my car, and took off for Seattle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that I called Mike first, to warn him
that I was on my way, but that was the end for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not see the folks again until I was on
leave from the Army, and then, I could only stand a couple of days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that leave, I did not want to see them
at all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">It was after I moved in with Mike that I
learned that the old man had found my check book (the spare checks, anyway)
while I was gone to Tacoma. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess he had
decided that he needed some of my money more than I did, so he wrote a check on
my account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bank naturally came
after me, but since I had one of the world’s worst chicken scratches for hand
writing, it was very easy for them to see that someone else had indeed written
the check (of course it bounced; my money went for my car).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did tell the bank to look for him, though.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well,
as I say, I was fortunate enough to be able to live with my oldest brother,
Mike, in Seattle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even got a job as a
Ward Attendant at the Rainier State School in Seattle, in the early fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, I also got my draft notice not
thirty days after beginning my new job.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I spent three years in the Army, going from
Seattle to Ft. Ord, California, for my Basic Training, then to Ft. Dix, New
Jersey, for Advanced Infantry Training, then Ft. Gordon, Georgia, for Field
Radio Repair School, then to Korea for thirteen months, and finally, I was
stationed at Ft. Bliss, Texas, until I was discharged in late 1968.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was while at Ft. Bliss that I met Blanca,
and we were married a short five months after our first date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is where we were married on June 22,
1968:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdjee9QHeGkUP8_ou9OU94hqcKWKFSLMZqztXagKZGICoJ_dJ57LAg0PKom5iaEb55sY_jK236n-76czgDG521670e4ziz9ssKlyZgHpUOX_STcrwkbmxJKfViqDo9Nm81QYOy8zfPGBp/s555/Ft.+Bliss+Chapel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="555" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdjee9QHeGkUP8_ou9OU94hqcKWKFSLMZqztXagKZGICoJ_dJ57LAg0PKom5iaEb55sY_jK236n-76czgDG521670e4ziz9ssKlyZgHpUOX_STcrwkbmxJKfViqDo9Nm81QYOy8zfPGBp/s320/Ft.+Bliss+Chapel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="Main Chapel.jpg" id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 162pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 253.2pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ft.
Bliss Main Chapel as it looks today.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We did move to Seattle after my discharge,
and I went to work for Boeing as an Aircraft Electrician/Installer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only stayed there for about 14 months,
before returning to El Paso, mostly because Blanca was miserable so far from
home, language, diet, family, and so forth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, let’s take a break, until Part IX, which should conclude this thing……..<o:p></o:p></span></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-11608039246321940642021-06-17T13:41:00.001-06:002021-06-27T08:08:51.222-06:00Part VII, High School Memories<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Part VII….We’re still on Cushman Ave………<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Early in my Senior year, or maybe late in
my Junior year, JFK came to town, so they closed all the schools, with the idea
that students from all over town were to go to a big rally at Tacoma’s Ben
Cheney Stadium (home of the Tacoma Giants, an affiliate of the SF Giants, and a
very nice little ball park).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben Cheney,
incidentally, was some sort of pioneer lumber man, which means a very big deal
in that part of the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large
group of us decided to go to the beach, instead of the rally, so we spent the
day at a State park (possibly Dash Point State Park), over on Puget Sound, and
missed our only opportunity to be able to say that we had seen JFK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, on November 22, 1963, I happened to be
home sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was listening to my radio
in my room, which happened to be in the basement, when they said that JFK had
been shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I got up, went to the
living room and turned on the TV there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Naturally, I spent pretty much all of the rest of that day in front of
the TV, getting the live reports, as events unfolded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember that the next night there was to
be a party, maybe even at my house (in the basement), and all we did was sit
around and feel sorry for ourselves, trying to come to grips with what had
happened to us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I recall one night that Cassius Clay (known
at that time as “The Louisville Lip”) defeated somebody important, before he
met Sonny Liston (that didn’t happen until Feb. 25, 1964).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were at someone’s home for another party,
and all the guys were crowded into whatever room had the TV, watching that
fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cassius Clay, who you all might
know better as Muhammad Ali, was truly awesome to watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, the fact that he was such a brash, over
confident, loud mouth was part of his charm – especially when he so easily
demonstrated that he could do more than just talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A weird thing about this recollection is that
I have carried this image in my mind for all these years that the fight that we
watched that night was the one where he took the title away from Sonny Liston,
but that doesn’t add up, as the title fight took place on a Tuesday evening,
and we only had our parties on Fridays or Saturdays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much for one’s memories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I have to say that we did party a lot (my
friends and I).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also went to a lot of
‘sock hops’ usually in our own high school gym, and most often held after a
home basketball game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most guys in my
class did not dance, except for slow songs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, I was willing to dance to the fast songs, so I was usually busy at
parties and the high school dances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Besides that, I had a group of guys with whom I played poker on a
regular basis, either in my basement, or at the home of one or more of the
others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing big, and I usually had
to borrow from someone to get into a game, but we really enjoyed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was also a big deal to try to attend all
of our football and basketball home games, and even those of our prime rivals,
when they weren’t too far away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our big
rivals were Lincoln High and Wilson High.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think a new high school opened while I was at Stadium, Mt.
Tahoma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another important rivalry was
Bellarmine High School, the city’s Catholic Boys’ high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They usually had a good team, and we all knew
some kids over there, ‘cause some of them had gone to Junior High with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I also remember what I think was the single
most exciting basketball game I have ever seen, in which the final score was
something like 7-8.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was, I believe
an away game for us, against the hated Lincoln High School.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was obviously in the days before the
shot clock, when defense was still an important part of the game, and when
‘freezing’ the ball was a legal and proper offensive tactic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This involved passing with great skill, from
player to player, spread out over their end of the floor, keeping the ball away
from the opponent, thus ‘freezing’ it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again, obviously, this tactic was employed by both teams on this
occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regarding our main rivals, I
no longer recall what their mascot was (we were the Tigers; Gold and Blue), but
according to their current web site they are now the ‘Abes,’ and quite frankly,
that just sounds too lame for that time and place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">The minor league (AAA) baseball team that
played its home games at Ben Cheney Stadium was the Tacoma Giants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to see more than one of their games,
and they were very special to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
father of one of my friends, Gary Grenley, had box seats for his business, and
whenever it wasn’t being used, Gary and I, and other friends of Gary’s would be
allowed to go to the games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would
take a huge paper bag full of peanuts in the shell, sit right up close, and
watch players (just to name a few) like Jesus and Matty Alou, Jose Pagan (my
personal favorite, whose name is misspelled in the old stats I was able to find
online), Jose Cardenal, Dick LeMay, Julio Navorro, Bob Perry, Manny Mota, Dick
Phillips, Gaylord Perry, Dusty Rhodes (by this time, he was a former major
leaguer, hero of the 1954 World Series, where he hit very well as a
pinch-hitter; he was kind of like our own hometown Babe Ruth), Moose Stubing,
Willie McCovey, and a great pitcher, Juan Marichal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were others, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was, after all, a minor league team, and
most of these guys either made it to the bigs, or had already been there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, well, we’re moving (literally, and
again)……………..<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH8YFZlbbQHmnK-ODeJ5uh6pRd_50dLd0J-mMJjYCictNYTwfIQiPKV9a4OmQGj7uc8bsNL4kpZaEuZw6K0j5DxcddyOnFHjVzZSH4x8Z9gLlCXgiGQyFT7A8G1V8BBI0smKHShMNsib9z/s600/Giants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH8YFZlbbQHmnK-ODeJ5uh6pRd_50dLd0J-mMJjYCictNYTwfIQiPKV9a4OmQGj7uc8bsNL4kpZaEuZw6K0j5DxcddyOnFHjVzZSH4x8Z9gLlCXgiGQyFT7A8G1V8BBI0smKHShMNsib9z/s320/Giants.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 8pt;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>That’s Dusty Rhodes, coming
home after hitting a grand-slam in his first ever World Series game, 1954.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 8pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">Just when I thought things were going just
fine, my old man went from bad to worse.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">I never knew any details, but late in my senior year, he ended up in the
Western State Mental Hospital’s alcoholic ward.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">I have long suspected that this was deliberate on his part for two
reasons.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">He was indeed an alcoholic, but
he never was serious about fighting it, so right there – even then – I had to
wonder.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">He was in trouble yet again with
debt I believe, and had undoubtedly lost yet another job.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">With him in the nut house, obviously, there
was no way to pay the mortgage, or anything else.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">While the old man was in Steilacoom (an old
fort by that name had been turned into Western State Mental Hospital), I wanted
to attend one of many parties one evening, and the car was in the garage, but
wouldn’t start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mike had come home from
the Army by this time (actually, I think he most likely ponied up some coin so
that the folks could buy that house, in the first place), and was living at
home, while working at the Tacoma Public Library (yes, he was instrumental in
my having secured a part-time, after school job at the library).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mike was the proud owner of a 1952 monster of
a Chrysler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m talking tank-sized, four
doors, and a great big inline six cylinder engine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His car was running just fine, but he had a
previous engagement, likely a date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was a light rain falling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The sun had just set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, he
should have known better (after all, he was a U. S. Army Veteran, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, he was over 21 by this time, too!), but
neither one of us was thinking very well that evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We somehow hooked up his front bumper to the
rear bumper of dad’s 1956 Chevrolet (Bel Air, four door, but with that really
wonderful 256 cu. inch V-8, for which Chevy received a lot of
recognition).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to pull the Chevy
backwards, up out of the garage, because there was a steep incline from the
street down to the garage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Well, we got the Chevy up onto the street,
and pointed along the street, pointing north.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For you younger people who don’t know these things, let me tell you that
the windshield wipers on 1950’s cars were not powered by an electrical motor,
but by a vacuum motor, that only could work when the engine was running, and
able to create a vacuum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words,
in case you need more explanation, if the motor wasn’t running, there was no
way to move the wiper blades, so as to keep the windshield clear in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention that there was a light rain
falling? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, to make matters worse, did
I also mention that the sun had just set?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, no wipers, and no headlights, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is not reason enough, so let me also point out that the Chevy in
question had an automatic transmission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We did not have jumper cables, but we figured that we could get that
sucker going on compression, which for an automatic transmission requires a
minimum speed of 30-35 miles per hour, pushing or towing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t have the necessary chains or rope
for towing, so we elected to get this thing running by Mike pushing it with his
monster Chrysler.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I would have to freely admit that the
primary responsibility for what happened next would be mine, since I proposed
to be behind the wheel of the ‘lead vehicle,’ as it were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We started off, and got up to a pretty good
speed, within about 50-60 feet of our starting point, when I realized too
quickly to do anything about it, that I couldn’t see two feet in front of my
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was raining, and it was dark!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when the Chevy slammed into the rear –
smack dab in the middle, too – of a neighbor’s parked car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, he was one pissed off neighbor,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think I made it to the
party that night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I hate to leave you hangin’, but hey, this
is enough space for one Part…..we’ll see what happened to those intrepid young
men when next we meet, in Part VIII……..<o:p></o:p></span></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-14196348316271357692021-06-07T07:07:00.000-06:002021-06-07T07:07:05.813-06:00There is indeed a sixth part to this little saga.<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Part VI, wherein we pick up again in
Tacoma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Patty remembers this period in
this way:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">From
there we moved back to Tacoma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lived
in a series of houses, Dad had a series of jobs, I finally graduated from high
school and attempted to do college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh
yes, in order to make the move there we had to live with Grandad and Margaret
for a summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a tyrant and Mom
and I did lots of cooking and cleanup and Mom had to bake her great homemade
bread once or twice a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But just
imagine them being able to take all of us in?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">I
met Mike [her husband] the summer between high school and college and we dated
for the two years that I attended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Throughout all the years our lives were shadowed by Dad’s drinking and
certainly Mom’s as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom was
tortured by his abuse and once when we lived in the first house there in Tacoma
Dad got involved with another woman and not for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think she could handle it anymore and
she tried to end her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately
back then she had to spend the night in jail instead of being taken to a care
facility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She never received proper care
and during the time we lived in the house on Cushman she had quite a few more
problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Mike decided to go back
home to Wisconsin to become a cop we married and made the move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Best thing I ever did!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">It was also about this time that Pat got
married, and she and Mike Roberts, her husband moved into a small apartment not
too far away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two things:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mike had the most gorgeous 1955 Ford, four
door sedan, with the sweetest sounding dual exhaust pipes you ever heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had purchased it new, and kept it immaculate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blue and white, two-toned paint job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dennis had himself a girl friend, and wanted
to take her out to something special, and persuaded Mike to loan him his
beautiful car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naturally, he crashed it,
and it was totaled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was truly
heart-breaking stuff, this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mike was
getting close to taking his discharge, and he and Pat were already planning to
move back to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Mike’s hometown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, now, they had no ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mike picked up a (I think) 1952 Ford that had
some engine problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so impressed
then, when he took that old car around back of his apartment, and parked it
close to a phone pole in the alley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
then used several windings of GI commo wire, wrapped around and around one of
the metal spikes imbedded in the wood of the pole, to pull that V-8 from his
old ’52, so he could rebuild it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then
proceeded to do just that, and he and Pat had a pretty decent ride to get them
back to Wisconsin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe not as sweet as
the ’55, but this ’52 had a nice sound to its exhaust, as I recall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">So, we’re still on Cushman, where my
father, during these nearly four years, worked in some kind of mills, and
obtained some training at a business school, and then began working as a
bookkeeper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">But, nothing was ever stable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My old man couldn’t keep a job (did I mention
that he was an alcoholic?), but also (I suspect) because he couldn’t take
direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His drinking was not a pretty
thing to see, as he became a mean and solitary drunk (as I described above).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He kept his booze (almost always cheap rotgut;
I recall his favorite brand for some years was Four Roses, which was known to
be a cheap bourbon), in the freezer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
you young people, who never experienced the refrigerators of the forties and
fifties, they all had a main door that opened up from top to bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, inside, at the top of the compartment
thus revealed, would be a second, smaller lightweight door (some of these were
aluminum; some were plastic, and some were a combination of both) that opened
to the small freezer compartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
kept his booze in the freezer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
the old man’s habit to drink his booze straight from the bottle, with a drink
of water, for chaser. Before we get to his nocturnal drinking, though, let me
ruin your day by presenting you with this truly unforgettable picture:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old man never wore PJ’s, and didn’t wear
undershorts to sleep, just a T-shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
would grab the shirt around back, and bring that through his legs, and then pull
the front of the T-shirt to meet the back, and then, hold it together with one
hand, if someone else happened along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
was a truly disgusting sight!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, now
that you’ve got that mental image fixed forever in your mind, now you can
prepare yourself for the sound effects:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">At any hour of the night (but, long after
we all went to bed) he would get up, snuffling and snorting and coughing and
gagging, and snotting, and make his way to the kitchen and the fridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, after announcing his eminent departure
from the bedroom in this manner, he would make his way, in the dark, to the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next sound was that of the fridge being
opened, then the freezer door, then, maybe some more snorting and snotting, the
water running for his chaser, the doors of the fridge and freezer being slammed
shut, and then, back to bed he’d go, hacking and coughing, and snorting (and,
likely scratching, too).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s not
forget that he only had vision in one eye, and this tended to interfere with
his ability to judge distance, not to mention the fact that he was stumbling -
half drunk - around in the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, add
to the sound effects, the sounds of various obstacles being encountered during
his nocturnal journeying, and of course, the truly horrific oaths uttered by
him when some part of his anatomy came into contact with things like the corner
post of the banister to the stairs, or the little shelf that jutted out from
the wall in the hallway (where the single household phone rested).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Yes, we did have a phone on Cushman Ave.,
but for you young people, I suppose a little bit more information might be
helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, the phone was
black, with a big round dial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had a
short cord (maybe three feet long) fastened to a connector in the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in the hallway for a specific purpose,
and this was common to household telephones, all the years that landlines were
the only thing going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the way, here
is what those phones looked like:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNu-A8fP4oO0Ez4y9tcPG1HOE4oeO_W7UqwpVC9ysIj-sB5XOoaHqDSdicPdEfb7z6JH6Lwn9QT7dm8gtNYQkK1V_BhLh1qLsxif433oJZA_vO6MPk8T3OlUZyEDsZjABuLpAEcYk5R8-5/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="57" data-original-width="85" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNu-A8fP4oO0Ez4y9tcPG1HOE4oeO_W7UqwpVC9ysIj-sB5XOoaHqDSdicPdEfb7z6JH6Lwn9QT7dm8gtNYQkK1V_BhLh1qLsxif433oJZA_vO6MPk8T3OlUZyEDsZjABuLpAEcYk5R8-5/" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">If the phone rang, anyone could answer it,
but if it was a personal call, each person was limited to three minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, phone calls tended to be short and to the
point (since most of the calls were bill collectors, anyway, you know it did
not take long to say, “No, he’s not here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know where he is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
know when he’ll be back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will tell
him”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, mostly as a result of this
early conditioning, up to today, I don’t like to spend much time on the
telephone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How are you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’re fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give my best to
……..,” and that is pretty much all I’ve got to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, I only become long winded when I sit
down in front of the monitor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OK, back
to Cushman Ave., circa 1963………<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">But, first, now that I think of it, here is
what the phone looked like when we lived on the ranch back in South Central
Washington, near the little town called Roosevelt:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRo-8I3AqOfQp9e2KkUDwhXNKG4fJL0aP4icagydFKMKWp9iWo7uLnk_xlwEqX4UPNmUpkk-JklHMXudZLJd7KvflZzzbFL6p7p8Z1k9xlbmbGffzIaPL7h2Z828OOt-g7p_qq_wT1oZl/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="153" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRo-8I3AqOfQp9e2KkUDwhXNKG4fJL0aP4icagydFKMKWp9iWo7uLnk_xlwEqX4UPNmUpkk-JklHMXudZLJd7KvflZzzbFL6p7p8Z1k9xlbmbGffzIaPL7h2Z828OOt-g7p_qq_wT1oZl/" width="185" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape alt="gadgets_phone.jpg" id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 148.8pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 115.2pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s what it looked like!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
‘ring’ was something like two longs and a short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OK, I can see I need to offer more
information here:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is not visible in
this picture is that on the right side of the wooden box was a small hand
crank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When turned very quickly, that
crank created a small electrical impulse which traveled along the phone
lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That small charge was enough to
get the bells (seen on the face of the phone) to ring, just a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, to differentiate between one person and
another (several families had to share one line; hence, the term party
line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really!) on the same line, one
full revolution of the hand crank made a short ring, and two, quick revolutions
made a longer ring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, to call the
party that was assigned two longs and a short, required than one crank twice,
quickly, then pause, then crank two more times, again quickly, another pause,
then one revolution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In theory, everyone
on that line then knew that the call was for us, so they were to leave their
phones alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, of course, everybody
listened in on everybody else’s calls, so there was no way to keep one’s
business to one’s self (as if there ever is, in a small town).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">(Now, we’re back in the house on North
Cushman……….)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was very happy in this
house all the way through my Junior year and most of my Senior year of high
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had friends all over the
neighborhood, played football on the front lawn of the nearby Junior High, or
went down to shoot hoops at Wright Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I started collecting records at this time, first 45’s, then albums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned a bit about hooking up multiple
speakers to an old time radio, as I had speakers all over the basement where I
lived<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(thanks to Mike Roberts, who was (as
I mentioned before) in the Army at that time, and who even contributed most of
a roll of commo wire, I think it was called WD1, or something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">You see, it was Mike who showed me how to
connect the speakers, and it was this simple “electrical” mystery opening up
for me that led me to pursue a later – short – career in electronics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned to haunt a Goodwill store on (I think) South
Tacoma Ave., at about this time, and found some really special old tube type
radios for a buck or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worked part
time at the Tacoma Boys Club, so I had a little spending money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I worked for a short time at a branch
of the Tacoma Public Library, until I was fired ‘cause I spent too much time
reading, and otherwise neglecting my assigned duties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you ever spend eight hours sorting books,
and then putting them on shelves?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At any
rate, I had stopped all pretense of part time work by early in my Senior year,
so that year of high school found that basement to be pretty much party central
for me and a host of friends.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">OK, we’re making slow progress, but it is
sure…………we’ll pick up again with Part VII….<o:p></o:p></span></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-44126904908328788022021-05-10T07:44:00.003-06:002021-05-10T07:44:43.059-06:00A Fifth Part of my little Saga<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">More in Goldendale………<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Another kid I spent time with was Paul
Nehmi (I think that was the spelling).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was rich, by my standards, because his father was the manager of the
local Penny’s store (as in, J. C. Penny), and he lived some blocks away in a
modern house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did they have
indoor plumbing, but his mother cooked on an electric stove!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One interesting side note about Goldendale
comes to mind:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basketball was big stuff
in this little town, with a population of around 2500.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coach at the high school was worshipped,
and his program encompassed the entire town, with the P. E. coaches at the
elementary and the middle school, working hard to bring the younger guys along,
so as to get them ready for the big kid’s game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All games were broadcast on the radio, and it was a given that
Goldendale would go to State each year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At that time, schools at that level of competition, like B (?) went to
their State Tournament in Tacoma every year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The bigger schools of course had their state tournament in Seattle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Later, when I was a senior in Tacoma, I
skipped school and attended some of the games at UPS’ (University of Puget
Sound) Field house, and saw some of the guys I had attended grade school with,
now in the big show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By that time the
former coach from Goldendale had ‘made good,’ and had become coach of the basketball
team at UPS – Coach Bud Wilkerson, or Wilkinson.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We stayed in that small town, in the same
rented house until the night Mike graduated high school (I had just finished 7<sup>th</sup>
grade).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall that Mike had been
awarded a medal (sponsored by Bausch, as in Bausch and Lomb, I believe, for
outstanding Science achievements).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
there was no time to even congratulate him on his achievements, as we were all
herded aboard a Greyhound Bus that very evening, and ended up back in Tacoma
(of course, I didn’t know at that time that we had lived in Tacoma before),
this time at my paternal grandfather’s home (for some reason he was never
grandpa or grandfather, but instead, he was called Granddad by all; no, it is
not likely that this had something to do with that most excellent Bourbon, Old
Granddad, because that is good stuff, and I don’t think he could afford the
good stuff anymore than the old man could).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We stayed with him and his second wife (Margaret) for that summer, and
then moved to a rental house just before school started that fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was while we lived here (N. Division Ave.,
is all I recall; just two doors from Frisko Freeze, the best burgers and shakes
anywhere) that we got our first television.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Naturally, it was a used one, with a big wooden cabinet, and a very tiny
screen. Remind me sometime to tell you about what we watched on TV in those
days, and, now that I think of it, at the same time I can write about what I
remember from the radio in those years before we had TV, and our first record
player, and first records.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">We actually stayed in that rental all
through my 8</span><sup style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> grade, and most of my 9</span><sup style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">, then moved to
yet another rental, in another part of town.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">Now that I think of it, however, there are a couple of things about this
house that come up in my memory.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">This
house was actually sort of special, in that it had some unique features in – of
all places – the bathroom.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">The
countertop was stainless steel, and the bathroom was overly large, with a
separate stall for the toilet.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">The story
was that this had been a house of ill repute (how appropriate) and a busy
‘entertainment’ center during the years of prohibition.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">Maybe that is why that upstairs bathroom was
so fancy.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">There was something else about that
bathroom that was special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, what was
that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, yeah, this was the bathroom
where the old man passed out while on the toilet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep in mind that most of my younger years
feature this memory of a mean, mean drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The mean drunk who, when in his cups, and at his ‘best,’ would look at
you with serious mayhem, if not murder, in his eyes, just for coming within
eyesight of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would also mutter
incomprehensible drunkenly slurred things to himself while ‘at his best,’ as it
were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, basically, you knew better
than to get within easy reach of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, of course, when he was on a real tear, and was beating up on the
old lady (who never did learn to leave well enough alone), you would try to
plead, grab an arm, or somehow get him to stop (and, her, too, because she was
usually just about as drunk as he was by this time).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He never did until he passed out, and peace
descended upon whatever shack we were living in at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Well, let me tell you, when he passed out
on the toilet, and wound up laying on the floor, with his pants at half mast,
and with the slobber running down his chin, a lot of the fear dissipated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only wish somebody had a camera, and that
we could have preserved that image for posterity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, today, such a thing would be a no
brainer, ‘cause every frickin’ kid has a cell phone with a camera built right
in, and that sucker would have been all over you tube and facebook, and the
internet within minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that’s
one nice thing about progress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I did
not own a cell phone at the time I wrote this (and, if I still had kids at
home, the only way they would have one would be if they went to work to earn
the money to buy their own damn phone, and to pay the damn bill, too)!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that was one of the fonder memories of
that house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, you know, the fun has
to end sometime, so…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
moved again before my sophomore year of high school, requiring me to attend a
school different from where most of my friends were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, there were two moves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, south of down town, and the huge
gulley that runs through the middle of Tacoma, kind of east to west, to a small
place a block off Pacific Avenue (maybe on Wright St.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only stayed here a few months, and I seem
to remember we had to ride the city buses to and from school, up until the end
of my 9<sup>th</sup> grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This place
was memorable mostly for its proximity to King’s Roller Rink, where I learned
to roller skate, and where Dennis and I (and, likely David and maybe, Pat) had
some good times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, before my
sophomore year began, we moved again, way north, to North Verde Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pronounced it as ‘vurd,’ because we did
not know that this is the Spanish word for the color green, pronounced as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vair-day </i>(accent on the ver).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the end of that school year, we moved
yet again, to the first (and only) house that my parents ever tried to buy,
located at 625 North Cushman Avenue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNotTpFF2y9BSTz1k1lmgIlN3HuoSMakiqqMlkK57bZgX9mzldfYzoyEmynN1tU2YeK-xEpKUvExaLVfnfxISAU54hiZBNhK48X8dRR7bQt89jmOAvkvTBdEmlAOs3sNY535HgbD8nu2X8/s1152/No.+Cushman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1152" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNotTpFF2y9BSTz1k1lmgIlN3HuoSMakiqqMlkK57bZgX9mzldfYzoyEmynN1tU2YeK-xEpKUvExaLVfnfxISAU54hiZBNhK48X8dRR7bQt89jmOAvkvTBdEmlAOs3sNY535HgbD8nu2X8/w379-h284/No.+Cushman.jpg" width="379" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">Above is that house as it looks today –
pretty much what it looked like all those years ago. </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 9pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">(recent photo courtesy of Richard T. Oxley, a guy
I went to Junior High and High School with, all those years ago. He spent a number of nights in the basement
of this place).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I was in heaven, but that’s another
story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stayed in that really special
(for me) place all through my junior year, up until the last month of my high
school, while I attended one of the most special high schools anywhere (which
is yet another story, but look it up on the ‘net; it was featured in the 1999
movie, <u>10 Things I Hate About You</u>), Stadium High School.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, Pat and Dennis both graduated from
that school one and two years ahead of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’ll pick this up again, when Part VI gets done…………<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawEfOThXhpUxuf54RPXEoJiFOaB9sDYLyGxjsmgD_CNyXKq-cwmWwNoQZ6tqWpymKFzeqg4nNdVWQmp3PG2Zyus1HvES8HIAWOjm-fQJwA9iBBgRl7wzEg7jSWUJ3YmrayZON8dkVT1kv/s2048/Stadium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1638" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawEfOThXhpUxuf54RPXEoJiFOaB9sDYLyGxjsmgD_CNyXKq-cwmWwNoQZ6tqWpymKFzeqg4nNdVWQmp3PG2Zyus1HvES8HIAWOjm-fQJwA9iBBgRl7wzEg7jSWUJ3YmrayZON8dkVT1kv/w328-h410/Stadium.jpg" width="328" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-22672373637052763652021-05-06T11:52:00.003-06:002021-05-06T11:52:49.802-06:00Part IV, in which we will move yet again (surprise)……<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;">My little saga continues.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">It was while we lived in Goldendale that
Mike had a huge paper route (really bigger than his resources could handle) for
a time, and so did Dennis (a more modest enterprise, one that could be
walked).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to help Dennis with his
route, and one year, for having signed up a certain number of new
subscriptions, he managed to accumulate enough points that he and I both got to
go on a chartered Greyhound bus, all the way down the river to Portland, Oregon
(the newspaper in question was probably the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Portland
Oregonian</i>, but it might well have been the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oregon Journal</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
Portland, we were taken to Jantzen Beach, a large amusement park, known far and
wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent the day and had a great
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dennis also managed to buy himself
a bicycle at the local Western Auto.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Speaking of Western Auto, this was truly an American original.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every town of any size had a Western
Auto.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These stores sold everything for
the car, from batteries to tires, and all parts, plus most things for the
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They carried hardware, great bikes
(and everything you needed for your bike; Western Flyer was their brand), their
own line of radios, TV’s, appliances, and parts for appliances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were just a few brands carried by
Western Auto:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Tough One"
Batteries, "Wizard" Tools, "TrueTone" electronics, and
"Citation" appliances, and “Revelation” firearms, (and I think, also
sporting goods, like footballs, basketballs, and the like).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Also, in downtown Goldendale, on Main
Street, very close to Western Auto, was the local ‘five and dime,’ or dime store,
like a Woolworths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess these stores
were sort of a high class Dollar store, if you can believe that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, obviously, if they sold mostly stuff
that only cost a nickel or a dime, that price range might well suggest
junk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they had a lot of Japanese
junk, all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It must be understood
that literally everything from Japan, in the fifties, was very poor quality,
and that meant both workmanship as well as raw materials).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, everything was displayed more openly,
and instead of racks and hooks, and shelves to shop from, there were these big,
open flat-topped bins, with everything reachable, and touchable, and easy to
get hold of – oops!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can’t end a sentence
with a preposition, now can we?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s
say, easy to reach, instead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Goldendale’s Main Street, in addition to
the theater, featured a small supermarket, locally owned, the newspaper office
(the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Goldendale Sentinel</i>, a weekly
publication), </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3HYBr1YufoX6XMQuMpb5QoU6-os1pRQ_vZBAwyBvnvGb9Rw9D1Q4rM7BPyNjkFDhC3XNJGF9DMJcWfA42ST5SS3WIOFdClHiIRPR16QlMzflr0JAHh9mM02BI0pA1F9kivVNzBlmv_w3/s348/Goldendale+Sentinel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="348" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3HYBr1YufoX6XMQuMpb5QoU6-os1pRQ_vZBAwyBvnvGb9Rw9D1Q4rM7BPyNjkFDhC3XNJGF9DMJcWfA42ST5SS3WIOFdClHiIRPR16QlMzflr0JAHh9mM02BI0pA1F9kivVNzBlmv_w3/s320/Goldendale+Sentinel.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">a barber shop, a Dentist Office (Ol’ Doc
somebody or other - West?), upstairs above some other business), the local
creamery, a couple of restaurants (The Simcoe Café and Mac’s Café), various
shops, J. C. Penny, and a Safeway.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">I
think there was also OK Tire and Rubber company (part of a chain that sold new
tires, and ‘recaps,’ which were just that: old tires, whose rubber had worn
down, but whose walls were still in decent shape, so new rubber was molded onto
them; they typically cost a fraction of what a new tire cost, but the rubber
was likely to come rolling off at speed, especially in hot weather).</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">Needless to say, the old man bought a lot of
recaps.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I also got the opportunity to play Little
League baseball, and our team traveled to places like White Salmon, maybe Lyle,
and other towns down along the Columbia River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Old Man liked to fish, and while it was usually Dennis who went with
him, I do recall going fishing a time or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was strictly stream fishing using night crawlers for bait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We kids had the job of getting the huge
worms, and this was actually very easy to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just go out into the front or side yard with a shovel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Push it down into the usually moist earth,
and lean it one way or the other, and look at the exposed earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inevitably, you would see one or more worms
moving (this was best done at night; don’t ask me why) by the light of a
flashlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just grabbed as many as
you could, and put them into an old coffee can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fishing always required an early morning start, and it really did not
take all that long to get a good number of good sized trout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasionally, we went for Steelhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The myth (story I seem to recall hearing from
the Old Man) was that a trout was the young version of a Salmon, and the
Steelhead was the in-between version.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Supposedly, those trout that could make it from creek to river were able
to grow into Steelhead, and then, if the Steelhead could make it down river, to
the ocean, and then return, you had a Salmon (hey, that’s what somebody told
me, and I’ve never forgotten it, nor have I ever researched it to verify it
this is for real).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Actually, there was an incident involving
fishing and a barbed wire fence that might be worth recounting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one particularly auspicious (? For lack of
a better word) occasion, Dennis and Garun (I don’t know how to put the
phonetics into the pronunciation of his name, as uttered by Bernie, his
helpmeet, especially when in her cups - Oh, God, now I’m going to get side
tracked big time, trying to sort this mess out – OK, time out:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Bernie, which is short for Bernice, my
mother’s name, mistakenly thought – for many, many years – that the way to help
and to try to control the old man’s drinking, was to drink with him, trying, as
it were, to keep pace with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was, of course, a hopeless task which she set for herself, as no one in their
right mind would want to keep up with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although - in a deliberate aside - in later years, keeping up with him
became relatively easy, since his tolerance for alcohol decreased with the
years, and he’d be smashed long before he could see the bottom of the bottle of
his cheap booze of choice. So, she’d get mushmouthed drunk even quicker than he
did, so that his name, when pronounced by her (she always called him Garland
instead of the ‘Al’ that he preferred) in this condition, sounded something
like, “garn,” as in, darn, but pronounced with a serious deep south accent,
which, of course, she did not possess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, now, we’re talking about Gaaarrun, but say the last syllable very
fast, so as to kind of pass over the ‘u’ – thusly, “I’ma…..I’ma……..I’ma gonna
tel’ you sumpin’, Garn, you ‘bout drunk!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">OK, now that we’ve dealt with that
important little matter, back to the fishing trip with Dennis and Garn……..<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">In order to get to the part of whatever
stream they were seeking to plant their hooks in, Garn and Dennis had to get
past a barbed wire fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually, this
means, one person holds a top strand up, while the person crossing/passing
through, pushes a lower strand down, so as to create a space big enough for the
average person to get through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I
wasn’t there, and Dennis may not have been the most reliable of sources here
(mostly because to the end of his life, he could not tell this story with a
straight face and a serious amount of giggling), but my understanding of the
event is that somehow the lower strand was either not pushed down far enough,
or it snapped up at the wrong moment in time, like when the old man was halfway
though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, one or more of those
nasty barbs reached right on out and/or up, and snagged the old man’s jewel
sack (um, uh, scrotum?), viciously tearing said sack (pun intended, Mike),
causing profuse, one might even say, perfuse, or one whole hell of a lot of
bleeding from said sack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fishing
trip was thus cut short, not to mention other certain other well placed hewing
or trimming, and they returned home post haste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The old man subsequently, like right away, went to the doctor, where he
underwent an emergency “re-sackification,” as it were, thus closing that
particular gap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OK, back to the
narrative………..<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Salmon fishing along the Columbia River was
reserved at that time to what we now call Native Americans, or Indians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not too far from Goldendale, just upriver
from The Dalles, Oregon, were the Celilo Falls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These falls were impressive enough just to look at, but the Indians had
built some very rickety looking scaffolding all over the rocks, to afford
themselves of relatively easy access to the waters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy3lE-DDzrddlNVrd-6ksbO4-MV25gmLi1quM6xKPdpOr_5Bk6pReYMNn6tSLzuKFIbLCQU2mVypOMsw1NtutuTWFVwxSbJIMDtJc0KzFZiUO-H4ieuVH4Az_egPxyoc6Nrv7cBRbWHVA/s800/celilo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy3lE-DDzrddlNVrd-6ksbO4-MV25gmLi1quM6xKPdpOr_5Bk6pReYMNn6tSLzuKFIbLCQU2mVypOMsw1NtutuTWFVwxSbJIMDtJc0KzFZiUO-H4ieuVH4Az_egPxyoc6Nrv7cBRbWHVA/s320/celilo2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">They went out onto that scaffolding when
the Salmon were migrating up the river, and speared as many as they could.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">Most of the salmon was then smoked on shore,
and sold to tourists, and anyone else fortunate enough to be able to get
some.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">That was good eating.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">Patty:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">Next must have been Goldendale and I don’t remember what
job Dad did there but I began babysitting there and earning money for clothes
and whatnot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We kids enjoyed being there
and school was pretty stable for that period of time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">After having the chance to read what I had
written to this point, Pat then sent me a email that added to this narrative:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #c00000; text-indent: 0.5in;">Wasn’t Goldendale just the best little town? I
remember the five and dime and buying crayons and fresh paper and even paper
dolls at that time. The Penney’s store was the old fashioned set up with
drawers that stocked the bras and panties each in its size and drawer. I
had some girl friends that I enjoyed and remember always hitting the studing
and the grades. My babysitting really took off and I sat for two families
over the time. Mom told me (I was starting this at the age of 11) that I
had to buy my own shampoo and girl stuff which would include feminine hygiene
stuff because I couldn’t expect Dad to pay for same. WHAT? I was 11
years old for heaven’s sake! </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">I remember getting a terrible throat infection one time,
the very worst I ever had, and friends being allowed to come and say, “Hi”,
through the window as I was in bed for some two weeks. When I went back
to school all thin and white the teachers took one look at me and sent me home
for another week. That was also the house where Dad got involved with the
woman next door, a single parent with a girl she was raising, wasn’t it?
She was a drinker too I think. But overall, we did experience small town
America at its best for sure. Thanks for the memories…..Love, Pat <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Mike worked after school in the local
creamery (for those not familiar with this term, small towns used to have local
businesses that processed dairy products.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These were called creameries, and they would produce local butter, ice
cream, and sell fresh, whole milk) at one point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also got placed by the old man, I believe,
on some local farm for a large part of at least one summer, hoisting hay bales
on the back of a truck, and into a barn, and performing other seriously manual
labor, for some extra money, most of which was undoubtedly confiscated by the
old man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Meanwhile after reading what I have so far,
Mike has provided some more memories:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #1f497d; text-indent: 0.5in;">Drove
wheat truck for Dutch Kelley in Roosevelt area (around age 16… lasted some 3-4
weeks) the next summer worked longer for…. ???? in the hay business, bailing
hay and like you say, serious manual labor (damn bails weighed as much as I
did). During school I worked at the “Reliance Creamery” whose products included
butter, ice cream, and ICE. I recall providing ice to the same Indians for
salmon fishing, poking the ice down to 100 or 50 lb. blocks and loading it in
their cars. Cool, late model cars always dirty and trashed out on the inside.
Ice cream was a farce… The owner purchased a mix “wholesale” and we merely
“churned?” in a freezer type machine, dumped it into cardboard boxes (Reliance
Brand) and it was sold in the grocery store you mentioned. The town did have
two grocery stores… one being the Safeway and the other being this independent
(actually, I think the owner was Thompson, the same dude that owned Reliance
Creamery).</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">(Back to my narrative):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, that was another of his less lovable
traits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d require that we find work,
and then take most of the money we earned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I also remember Mike being involved with his best friend (Johnny
Householder?) in experimenting with model rockets, a big time diversion for
teen aged boys in the fifties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had
some notable success, as I recall, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One kid I knew also had a rocket that was actually pretty
impressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a clear blue
plastic rocket ship that was filled with water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, it was placed on its base, which had a hand pump affixed to
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would pump the hell out of that
sucker, and then so much pressure was created that the rocket would fly very
high up into the air. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d estimate today
that it probably went up at least 20-30 feet.</span><span style="color: #1f497d;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">One friend that Dennis and I had was a kid
down the street, and across the alley from us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His father was the town barber, and they had a normal family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a contrast to our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had a root cellar outside their back
door that was no longer used for its original purpose (a root cellar was
basically a room underground, with rock and cement for walls and covered with
dirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its purpose was to store
perishables, like potatoes, apples, canned goods, and things like that, before
refrigeration was common).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We played WWI
in that thing, since it served as a bunker, and we could easily imagine the
trenches of WWI, as depicted in the movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Also, Mike (or whatever the kid’s name was) had an old WWI steel helmet
that we all took turns wearing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">You know what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We gonna cut this puppy off right here, and
pick it up again, still in Goldendale, but in Part V………<o:p></o:p></span></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-63951066496956702692021-05-02T15:47:00.000-06:002021-05-02T15:47:05.137-06:00Part Tres of my little Memoir<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Part III of the Continuing Saga of the
Dungans……<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Ever go on a road trip with Garland?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Believe me, this is not something you really
want to do, ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the way, this just
seemed like a good place to bring this up, right after talking about gas
stations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, Garland
smoked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secondly, he was a pig, what we call in
Spanish, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">un grosero</i>, as in uncouth,
ill mannered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a bad habit of
‘hocking oysters,’ which means he would clear his throat very loudly (and
grossly), working up a great big gob of (what was it we used to say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, yeah, “Great Big Gob of Green Greasy
Gopher Guts”) this truly viscious and viscous phlegm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, he always drove with his window open,
and his left arm out the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once he
had this gift for the road ready (we, of course, sitting in the back seat knew
this was coming, and were already preparing ourselves), he would first turn his
head to his right, and shout, “Duck!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was our signal to do just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then he would turn his head back all the way to his left, and send that
mess of easily-mistaken-for-road-kill-if-it-ever-gets-to-the-road gooey, slimey
phlegm hurtling out his window, most likely to splat on that side of the car
(shudder).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, he would turn his head
back to the right, and say, “Unduck!,” and we would.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Garland’s favorite beer (and, here he
actually showed some class, if not taste) was Miller High Life, which of course
only came in clear glass bottles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seem
to recall that there was a deposit on empty beer bottles in those days (a
nickel for empty milk bottles, three cents for soda pop bottles, and maybe a
penny for beer bottles), but that made no difference to Garland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he drove, he drank (surprise).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he emptied a bottle, his routine was to
fling that bottle, not just simply out his window, but out his window, over the
top of the car, aiming for the right side of the road, as far off the road as
he could get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wasn’t that considerate
of him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His other goal, of course, was
for that glass bottle to shatter loud enough so that we could hear it as we
drove (merrily? Very seldom) along.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">OK, we left off with us living up in the
Rattlesnake Hills, above Prosser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
believe we stayed there in the Rattlesnake Hills long enough for me to get
through second grade, and then moved to another ranch sometime in 3<sup>rd</sup>
grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After getting this far, Mike
remembered some more details, that he has graciously provided in order to set
me straight:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #1f497d; text-indent: 0.5in;">Minor
exception regarding chickens and churning: First had chickens and eggs on the
Rattlesnakes… same with churning butter. Used the butter churn (glass jar with
the wooden paddles) and at mom’s direction, we kids took turns turning the
crank… hour after hour…. Mom later learned that the cream should be close to
room temperature before starting the churn… We had gone from the refrigerator
to the churn and it was a tiring – long process. Speculation is that during our
long effort, the cream had come up to room temperature and then did proceed to
provide butter.</span><span style="color: #1f497d; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Meanwhile, we had yet to move from the
Rattlesnakes, down to the next place on our list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was to an area, way down close to the
Columbia River, near a little wide spot in the road called Roosevelt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where Mike, Pat, Dennis, and I all
went to a three-room school for one school year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a ferry across the river there, to
Arlington, Oregon, which was the nearest place with such refinements as a
restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That ferry was important,
because the second year we were in this area, Mike had to ride that ferry
across the Columbia River every day to attend school in Arlington, Oregon,
because our little school only went so far, and the nearest high school (heck,
maybe it was only the 7<sup>th</sup> grade; what do I know?) was across the
river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, of course the proximity to
Oregon was a big plus for the old man, ‘cause they didn’t tax booze, beer, and
cigarettes as much as Washington did at that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I seem to recall no sales taxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After seeing the map whose link I shared,
Mike has offered these memories of this place/time:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #1f497d;">(4) 19. Ranch
near Roosevelt… Think I found the exact on this one… about 15 miles W and one
mile S… traced Old Hwy 8 and Sundale Rd </span><i>[this was after looking at the aforementioned map]<span style="color: #1f497d;">…</span></i><span style="color: #1f497d;"> there is (was)
[a] substantial orchard called “Sundale” not far down the road and I found a
sharp turn in the road and recall the house located there where dad “finagled” </span><i>[note:
finagled, as in “if you give me some gas, I’ll pay
you………….sometime”………..NOT] </i><span style="color: #1f497d;">some gasoline from
the resident there… He (the neighbor) had one of the old glass top gasoline
pumps where you elevated ten gallons to the top with a pump handle, the glass
top was cylindrical in shape and graduated in one gallon increments, then a
conventional hose handle affair to your fuel tank.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">As Patty recounts:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #c00000; text-indent: 0.5in;">After
that we lived in another country setting and went to a three room school house
that was remarkable.</span><span style="color: #c00000; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="color: #c00000; text-indent: 0.5in;">We all had such a great
time there.</span><span style="color: #c00000; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="color: #c00000; text-indent: 0.5in;">Of course the house wasn’t
much but I do remember churning butter and going down the road to an amazing
apricot orchard where they were the size of peaches and the juice ran down our
arms.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">As I further recall (following her
prompting), at this ranch we had a large side yard that we kids turned into a
great big riparian adventure land.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">We
had rivers running all over the place, fed by the garden hose.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There was a milk cow, that the older boys
were responsible for milking (I was scared to death of that sucker, and she
knew it).</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Chickens, also, and I didn’t
care for trying to take away their eggs, either.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I also remember making butter in a large
glass churn, with wooden paddles.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">And,
there was a falling down shed, between the house and the barn and chicken
house, with the remains of a (I think) 1935 Ford.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I want to say that this was a convertible,
and it was mostly intact.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It would
undoubtedly have made a great project car for someone with the time and
money.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I played in that sucker many
times.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">From this place, I recall the big events
were monthly trips to town, Goldendale, for the grocery shopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This always happened on a Saturday, and part
of the adventure was that mom would take us all to the library, where we each
got our own library card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point,
I went through a series of books for kids, that all had the same basic
cover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was burnt orange in color,
with black lettering, and these were biographies of famous Americans, going
back to Ben Franklin and George Washington, to Andrew Jackson, Davy Crockett,
Daniel Boone, Abraham Lincoln (did you know he was born in a log cabin?),
Ulysess S. Grant, Thomas Edison, and so forth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We learned that everything American was good (and not just because we
had saved the world twice), and everything that was not American was pretty
much bad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">By the time I was in fourth grade, we were
in a town again, and my father was working in another sawmill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where my brother, Dennis, and I had
some of our greatest times.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">But, I also experienced one of my more
traumatic school-related events here, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not long after we got here, in fourth grade, I don’t recall the
teacher’s name, but one day she started in on a verbal rant, saying “John, how
could you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You have lied, and you have
done……..” - this horrible thing, and that horrible thing, and I just could not
believe that she was talking about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It had to do with a paper we had written and handed in, and all I knew
was she had one in her hand, and she was looking at me, and just ranting………I
was terrified, mostly because I had no idea what she was talking about, and did
not know what I could possibly have done, not to mention I had never had anyone
talk to me in such a manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also
scared totally out of my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know
what else to do, so I bolted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jumped
right up, and ran out of that room, out of that school, and all the way home to
my mommy, crying my eyes out…….well, this was one of the few times that she
ever got involved in our schooling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
mother took me back to the school, and to the principal’s office where we
learned that the teacher in question was not even talking to me or about
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was another John in that class
(how could I know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was new), only he
spelled his name Jon, and it was he that she was so upset about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that is when I learned to not put much
trust in teachers (forgive me, Blanca).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Other than that experience, Dennis and I
both had pretty good times in Goldendale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had free run of the town of Goldendale, which was the county seat of
Klickitat County, and had both the Klickitat River and the Klickitat Creek
running along edges of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
a great big old tree just outside the back door, onto which somebody nailed
some boards, to make like a ladder, so we could climb way up into its huge
limbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, the back yard had a large
cleared area, obviously done for a garden, but we turned that into a huge play
area for playing with all our cars and trucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had roads, and gas stations, and all kinds of buildings and
stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember that the name brand,
Structo, figured prominently in the toy trucks we played with (before Tonka got
so big, Structo trucks were the tough trucks).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Old D cell batteries were the gas pumps at our gas station, blocks of
wood served for buildings, a piece of wood was used to ‘grade’ our roads, and
so on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Fairly early on, we did have our one and
only childhood fight, with someone other than each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no recollection of the cause, but
there was a large family who lived just up the street from us – the
Rileys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of those damn Rileys was
another boy, about the same age as Dennis and I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some reason he did not like us, and while
it was Dennis who took most of his verbal abuse, I somehow got involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, he took us both on at once, and beat us
both very quickly and easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That took
a while to live down, and eventually I think we achieved some sort of truce, if
not better, by becoming friends.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We rented the house on West Broadway from
the ‘rich’ old widow, who lived right next door, in a more modern, well
equipped house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was Mrs.
Bridgefarmer, and she also rented rooms in her basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall one of the renters there was a
Chinese man and his son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man was
employed as a cook in one of the local restaurants for a short while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was my first contact with a non-white
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a bit of culture shock was
involved. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Out back of the house, and very close, was
a separate building on the property that was likely old enough to have been a
carriage house at one time, or a stable, but we called it the wood shed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was – as I recall – at least two rooms,
quite old, with upainted, and seriously weathered wood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The floor on one side was just dirt, with the
accumulation of many years of wood chips, and shavings form wood being cut for
burning in either the wood cook stove, or a wood stove for heat, all that we
had in that house. That building was our Cavalry Fort and/or the Sheriff’s
office for whenever we played Cowboys and Indians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Most Christmases were – to say the least –
disappointing times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not much in the way
of gifts for anyone, the Old Man usually was not home as evening came on (he
was likely in a bar, pissing away his paycheck), so the anxiety level always
grew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The family tradition was to open
gifts on Christmas Eve, and we had to wait for him to come home, all the time
worried that when he did, he would be in a bad mood, and that was not
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too many Christmases were ruined
by his lashing out at one and all (but, of course my mother took the brunt of
his drunken anger), and what we had all too often was the classic scene of
crying, frightened kids, and crying, bruised wife and mother.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">However, on at least one Christmas, Santa
did come through for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I desperately
wanted a two-gun holster, with Mattel Fanner 50 pistols, ‘cause they looked
like what Hopalong Cassidy wore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Here’s
what a Google search turns up on these awesome ‘toys:’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.google.com/search?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=&=&q=fanner+50&aq=0&oq=Fanner+50"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">http://www.google.com/search?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=&=&q=fanner+50&aq=0&oq=Fanner+50</span></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, I got them!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even got some
caps to shoot with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow, that was
so cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point Dennis, I think,
got a Red Ryder BB gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, Daisy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, on reflection, I think it was a pump
action, instead of a lever cocking action, so that would likely make it the
cheaper of the two types, I bet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is
a pic of a pump action type BB gun, similar to what I remember:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.pyramydair.com/images/Daisy-No.25-DY-Model-25-Rifle_lg.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.actionwholesaler.info/search-900_Action.html&h=94&w=400&sz=14&tbnid=Tx_PbiklToLm1M:&tbnh=29&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dimages%2Bof%2BDaisy%2Bpump%2Baction%2BBB%2Bgun&zoom=1&q=images+of+Daisy+pump+action+BB+gun&hl=en&usg=__7eE9YDRSs3odc_pHzGzdGZXMJAI=&sa=X&ei=vdgpTZK3JsGB8gb-goj_AQ&ved=0CCEQ9QEwAg"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.pyramydair.com/images/Daisy-No.25-DY-Model-25-Rifle_lg.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.actionwholesaler.info/search-900_Action.html&h=94&w=400&sz=14&tbnid=Tx_PbiklToLm1M:&tbnh=29&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dimages%2Bof%2BDaisy%2Bpump%2Baction%2BBB%2Bgun&zoom=1&q=images+of+Daisy+pump+action+BB+gun&hl=en&usg=__7eE9YDRSs3odc_pHzGzdGZXMJAI=&sa=X&ei=vdgpTZK3JsGB8gb-goj_AQ&ved=0CCEQ9QEwAg</span></a><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We (Dennis and I) also played all up and
down the creek, swimming in pools in hot weather, playing cowboys and Indians,
Army, whatever we saw in the movies on Saturday afternoons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John Wayne was naturally everybody’s hero,
but since he couldn’t possibly make enough movies to satisfy our need for him,
we kids looked forward to Saturday matinees, when we got into the local theatre
for only twenty cents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got a quarter
to spend, so that left a nickel for (usually) lemon drops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those movies included coming attractions (we
called them previews), a news reel (short), at least one cartoon, the feature
movie, and then a second movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
may also have been an episode of one or more serial that everyone looked
forward to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, just about every kid in
town was at that one showing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We also played baseball with a
friction-tape-wrapped ball, and a very old and weathered bat, in nearby
pastures using cow patties for our bases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of our favorite places to play was near the city dump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were some large rocks overlooking the
dump itself, and up in the rocks, we found what we thought were caves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d go through the junk when no one was
around, and find ‘treasures’ that we took up to our cave, and used to decorate,
or furnish the cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also loved to
play in the wrecked cars that were parked on a back lot at the local Ford
dealer (or, maybe it was the Chevrolet dealer).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was the closest I ever expected to come to a newer car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dennis and I also became Boy Scouts in
Goldendale, and attended the meetings in the basement of the Public Library, a
dusty, cluttered area.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Sorry, but since this is again running
long, we’ll take a little break here, and continue the report of the sojourn in
Goldendale in Part IV…….<o:p></o:p></span></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-72025377448528002242021-04-28T08:39:00.003-06:002021-05-06T11:58:03.784-06:00Some more of my memories<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Part II<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(We left off in Rocky Ridge, and this is from Patty):<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">There
we roamed the woods and played in a creek and had wonderful adventures…walked
the train tracks and picked up rock salt to suck on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We bathed on Saturday nights, the baby first
followed by the only girl, and then you boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We slept in the loft where the snow filtered in and we had a baby
squirrel for a pet for a time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">I
think that was where Dennis was bitten by the dog and suffered terrible cuts to
the face and had to have the rabies shots etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I saw him with the flesh hanging and his fear and all the blood and we
were all pretty scared for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thankfully the folks took good care of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Then, my recollection is that we moved to
some sort of company housing in a small lumber town (Eatonville), followed by a
rental house in that same little town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
started First Grade at about this time, and we moved before I finished that
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do remember – vaguely – parts of
First Grade, and how easy I found it to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember that Mike was part of a group of older students who created a
massive snowman (or, was it a snow woman?) on the school grounds that winter
(there used to be a family photo of this).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I vaguely recall that there was a building, like a garage, next to the
house we lived in, and there was a pretty nice cabin cruiser (as, a small boat)
in there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I remember playing in and
on that boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something else
about an abandoned building that had a number of rotten eggs in it, and that is
how I know that odor so peculiar to rotten eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ain’t nothin’ like that nowhere, nohow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Meanwhile, Mike has offered that I may well
have the order of which house we lived in reversed here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He recalls the separate, stand-alone house
first, followed by company housing, second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Patty remembers:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">The
next place I remember was maybe Eatonville, a logging town, actually a company
town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad being an alcoholic never held
a job very long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t take
direction at all well so this was the root of all the moves we made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I myself went to 13 different schools growing
up, thing was though, we all made the adjustments very well and everyone made
terrific grades and made friends wherever we moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just never brought any kids home to play
because we always lived in shacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>[Not
to mention that] The alcoholism was too embarrassing to expose anyone to.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Mike, after looking at the map I referred
everyone to, had this to say about Eatonville:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: #1f497d;">… I recall the other sequence such as free stand shack
followed by company (see tar paper) housing off toward the mill pond… (Wow!!!
Eatonville has an airport??? Shit, airplanes weren’t yet invented!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">In my memory, then our father’s work went
from the saw mill, to a dairy farm, in another rural area, near the small town
of Elma, some distance west, near Grays Harbor, on the coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Patty recalls:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">The
next place was maybe a dairy farm where Dad was a farmer’s helper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had great times playing in the woods and
even built small log cabins out of sapling trees with the farmer’s
permission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life went on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #c00000; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">All I remember from here was playing in and
around woods and fields, in the early spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember May Day and flowers and picking wild flowers for our mother,
while out in the fields.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We played
Indians or something like that, and used these great big ferns as our
spears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would pull them out of the
ground, strip off the leaves, and the shaft that remained made an excellent
spear for throwing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where I also
recall something like unfinished lumber that we stacked to serve as a fort of
sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also remember the Saturday
bathing, in the unheated kitchen, which was the warmest room in the house by
virtue of the wood-burning cook stove that was always there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tub was simply one of those big old round
galvanized things (a tub, doh), placed in the middle of the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom would periodically add hot water, from a
bucket that was placed on the stove full of water for just this purpose, while
the bathing ritual began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, yes, it
was much like Patty described.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t
stay in the Elma area longer than it took for the school year to end, then we
moved from western Washington, to East/Central Washington (near Prosser), where
we moved in with my mother’s sister and her husband, on their little farm (way
too small for all of us, plus the three of them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, our memories take divergent paths, as
Patty remembers a reverse order:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">After that was
the move to the eastern side of the state where we lived on a ranch and had
chickens and I witnessed slaughtering a cow for meat for the freezer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a horse we could ride named Blackie
and once he got scared by a rattlesnake and took off running with me on his
back and no saddle…Ohhhh Boy!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">After that job
failed </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[for dad, that is; she’s
being very considerate here, as we all know full well that the job did not
fail, but Garland undoubtedly did]</i><span style="color: #c00000;"> we did spend
a summer with Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Claire on their small dairy farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My gosh, what they must have gone through
having Mom and Dad and five kids there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were very kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I once went
with them to a Grange Dance on a Saturday night and was highly impressed to see
the social setting that they were involved in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They had a high old time.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Note:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After reading part of what I had written here, Patty says that she
believes the order of stops was indeed Prosser/Aunt & Uncle, first,
Rattlesnakes/ranch, second.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">We stayed there, with Dorothy and Clare
long enough to begin another year of school, and then we moved to a wheat ranch
(up in the Rattlesnake Hills, north of Prosser).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember a ravine, down at the bottom of which
was the barn, where we were allowed to keep a milk cow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were lots of farm cats, whose job it
was to keep the mice under control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Somebody killed a rattlesnake, down near the barn here, once, also.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was at least one saddle horse, and I
recall one Sunday, probably, we were all in the yard, and David was up on the
horse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, he was too small to guide
the horse himself, so I had the reins, and led that horse around the yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I didn’t think of it, and went around
the house, under the clothes lines, leading the horse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I did not realize is that the horse was
much higher than I, and naturally, David was therefore way up there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So far up, in fact, that the clothesline
pretty much swept him right off the horse, which ducked under.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived back at the area where the family
was gathered with an empty horse (little plug there, for a very good book, by
the way:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David Niven’s
semi-autobiographical <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bring On The Empty
Horses</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I also recall the wheat harvest while we
were at this ranch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom cooked for the
harvest crew, which was no mean feat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
got to ride in one of the trucks that ran out to the field to meet the combine,
and into which the wheat (which the combine not only cut, but then separated
from the chaff – nothing biblical implied) was dumped whenever the combine was
full up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I rode with the guy who
drove the truck to the grain elevator, where the truck was weighed, and its
contents were then received and credited to the wheat ranch owner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall that this truck driver, part of the
itinerant crew, was from California, and that these guys traveled a circuit, so
as to serve a number of wheat farmers, spread over a very large area (like,
parts of three states), following the wheat crops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ate the whole kernels (I had teeth then) at
his urging, and found them to be really good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">It was also while we lived here that Dennis
broke his arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t recall how, but I
do vaguely remember that the rest of us kids waited at home while the folks
took him to the hospital to get a cast, and then, he slept downstairs for a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something about someone had
poisoned our dog, and/or some of the many cats about this time, and he could
hear their agonized dying moans or wailing during the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have much more in my recollections of
these events, but maybe he does, if he was willing to share his memories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I know that we also ate a lot of fresh food
then, things that you can’t find today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was sweet corn on the cob that we picked ourselves, from the field
of one of many farmers down in the valley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This, of course, was especially good, with the butter just dripping off
it, lightly salted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were also
great big huge, juicy, dripping red delicious apples (Sunday drives were a part
of the old man’s routine, whenever he had a car) and more than once we went as
far as the area over by Wenatchee, where the best apples in the world still
grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hermiston melons were the
preferred watermelon (from Hermiston, Oregon).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The entire Yakima River Valley was serious agriculture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hops are still raised there (I believe this
is the only place in the U. S. where they are raised), along with just about
anything that you can think of that is good to eat, along with some crap you
might not care for (parsnips).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was
at least one occasion when I recall everyone involved in turning the crank on
an old-fashioned ice cream maker.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Let’s see, our evenings were spent
listening to whatever the old man wanted to hear on the radio – Jack Benny,
Fibber McGee and Molly, Bob Hope, The Shadow, Johnny Dollar, The Green Hornet,
and on Saturday mornings, we kids listened to Sky King, or The Lone Ranger, or
Roy Rogers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also remember daytime
radio featured, besides the old soap operas, shows like Don McNeil’s Breakfast
Club, and Arthur Godfrey (remember the hit song, “I Can See Clearly Now,”
originally by Bob Marley?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, another
version of that song, from Johnny Nash, came out in 1972.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Johnny Nash got his first exposure on the old
Arthur Godfrey radio program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s
some real trivia for ya).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">The first car I remember was a dark green,
four-door 1942 Plymouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems like
the old man was partial to Chrysler products, as this was followed by a
two-door, light blue 1946 Plymouth sedan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, there was a 1952 two-toned, two-door dodge sedan, but that was a
few years in the future, from the time we were living up in the Rattlesnake
Hills.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">For those who never experienced a trip to a
gas station, back when they were called – rightly – Service Stations, here is
what I remember:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car pulls up to the
pumps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Service Station Attendants
always (even for cheap skates like my old man who never had enough money to
fill his tank) first asked, “Fill ‘er up, sir?” and then they “checked under
the hood.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This meant that they made
sure the radiator was full of water, the oil up to the mark, and all belts and
hoses were in good repair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
‘service’ included checking air pressure in the tires, and adding air as
necessary, from the air hose that was part of every Service Station’s ‘Service
Island,’ along with a water hose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was offered even when the response to the Attendant’s question was something
from Garland along the lines, of, “Just give me two dollars worth of
regular.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going back to the 30’s and
40’s, but still existing in the fifties was another thing that no longer
exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On that Service Island, and
between the pumps would be a wire rack, with slots for glass quart-sized
containers that had metal spouts for caps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Most of these were full to the mark with motor oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The attendants filled these glass
jars/bottles from a fifty-five gallon drum of motor oil as needed, constantly
cycling the empties, so that the rack always had plenty of full bottles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This method of selling bulk oil was already
becoming a thing of the past in the fifties, as cans of motor oils began to be
more prevalent, and cans were taking the place of those glass bottles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I do not recall my father ever working on
his car, and as far as I know, most people did not do routine oil changes on
their cars, anyway (just adding a quart here and there, as needed, which means
that every car I ever saw had very black, thick oil in the crankcase).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Understand that we never heard of engine
coolant, other than water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
watching guys do major engine work, by the shade of a tree (thus, the term,
“shade-tree mechanic”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, they
would drain the crankcase, setting the used oil aside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After they finished replacing the camshaft,
or main bearing, or whatever major thing they had to do, they would reassemble
the engine, and pour that same motor oil right back in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any necessary gaskets or seals were created
out of whatever was handy, utilizing gasket paper only if it was available.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Antifreeze was commonly used only in winter
months in those places where freezing was likely to occur, and then, it was
always mixed with water using some formula that dictated so much antifreeze to
so much water, depending on the likely low temperatures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Motor oil was either 30 or 40 or 50 weight,
and either detergent or non-detergent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was no multi-grade/weight oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My personal favorite was the brand sold by Union 76 Stations, called
Royal Triton, which had the most beautiful purple color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, we’ll get back to residences in Part
III.</span><o:p></o:p></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-36181532663629765322021-04-21T10:15:00.002-06:002021-05-06T11:54:41.283-06:00A Memoir of Sorts<p> Some years ago, while we were living in Costa Rica, I found the time to begin writing a sort of personal memoir. I thought I had included the thing here on this Blog, but apparently, I never did. So, here is the beginning:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">A further attempt at compiling a personal/family
history – Part I<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">First, however, The BIG Disclaimer:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably should have included this with the
first draft of this little reminiscence, but better late than never.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are, of course, my recollections, my
musings, and my opinions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I got
into it very deeply, though, I did request input from my siblings because the
early parts of this certainly included them, and they had a big part in me
becoming me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, if it wasn’t for Mike
passing along his old clothes to Dennis, who passed along the ones that were
still serviceable to me, I would have spent most of my childhood wandering
around as naked (and clueless) as the day I was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it was, I was just clueless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, by the way, not many hand-me-downs were
still serviceable after Dennis got through with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That boy was hard on clothes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, while these early parts include that
input from siblings, ultimately, as we move along, you will note (but probably
not long remember) that this becomes more and more, me and me, and, of course,
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sorry for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You want one to be about you, then you go
ahead and write it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, a big
part of my rationale for even starting this little project was to get this
stuff on paper (OK, a hard drive on a PC, & then on a monitor) for our
kids, and their kids, so that they might know a little bit more than we ever
knew about our family.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">(Disclaimer continues……….)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Now, I can name my grandparents (I think),
and most of my cousins and aunts and uncles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, I never knew any of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, I cannot go farther back and tell you who their parents and
grandparents might have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
maternal grandfather was John Kanz, and he reportedly came to the U. S. from
what used to be known as Austria-Hungary, as a young man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My maternal grandmother, Emma Kanz (nee
Petry??) was reportedly born in Wisconsin, and moved west (to the eastern part
of the state of Washington) in a railroad box car with her entire family around
the turn of the last century specifically to homestead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My paternal grandfather was either Ray
Arthur, or Arthur Ray (a possible name change in there somewhere), and all I
know is that he came to Washington from Humboldt County (Eureka),
California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My paternal grandmother was
Grandma Denny (Essie?), and I have no idea what her maiden name was, might have
been Andrews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was Denny because she
and granddad divorced, and Glenn Denny was her second husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could go on, but not much longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If anyone wants a bit more information about
our parents’ generation, let me know, and I’ll see if I can run through the
litany.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">So, now, we move forward to our story…………..(pretty
much the end of the disclaimer).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">But this wasn't it." - Groucho Marx</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I don’t know how this will come out, but I
figure I need to give it a try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
long been accused of being negative, grouchy, mean-spirited, and just generally
not nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact of the matter is more
like this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I detest any and all signs of
dishonesty, wherever I find it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I detest
ignorance that remains uncorrected in the face of all opportunity to be informed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I refuse to suffer a fool gladly (or
otherwise).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, ultimately, I think of
myself as more of a realist than anything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While others may perceive as negative those traits I listed up above, they
are definitely not negative from my perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I have to say that, if all of the above
traits cause me to seem grouchy or mean-spirited, or whatever, I certainly make
no apology, and have no intention of changing my attitudes at this late date.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">And, if the above doesn’t help to dispel
some of the wrong impressions of me, and all of the ‘negatives’ aside, let me
say that I know that I have been truly blessed in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a wife/helpmeet/partner/spouse/better
half who easily exceeds all minimum requirements for her job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has stood by me now for more than 43
years, and continues steadfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has
not only assisted me with the creation and nurturing of four outstanding now
adult children, but nurtured me, and protected me, and shaped me for all of
these years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She continues to be a shining
example for all and sundry, and somehow still has time to be very active in our
community.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">I have been blessed in that I have been
able to pursue the education that I wanted, and was successful in preparing
myself for a career that I wanted, and then was able to work in that career for
more than thirty years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not have
chosen the exact time and place of my retirement, but when reality hit me
upside the head, I was prepared to walk away, and managed it without any
recriminations.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Who knew all those years ago (growing up in
Washington State, at a near poverty level, in what is now known as a
dysfunctional family) that I would end up here in paradise?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I’m not saying we were on welfare,
because welfare as we know it today did not really exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe that there was something that my
father called “rocking chair,” as in, “I never did take that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rocking chair</i>, and I don’t want to start
now,” but I was never real clear on what that was, exactly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that it meant unemployment, but it
seems more logical to conclude that it might have been some sort of disability,
maybe Social Security.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do know that
there was more than one time when we had things like canned chicken, bags of
flour, maybe butter, and some other staples, in nondescript packaging (what we
have learned to call generic) to eat, because dad was out of work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">You see, my father was an old school high
school drop-out, if you know what I mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He never really talked about much of anything (I mean that literally,
figuratively, and any other way) with me, but I think he was deeply ashamed of
never having finished high school (he reportedly got as far as the 11<sup>th</sup>
grade).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He certainly never had much
education beyond that level, although I think he attended some sort of business
school later in his life, in connection with a disability (in my recollection,
he lost the vision in one eye sometime in the 1950’s; however, as you will see
from my younger brother, David’s recollection, this may have occurred earlier
than that).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then went on to hold a
number of jobs as a bookkeeper after that training, after many years of working
on farms, wheat ranches, and in lumber mills.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">My father was old school in other ways,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For instance, my mother never
learned to drive (horrors!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A woman
driving?), and she was not expected to ever do anything outside the home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a housewife, and that was all she was
expected to be, ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She certainly
never got involved in anything like PTA, or being a den mother, or anything
else that went on outside the home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And,
she seemed to accept that role, to the point that I (for one) certainly thought
that she considered herself to be something of a martyr in later life (OK, not
so much her later life; I think she was a martyr in her 40’s).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thing is, my parents were not stupid, nor
were they totally ignorant, or even uneducated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were articulate, both did crosswords – well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were nuts about pinochle (and, I don’t think
that is a game for idiots), and I think they were generally up with current
events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, they never had a social
life that did not involve drinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I never saw them go out to a
movie, or anything, but occasionally they would go out to eat (as long as it
was in a restaurant that had a bar).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">But, something happened to them, long
before I was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have never really
known what it was, or when it happened, but they were flawed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All I know is that all I heard while growing up was “The Depression
was………..”, “The Depression did……….”, “The Depression led to ………..”, “The
Depression meant…………”, over and over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The depression, the depression, the depression, the
ever-lovin’-never-ending-de-frickin’-pression!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How they suffered during the Depression!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How they struggled during the Depression!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How bad everything was during the
Depression!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It affected my parents (he
was born in 1917 & she in 1918) so profoundly, that I often think today, it
left no room in their lives for anything else – and, that includes World War II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, maybe that is where the problem
arose; with WWII.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that my father
avoided military service during the War because he had at least one child born
prior to the War, and I suspect that single fact may have weighed heavily on
both of them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">David, my youngest brother, has provided this
recollection:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">About the old man’s eye. The version I always heard
went like this…….. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">Me: How did Dad lose his eye? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">Mom: He
lost it in a sawmill accident. A saw blade caught a knot and threw it
across the sawmill and it hit him in the eye. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">Me: Why didn’t he ever serve in the Army? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">Mom: Well, since he had lost his eye he was
declared 4F.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">Me: So, he lost it before the war?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">Mom: Yes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1f497d;">No matter how
many times I asked that is the version I always got. The story about him
having kids to keep getting deferred just seemed to have a life of its
own. Especially [the part] about them getting pregnant with me when Korea
came along. By then it was just a reflex action. You know, Dad read
the paper and see[s] the approaching conflict and say[s] to Mom that it
was time to get pregnant again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">OK, regarding what I said up above about
WWII weighing so heavily on the folks, before David’s report:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that struck you as a strange
statement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do I know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing, really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, here is what I also remember growing
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My recollection of everything in the
world during the fifties especially, was that it seemed as if the single [most]
defining event in the history of the world was indeed WWII (more important than
the Depression).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of my friends
during childhood had fathers who had served overseas, and it seemed that just
about everyone I knew had lost uncles or other relatives in the War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I remember hearing at home about the War
was how my old man had worked for the Navy Department at the beginning of the
War, in Bremerton, Washington, and that they moved to Tacoma during the War,
and I’m not sure what he did after that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think he may have continued working with either the War Department, or
the Navy Department until the end of the War, but I’m not sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seem to remember hearing once that he was
ready to enter the Army at War’s end, but was saved by the fact that the War
did indeed end.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">What I also know is that my father (who
made a career out of being an alcoholic – the only career at which he ever
succeeded) never held any single job more than a year or two, and that my life
was a series of moves from one place to another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I counted up when I was eighteen, and could
name 19 different places of residence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My sister, Patricia Roberts, says that <span style="color: #c00000;">“</span></span><span style="color: #c00000;">My earliest memories were in the Salishan projects, those
meager houses provided after the war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>From there we were in Elk Plain outside of Tacoma.</span>*<span style="color: #c00000;">”</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">My earliest recollection, from the time I
was about four years of age, is that we lived in a rural setting in a house
that was always referred to as “The Burned Down Place.” (Or, was it <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">house</b>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Patty does recall this as the burned down <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">house</b>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe my father
worked at a lumber mill at that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Patty remembers more details regarding this stop along the road, as she
recounts:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .4in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.4in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">I remember
going to school on a school bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
lived down the road from Grandma Kanz who was working as housekeeper for four
old geezers who raised turkeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before
that I can remember Grandma Kanz living in a neat small house in Tacoma and the
privilege of visiting her and getting an overnight stay as a very small
child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a great garden and once I
ate too many fresh peas from the pods and have not liked peas to this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was talk during my stay of the
depression and feeding the hobos on her back steps in Waitsburg and when we
heard the train whistles during the night I began seeing shadows in every
corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She made a ritual of locking
doors and windows and propped a chair under the back door handle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .4in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.4in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .4in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.4in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">The burned
down house wasn’t much of a place but we kids slept upstairs and had warmed
bricks wrapped in flannel for our feet because there was no heat up there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad would stand at the bottom of the stairs
and tell us to settle down…”don’t make me come up there”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were always giggling and reading comic
books under the covers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also the stories
of the outhouse<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and the snake spit in
the grass outside the door which we usually kept open and shared since it was a
double seater.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .4in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.4in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .4in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.4in;"><span style="color: #c00000;">Mom took us
for walks over to visit Grandma, and the old guys and pointed out the
wildflowers [along the way].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>[Patty
remembered, and I do, too, that] she always read to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were not unhappy but [then] came the
fateful day when I got off the school bus to see the house on fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything burned except [the] Xmas presents [that
they had already bought] and stored in a [separate] shed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom was pregnant with David [at this time] and
we had to move into [a] cabin in the woods [a few miles up the road].<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .4in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.4in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">All I really remember about The Burned Down
House is that the view of Mount Rainier from the outhouse was truly beautiful,
and that during the blizzard of 1951, I was terrified to go out to the outhouse
for days because the snow was drifted over my head, and the path that had been
cleared was more like a tunnel through the snow, than a path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also recall playing like “Louie Yeager,” an
old man known to the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a
wooden leg, so walked with a marked limp, and he always wore a hat, so I would
limp up and down the lane, being him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Meanwhile, some input has arrived from he
who should have more to offer to this collection than anyone else, big bro
Mike, who recalls:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The
same geezers who raised turkeys were the proprietors of the saw mill where dad
worked. The mill employed a wood fired boiler, generating steam to power
the equipment.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Rather fascinating to
watch.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">As a child, WOW, it seemed such
marvelous equipment – now appears to be more contraption… During this time, we
had moved from the Salishan projects to “the burned down house”. Indeed, this
“burned down house” was a two story palace with running water and a path.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">That’s right, a path (all the way to the
out-house).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">[Mike does recall this time
frame as when dad lost his eye…] Your first impression was correct in the early
50’s, well after WW2.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Also, Korea was
heating up and the folks had so many freakin kids… The running water quit
(don’t recall why) and we spent several months hoisting a bucket from the well
up until the house burned.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Then </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; text-indent: 0.5in;">[came]</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> the wonderful accommodations
that I recall as “Rocky Ridge”.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This
was, indeed, the one bedroom cabin with an attic for four of us kids.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Some plus – a hand pump in the kitchen to get
water – some minus – still had the path with a single holer {Patty’s
recollection of the “double seater???</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">No… as I recall, this was called a double or 2 holer} (but if you left
the door open…. You were able to view Mt. Rainer).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">To be clear… I recall the burned down house
with a two holer and Rocky Ridge with a one holer…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Mike then pointed out to me that my wording
up above, when talking about the importance of certain historical events only
served to confuse folks, leading some to think that maybe I (in my dotage, as
it were) have put the events of WWII before those of The Great Depression,
chronologically speaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I was
trying to express was that it seemed to me as if the entire world – in the
fifties – placed more significance on the events of that war than they did on
the significance, or importance of the events of The Great Depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that same time, it appeared to me that our
parents had turned this around, and that they showed that The Great Depression
had made a bigger difference in their lives than did the War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mike expresses it much better than I,
however, as you can see:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Now
I must lift an item from your dissertation that I found confusing… <span style="color: red; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">in the history of the world was
indeed WWII (before the Depression). </span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"> </span>As
I recall, WW2 followed the great depression… but living with your folks, I felt
the depression followed the family so many years… and years… and years.<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Next, I remember a place called Rocky
Ridge, really just a mountain cabin, with an attic/loft, where all four kids
slept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David was born right after we
moved to this cabin, and I do recall the four of us being introduced to the new
brat, all bundled up in the bed with mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I believe we stayed there for a matter of months, only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember we had a truly awesome red (steel,
maybe made by Murray, but I don’t remember) coaster wagon that was like the
main ‘toy’ for all of us kids, and that this cabin was located back from the
main highway, with a little creek running between us and the highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked but could not find an image of this
exact wagon, but all one can find on the ‘net is shots of the famous Radio
Flyer wagons, and quite frankly, Radio Flyer could not hold a candle to this
sucker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While this one was red, it was a
deeper, richer red, with white or silver trim, and lettering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The front end was oval, and elevated in
relation to the sides and the back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
back was squared off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wheels were a
bit fatter, and therefore more seriously heavy duty than any little old whussy
Radio Flyer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The front handle was curved,
and bent back over the front end, which made it very easy for a speed happy kid
to sit in the wagon and steer while coasting down hills and over cliffs (that’s
where it really hit the high speeds, you know; over cliffs).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">In back of the cabin itself, some distance
up through the woods, was the old highway, which was a long curving hill that
was pretty steep (while I may not have pinpointed this place exactly on the map
I sent along, the lay out you see on that map is pretty close to what I
remember this place having).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would
pile into the wagon, and coast down that hill, going like the Devil was after
our collective asses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also spent a
lot of time in the creek, looking for crawdads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again, Patty’s recollection is more thorough than mine:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(but, that will have to wait until the next part;
this sucker is getting long).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">*Regarding Salishan, I went ahead and
looked it up, and learned that this was a very large housing development that
was put up specifically to house Government employees and their families during
WWII.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It later devolved into low income
housing, and the area is now being redeveloped into more main stream housing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-69675394010786120392020-07-26T11:49:00.004-06:002020-07-26T11:49:59.291-06:00The Dumbing of America Did Not Take Long.Here's the thing. When I was growing up, a long, long time ago, we Americans were very proud of the fact that we led the world in just about everything. We had the brightest and best of just about everything creative. Writers, Poets, Movie Makers, Inventors, Manufacturers, Scientists, Researchers, Athletes, Political Leaders, Educators, and on and on. We were clearly the most powerful nation on the face of this planet. We were looked up to, we were the example, we were liked and admired.<br />
<br />
If you accept all of that, then think about this. We did all of that, plus we had saved the world's ass in two world wars. And, we did it with an education system that was not all that complicated. We held the belief that all children were entitled to receive a certain level of education, equally, and we admired college graduates, and educated people in general. Does anyone disagree with that?<br />
<br />
Oh, and we went to the moon.<br />
<br />
So, please, someone tell me this: If we did indeed achieve all of the above, and more, who decided, and when did they decide, and (most important of all) why did they decide that our system of education needed to be changed in any way?<br />
<br />
What changed? Why did the changes that were instituted cause us to lose respect for education and for educated people? When, and how did we create so many people who lack common sense, and the ability to think for themselves? And, why has the cost of a college education risen so high, while wages have stayed so low?<br />
<br />
Because, you see, for me it sure looks like we no longer lead the world in much of anything except stupid. We lack respect for intelligence and education. We elected (with a little help from his friends) the world's absolute worst human being. We have allowed him and his ilk to turn events and developments which seriously threaten the future of the entire planet into political issues. And, now, our education system, which at present is not really being used, has totally failed us. Or, would it be more accurate to say that we have failed our education system?jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-4945331896710988222020-02-19T09:09:00.001-06:002020-10-18T07:15:29.140-06:00If I Were King Redux<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background: white; color: black; font-size: 10pt;">I first made a list like this in June of 2018. This is pretty much the same, with a very few changes. Do you have more ideas? [These are] My
ideas of some things we need to change:</span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Dump the Patriot Act<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Dump Citizens United<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Restore the Fairness
Doctrine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Make it illegal once again for
attorneys to advertise direct to the public.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Make it illegal once again for
pharmaceutical companies to advertise prescription medications direct to the
public.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Strictly and stringently
regulate the health care industry, beginning with making it illegal for health
care entities to profit from the delivery of health care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Institute term limits on
members of Congress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">End the war on drugs,
and free all those presently incarcerated for non-violent drug related crimes, expunging their records.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Restore the educational
system to something designed to actually educate our children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Find a way to redistrict
all states so as to allow for equal representation in both the Senate and the
House of Representatives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Get the money out of
politics completely, while outlawing all political lobbying, beyond that of a
single constituent lobbying his/her elected representative for something
specific to his/her district.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Ban all Gunz!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Cut the Defense
Department's budget by at least 75%.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">End foreign aid other
than in times of natural disaster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Stop the sale of all
arms and other weapons of war to all foreign entities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Provide health care to
all citizens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Encourage participation
in unions at all levels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">18.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Establish a fair minimum
wage, above a bare subsistence level<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">19.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">Set a cap on CEO
salaries, based on a small percentage higher than the average worker wage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">20.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;">End all corporate
welfare, while ensuring that corporations pay their fair share of taxes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-63612286187490779822019-12-20T09:58:00.001-06:002019-12-20T09:58:14.726-06:00Have we finally elected nothing but "Hollow Men?"I read a lot of Science Fiction way back in my teen years, up into my adult years. A good bit of what I read dealt with possible scenarios for the "End Of The World As We Know It." The more horrible stories dealt with nuclear holocaust, but some of the more grisly, and indeed more dark speculation found in the many stories did deal with - essentially - overpopulation, and both the affects and the effects this might have on this once beautiful planet.<br />
<br />
And, of course, books like "Brave New World" and "1984" also presented less than bright futures for mankind.<br />
<br />
Being basically an optimist, though, I usually dismissed the ideas from most of this genre in favor of the theme of man finally leaving planet earth, colonizing the known solar system, and then, moving outward to conquer the universe. I was convinced, especially after we put men on the moon in 1969, that this was the more likely future for humankind.<br />
<br />
Now, I am an old man, and I look at the world around me, and it sure looks like 1969 was our high point, and we have done nothing since then. We are mired in wars all over the world, the major products of the once mighty U. S. A. are weapons of war, and we have even exported war itself, as we have Americans actively engaged in combat situations in too many places around the world today.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, it took a 14 year old girl, with Asperger's Syndrome, to bring to the attention of most of the world the reality that we are rapidly destroying our world! Our over reliance on fossil fuels has - and continues to have - a most deleterious effect on our environment. We were warned about this many years ago, and all attempts to do something positive about this have been squelched by big business.<br />
<br />
Our nation, once a leader in efforts to save the planet, has opted out of all of those efforts under the current, corrupt administration. Somehow, Congress has become powerless to do anything at all, and deliberately evidences no sign of any effort to help the disastrous situation. Well, maybe that is not completely accurate. The House of Representatives shows a willingness to help, but all legislation that might be helpful to the people of the country is blocked by a truly horrid toad of a man in the Senate.<br />
<br />
And, this brings us to my question: Have we finally elected nothing but "Hollow Men?"<br />
Yes, that is a reference to a once famous poem by one T. S. Eliot. And, yes, I think these horrible lifelong politicians, who have held their various offices for far too long, are literally dead inside. They have no heart. They have no compassion. They have no interest in preserving this world for future generations. Their only God appears to be money, and they devote their strongest resources to achieving more and more of it, at the expense of their constituents. And, finally, due to their overall neglect, their utter failure to do their jobs, indeed to their greed, we are facing a global crisis the likes of which has never been more than imagined. So, that means, that the below quoted ending from that T. S. Eliot poem may well be the final truth:<br />
<br />
<i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-family: "SF Pro Display", sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">This is the way the world ends<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />This is the way the world ends<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />This is the way the world ends<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Not with a bang but a whimper</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "sf pro display" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "sf pro display" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "sf pro display", sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">(T. S. Eliot/"The Hollow Men" 1925)</span>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-62157897471428788942019-12-17T15:31:00.000-06:002019-12-17T15:31:16.337-06:00Here's part of my Two Cents worth.After all these years of GOP obstructionism (remember, they met as a group and decided to oppose everything that came from our duly elected President, Mr. Obama, way back at his first inauguration), including Moscow Mitch's causing constipation of the Senate (wherein he has flat ignored almost all of the legislation passed by the House of Representatives), I am not optimistic about the chances of Impeachment succeeding at this time.<br />
<br />
That said, however, I still feel very strongly that this is the right move, if for no other reason than to send the clear message to them, and to the American people, that we still have some politicians in this nation who are willing to put our best interests ahead of their political party's interests.<br />
<br />
It is very unfortunate that voter apathy has led to this sorry pass, allowing the GOP to effectively control (which in their case always means obstruction of anything that might benefit normal people) the entire government of this once free nation.<br />
<br />
Somehow, we must find ways to persuade more people to register and to actually vote, at every level, across the nation. We must stop voting for republicans, and start voting for people who offer hope for all of us, instead of the very rich, who literally own most politicians today.<br />
<br />
I could go on, but let's leave it here for now. Whoever you are. Wherever you are. Please register and vote!jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-14896522526960538492019-12-07T12:46:00.002-06:002019-12-07T12:46:59.445-06:00<br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Clink%20href='https://actionnetwork.org/css/style-embed-v3.css'%20rel='stylesheet'%20type='text/css'%20/%3E%3Cscript%20src='https://actionnetwork.org/widgets/v3/petition/tell-your-senator-vote-no-on-vandyke?format=js&source=widget&referrer=[object%20Object]%27%3E%3C/script%3E%3Cdiv%20id=%27can-petition-area-tell-your-senator-vote-no-on-vandyke%27%20style=%27width:%20100%%27%3E%3C!--%20this%20div%20is%20the%20target%20for%20our%20HTML%20insertion%20--%3E%3C/div%3E">Tell your senator to vote no on VanDyke</a>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-5735928012535523252019-11-05T09:51:00.003-06:002019-12-24T09:48:30.804-06:00I Ain't Gonna Settle No More!All my life, from the first car I ever bought, I have settled for one car over others, more times than I can recall. I would get the idea that I wanted to buy a car, I would have one particular brand or model in mind, but then, when I got to the car sales places (lots, dealers, private individuals; made no difference), I would too often end up buying something different because of many factors. The most common reason, however, had to do with the fact that I would go to a sales place after looking at what that place advertised, and find out that the car I was coming to see had already been sold.<br />
<br />
In mid-1965, when I bought my very first car - and, don't get me wrong! I loved that car! - that beautiful 1954 Ford Crestline Skyliner, was not actually my first choice. I was referred to a private party who had two cars for sale. One of the two cars was a 1952 Cadillac Club Coupe Deville, two door hardtop, and it was very nice. That was the one I wanted, but it cost $150.00, and I could only afford $125.00, which was conveniently the cost of my Ford. I settled, that time because I couldn't afford $25.00.<br />
<br />
And, over the years, I have settled for other, second or third, or even later, choices because of (usually) fast talking salesmen, and other reasons.<br />
<br />
I'm car shopping again, and I have some observations about the process, and about the business of selling used cars.<br />
<br />
First of all, remember that I am old, and the way we used to shop for a car was different than today. I used to get the Sunday paper, and go through all the large ads placed by the various car dealers. I also remember going through the daily papers' want ads, because that was a thing.<br />
<br />
I don't know about you, but I no longer subscribe to or even purchase any newspaper, and I don't even know if they still run ads for either personal or business sales of cars.<br />
<br />
So, what I do today is visit the many sites online, and look at Craigslist and even Facebook Marketplace (which is pretty shitty, actually). One thing I have noticed that has not changed about the old days as compared to today is this: Dealerships still have a tendency to advertise specific automobiles for sale when in fact they do not have said automobile on their lot. Now, I don't know if this is because they really do sell them that quickly, or if it is because they still believe that they can sell anything to anybody, so they put ads to pique your interest, and try to entice you to go to their location just because they are sure they can get you to buy something else.<br />
<br />
Personally, I don't have time for this sort of thing. Currently there is one listing that has been consistently running on Cars.com, Cargurus.com, autotrader.com, Carfax.com, Craigslist, and Facebook Marketplace for at least two weeks. I went to the dealership in question (Mission Chevrolet, on Zaragoza, in El Paso) last week, and was told that the car had already been sold. Yet their ad is still up on all of these locations! As of this morning, 11/5/2019:<br />
https://www.facebook.com/marketplace/item/428536504730494/<br />
<br />
<br />
Worse, on the web sites that are specific to car sales, even though they usually offer ways to inquire about specific listings, I find that few dealerships ever respond to those inquiries. They only way to find out if the car listed is actually there and for sale is to call and waste my time with a sales person, who too often claims that they do not have any information at hand, and who then tries to entice me into going to their lot.<br />
<br />
I don't want to waste my time with cars that do not match what I want. I settled for 'something else' too many times in my car buying life. Now, I want what I want, and if you don't have it, don't advertise it!jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-26466619764430016832019-07-27T09:34:00.001-06:002019-07-27T09:34:26.574-06:00Pay Per View PlusHow is one to obtain a good selection of television broadcasts from which to choose? I mean, we still have over the air (OTA) channels, which are very close to what we had way back in the 1950's, but with a lot more available today than was out there back then. As a matter of fact, where before we had, say, channel 4, we now have 4.1, 4.2, and 4.3, all with different programming, and all virtually free.<br />
<br />
We also have cable and satellite providers, who offer many more channels, most of which hold little or no interest for most people. Way back when satellite television first became popular customers could pick and choose what satellite channels they wanted to receive, called a Cafeteria Plan. That excellent idea did not last very long, once the providers figured out that they could force people to pay for garbage in order to receive quality.<br />
<br />
One reason for the growth of cable and satellite television has to do with the fact that television signals are transmitted by a system that requires a clear line of sight between the transmitter's antenna, and the receiver's antenna. Interestingly, with the advent of digital signals, that clear line of sight can be obstructed in high wind conditions. Yes, even dust and moving tree branches can block your signal! The farther from the transmitter you live, the worse your signal will be. So, the growth was due to more than the fact that you can get a shit ton of channels with cable or satellite.<br />
<br />
People who live far from the transmitters' antennae, like me, need to have a rooftop antenna, with a pretty high mast in order to receive their local channels. I happen to be located about 35 miles, as the crow flies, from our local antennae, up on the Franklin Mountains. So, even though on a clear day I get a lot of stations, with a great image, the slightest weather condition causes my signal to instantly drop, and I have to get up and adjust the indoor antenna, just like when I was a kid! Unfortunately, my research tells me that I would still be subject to loss of signal with weather changes even if I had a 30 foot antenna!<br />
<br />
So, I have been looking around for ways to get just the channels that I might watch, which pretty much means that I know I could exist just fine with only those local channels. I must confess that I am thinking in terms of the upcoming football season, and the fact that I would like to watch college and professional games. So, what is one to do?<br />
<br />
In addition to the cable and satellite packages that are offered for a hefty chunk of change, there are now several streaming services available, and most of them advertise a lower price than cable or satellite. Unfortunately, they do not offer local channels' live stream.<br />
<br />
Now, we come to my greatest frustration. The best price out there, for me, appears to be a plan offered by Spectrum (used to be Time Warner, now sucked up by the giant monopoly that is AT&T) that provides only ten cable channels of your choice (the plan is called TV Choice, coincidentally), plus your local channels. It is advertised at only $24.99 per month, which is not great, but I might be able to handle it. However, when I went online to seek more information, I learned that this price does not include my local channels!<br />
<br />
No, if I want them I have to pay an additional five dollars per month, bringing my total up to at least $29.99. When I asked why this additional charge for OTA signals, I was told that this is required by those local stations! Now, consider this. The cable provider is extending the service area for these local television stations, which already make money from their local advertisers, right? But, in their greed, the local TV stations want more! They want me to pay them to watch what they are supposed to be offering for no cost! How is this fair? How is this good business?<br />
<br />
I am still having trouble understanding something about this, however. I am sure that the precedent was set some time ago, but it is confusing to me to consider that a local broadcast station can demand payment from a cable or satellite or streaming provider for extending the range of their broadcasts! Wouldn't that be a good selling point for their advertising? "We can offer X number of local viewers, which is enhanced by X number of additional local and nearby viewers who are watching us on cable or satellite or streaming device."<br />
<br />
Am I wrong? Ultimately, for me, I suspect I will go with something like this TV Choice, but I will go reluctantly. I'm thinking that perhaps one of my cable type channels could be the NFL Network, and another could be ESPN (as much as I hate them), and that way I could receive more stable options for live football action.jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-52049114379130300722019-06-26T11:44:00.001-06:002019-06-26T11:44:49.483-06:00And The Horse You Rode In OnIf, at this point in time, you still cling to your blind, uninformed, ignorant and aimless support of that man in the white house, I got no time for you. I got no sympathy for you. I got nothing for you.<br />
<br />
Nothing about these two plus years has been normal. Nothing about this administration is acceptable. Nothing from him and his minions has been good for the average American citizen.<br />
<br />
The whole world hates us, through him. We no longer can be considered a world leader in much of anything but hate, fear mongering, the making of war, and greed. We have allowed the few rich to own everything we once held dear. They have increased the speed of their efforts to destroy everything good in the world, as we watch Global Climate Change worsen and bring new horrors nearly every day.<br />
<br />
We see a manufactured crisis on our Southern Border that has our own government agencies and many of our fellow citizens acting just like the people of Germany did with Hitler and his Nazis, and we do nothing!<br />
<br />
We are responsible for any mess in Latin America that is causing people from that part of this continent to seek a better life here, even though our lives are not as good as they once were. MAGA, my ass! We <i>were</i> great once upon a time. We are <i>not </i>great at this time. Not even good. We are a boil on the ass of the world, and we are all complicit!<br />
<br />
I am sick and tired of it, and I have no wish to engage with any more of the myriad of lame excuses you might use to justify what you and he are doing. Stop. Stop now.jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-84610460025142474612019-06-17T13:06:00.002-06:002019-06-19T16:20:44.297-06:00That pesky First Amendment to the Constitution.I believe that there is one thing pro-lifers just don't get. No matter how much reality smacks them upside the head, they still don't get it. I have actually talked to at least one who <i>still</i> supports donnie because he has said things that they interpret as being supportive of their cause.<br />
<br />
The thing they do not understand is that their stance, being based on mostly religious reasons has no place in politics or government. They do not understand that they have no right to demand, or request that laws be passed to support their religious fervor.<br />
<br />
What they most significantly do not understand is that, despite the many years of GOP politicians always saying things that they believe means those politicians will work to overturn Roe v. Wade, those politicians do not now, nor have they ever intended to lift one finger to change reality. The politicians know that there is no place in law for a ban on abortion, or for controls over access to female healthcare.<br />
<br />
All these politicians want is to get elected so that they can jump on the money train, and become millionaires like the rest of Congress. They don't care about you or me. They just want the money.<br />
<br />
Even after taking office, like that son of a bitch who is in the white house now, they will say things that suggest support, yet continue to do nothing that will change anything in this area. Partly because they know that these people believe their lies, and somehow think that laws are changing, when in fact they are not! And, you pro-lifers will keep on voting for these same liars, and nothing changes!<br />
<br />
It is just like the ERA. Remember that? It was a no-brainer, right? But, after all these years, only 35 of the necessary 38 states have ratified it. (You can find out which states have failed to ratify it here:<br />
<a href="https://www.equalrightsamendment.org/era-ratification-map">https://www.equalrightsamendment.org/era-ratification-map</a> )<br />
<br />
You think that overturning Roe v. Wade is easy? Believe me, if not enough states support true equal rights, then not enough will support your minority view. And, that is the bottom line. Your religious belief does not give you the right to force others to follow it! That's not what the Constitution says! Never did. Never will. Y'all need to learn and remember that freedom of religion also means freedom <i>from</i> religion. And, especially remember that not everyone in the country is either Catholic or any other kind of religion that shares your belief. For that matter, why do you suppose the majority of the people on this planet are <i>still</i> not Catholic, or even Christian?!<br />
<br />
And, finally, this is what that darn First Amendment to the U. S. Constitution actually says: "<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">religion</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">freedom</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."</span>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-55865192596242545602019-02-16T15:55:00.000-06:002019-02-16T15:55:34.065-06:00Some serious thought about our present Border Situation.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">This is an email that I received today from our Border Spokesman, former Congressman, and recent candidate for Senate, Beto O'Rourke:</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">The President came to El Paso this
week. He promised a wall and repeated his lies about the dangers that
immigrants pose. With El Paso as the backdrop, he claimed that this city of
immigrants was dangerous before a border fence was built here in 2008.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Beyond refuting his comments about
border communities like ours (<a href="https://act.betoorourke.com/go/16817?t=1&akid=24928%2E729476%2EYYmC49">El
Paso was one of the safest communities in the United States <em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">before</span></em> the fence was built here</a>), about walls saving
lives (in fact, <a href="https://act.betoorourke.com/go/16818?t=2&akid=24928%2E729476%2EYYmC49" target="_blank">walls push desperate families to cross in ever more hostile
terrain, ensuring greater suffering and death</a>), and about immigrants
(who <a href="https://act.betoorourke.com/go/16819?t=3&akid=24928%2E729476%2EYYmC49">commit
crimes at a lower rate than those Americans born here</a>), it’s worth
thinking about how we got to this place. How it came to be that 11 million
undocumented immigrants call America home, how we came to militarize our
border, how we arrived at such a disconnect between our ideals, our values,
the reality of our lives — and the policies and political rhetoric that
govern immigration and border security.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><img border="0" id="_x0000_i1025" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/s3-beto/images/editor-2019-02-09.jpg" /><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.0pt; line-height: 140%;">El
Paso Times, 2003 </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">I’ve come to the conclusion that the
challenges we face are largely of our own design — a function of the
unintended consequences of immigration policy and the rhetoric we’ve used to
describe immigrants and the border. At almost every step of modern immigration
policy and immigration politics, we have exacerbated underlying problems and
made things worse. Sometimes with the best of intentions, sometimes with the
most cynical exploitation of nativism and fear. Much of the history of
immigration policy (and the source for the graphs that I’m using) is
powerfully summarized in a report entitled “<a href="https://act.betoorourke.com/go/16820?t=4&akid=24928%2E729476%2EYYmC49">Unintended
Consequences of U.S. Immigration Policy: Explaining the Post-1965 Surge from
Latin America</a>” by Douglas S Massey and Karen A. Pren.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">In 1965, the U.S. ended the bracero
farmworker program in part because of the substandard wages and conditions in
which these Mexican workers labored. And yet, after decades of employing this
labor, with our economy dependent on the laborers and the laborers dependent
on access to the U.S. job market, the system of low-cost Mexican labor didn’t
go away. Many of the same Mexican nationals returned to the U.S., returned to
the same back-breaking jobs, only now they were undocumented. Ironically,
despite the intent of the 1965 law ending the program, they enjoyed fewer
protections and wage guarantees in the shadows as they continued to play a
fundamental role in our economy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 140%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><img border="0" id="_x0000_i1026" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/s3-beto/images/editor-2019-02-09-2.jpg" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">As this same population converted from
being documented to undocumented a wave of scary metaphors was employed to
gin up anxiety and paranoia and political will to employ ever more repressive
policies to deter their entry. It was good for politicians and newspapers,
terrible for immigrants and immigration policy. Thus began the “Latino
threat” narrative. As Massey and Pren write:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="border-left: solid #666666 1.5pt; border: none; margin-left: 6.0pt; margin-right: 0in; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 0in 12.0pt;">
<div style="border: none; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 140%; mso-border-left-alt: solid #666666 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 0in 12.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">“The
most common negative framing depicted immigration as a “crisis” for the
nation. Initially marine metaphors were used to dramatize the crisis, with
Latino immigration being labeled a “rising tide” or a “tidal wave” that was
poised to “inundate” the United States and “drown” its culture while
“flooding” American society with unwanted foreigners (Santa Ana 2002). Over
time, marine metaphors increasingly gave way to martial imagery, with illegal
immigration being depicted as an “invasion” in which “outgunned” Border
Patrol agents sought to “hold the line” in a vain attempt to “defend” the
border against “attacks” from “alien invaders” who launched “banzai charges”
to overwhelm American defenses (Nevins 2001; Chavez 2008).”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">The fear stoked by politicians produced
the intended paranoia and political constituency demanding ever tougher
immigration measures. The result of this was not to stop undocumented
immigration. Instead it caused the number of undocumented immigrants in the
United States to grow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Here’s why: as we made it harder for
people to cross into the United States, we made it less likely that once here
they would attempt to go back to their home country. Fearing an increasingly
militarized border, circular patterns of migration became linear, with
immigrants choosing to remain in the U.S., many of them ultimately joined by
family members from their home country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">This government-created condition
continued to feed on itself:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="border-left: solid #666666 1.5pt; border: none; margin-left: 6.0pt; margin-right: 0in; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 0in 12.0pt;">
<div style="border: none; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 140%; mso-border-left-alt: solid #666666 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 0in 12.0pt; padding: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">The
“sustained, accelerating accumulation of anti-immigrant legislation and
enforcement operations produced a massive increase in border apprehensions
after the late 1970s, when the underlying flow of migrants had actually
leveled off. For any given number of undocumented entry attempts, more
restrictive legislation and more stringent enforcement operations generate
more apprehensions, which politicians and bureaucrats can then use to inflame
public opinion, which leads to more conservatism and voter demands for even
stricter laws and more enforcement operations, which generates more
apprehensions, thus bringing the process full circle. In short, the rise of
illegal migration, its framing as a threat to the nation, and the resulting
conservative reaction set off a self-feeding chain reaction of enforcement
that generated more apprehensions even though the flow of undocumented
migrants had stabilized in the late 1970s and actually dropped during the
late 1980s and early 1990s.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">This would only get worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 140%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><img border="0" id="_x0000_i1027" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/s3-beto/images/editor-2019-02-09-3.jpg" /><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.0pt; line-height: 140%;">El
Paso Herald Post 1981 — source Patrick Timmons</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">After terror attacks in the 1990s and
in 2001, the Mexican immigrant was a ready scapegoat for politicians, and the
intensity and brutality of enforcement and deterrence measures increased. In
the face of terrorism that originated in Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia, the
United States chose to conflate the war on terror with immigration from
Mexico and Latin America.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">With the passage of the Patriot Act in
2001 the number of deportations skyrocketed, with nearly 400,000 sent back to
their country of origin in 2009 alone. Not one of the 9/11 terrorists entered
through Mexico — and yet Mexicans bore the brunt of this country’s immigration
response to the terror attacks. Last year, the State Department’s Bureau of
Counterterrorism found that “there are no known international terrorist
organizations operating in Mexico, no evidence that any terrorist group has
targeted U.S. citizens in Mexican territory, and no credible information that
any member of a terrorist group has traveled through Mexico to gain access to
the United States.” This year’s report found much the same: “there was no
credible evidence indicating that international terrorist groups have
established bases in Mexico, worked with Mexican drug cartels, or sent
operatives via Mexico into the United States.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 140%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><img border="0" id="_x0000_i1028" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/s3-beto/images/editor-2019-02-09-4.jpg" /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="74dc" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">In addition, walls and
fences authorized by the Secure Fence Act of 2006 pushed migration flows to
ever more treacherous stretches of the U.S.-Mexico border. <a href="https://act.betoorourke.com/go/16821?t=5&akid=24928%2E729476%2EYYmC49">More
than 4,500 human beings died crossing the border from 2006 to 2017.</a> Far
too many of them children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="c2ee" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">In recent years, as
Mexican migration slowed and then reversed (more Mexican nationals going
south to Mexico than coming north to the United States), and as total
undocumented immigration reached its lowest levels in modern history, the
country was met with the challenge of tens of thousands of Central American
families fleeing violence and brutality to petition for asylum in our
country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="4a81" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">This too is an
unintended consequence. Our involvement in the civil wars and domestic
politics of Central American countries, in addition to our ability to consume
more illegal drugs than any other country on the planet while leading a
military- and law enforcement-first drug control policy, has helped to
destroy the institutions of civil society necessary for those countries to
function. They can no longer protect their citizens, and their citizens are
coming to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="6118" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">And how do we meet
this challenge? The President, using the same racist, inflammatory rhetoric
of years past, seeks to build a wall, to take kids from their parents, to
deploy the United States Army on American soil, to continue mass deportations
and to end the protection for Dreamers. In other words, he seeks in one
administration to repeat all the mistakes of the last half-century. And with
past as prologue, we know exactly how that will end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="8cf8" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Not only will it lead
to thousands of Americans losing their farms and ranches and homes through
eminent domain to build a wall despite the fact that we have the lowest level
of northbound apprehensions in my lifetime; it will lead to greater suffering
and death for immigrants who are pushed to more dangerous points of crossing;
it will fail to meet the legitimate challenge of illegal drugs that are
brought to this country (the vast majority crossed at ports of entry); it
will further erode our humanity and our standing in the world; and it will
not do a single thing to reduce the number of undocumented immigrants and asylum
seekers coming to this country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="8345" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">But we still have a
choice. In this democracy, if in fact the people are the government, and the
government is the people, we still have a chance to prove it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="24b2" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">We can decide that
we’ll get past the lies and fear, focus on the facts and human lives in our
midst, and do the right thing. The end goal is a stronger, safer, more
successful country. Critical to achieving that goal is having immigration,
security and bilateral policies that match reality and our values.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ol start="1" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" id="4092" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Extend
citizenship to the more than one million Dreamers in this country. Not
only those who are in our classrooms but those who are teaching in our
classrooms; those who are keeping our country safe around the world
tonight; those who contribute more to our communities than they’ll ever
take.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="be45" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Give
permanent legal protection and a path to citizenship to their parents,
the original Dreamers.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="31eb" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Bring
millions more out of the shadows and on a path to citizenship by
ensuring that they register with the government and gain status to
legally work, pay taxes and contribute even more to our country’s
success.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="be2f" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Make
us safer and more secure. Significantly reduce illegal drug trafficking
and stop human trafficking by investing in infrastructure, technology
and personnel at our ports of entry. The ports that connect us with
Mexico are where the vast majority of everything and everyone that ever
comes into our country crosses.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="bd66" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Increase
the visa caps so that we match our opportunities and needs (for work,
for education, for investment, for innovation, for family reunification)
to the number of people we allow into this country. Ensure that those
who want to work in jobs that we can’t fill can legally come here and
legally return to their home country.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="44f7" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Fully
accept our opportunity and responsibility under our asylum laws to
welcome those whose own governments can no longer protect
them — including women fleeing abusive relationships.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="3bce" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Address
visa overstays (which accounts for the majority of undocumented
immigration) through better tracking of and notification to visa holders
(a first step could be text message reminders) and fully harmonizing our
entry-exit systems with Mexico and Canada (when a visa holder exits the
U.S. and enters Mexico, we will then know that they have left the U.S.;
currently, if they leave through a land port of entry we literally have
no clue if they are still here or have returned to their country of
origin).<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="5fa4" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Make
Latin America and specifically Central America a top foreign policy
priority — stop relegating it to second-tier status — invest the time,
talent and resources to assist in the development of the domestic
institutions that will allow these countries to thrive and offer their
citizens protection and economic opportunity. It is the only long-term
solution to the number of asylum seekers and refugees coming to this
country.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="5c70" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">End
the global war on drugs. An imprisonment- and interdiction-first
approach has not worked, has accelerated the erosion of civil society in
much of Latin America and has militarized a public health issue to the
detriment of all concerned.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" id="5889" style="line-height: 140%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Speak
with respect and dignity when referring to our fellow human beings who
happen to be immigrants and asylum seekers, who in so many cases are
doing exactly what we would do if presented with the same threats and
opportunities. No more “invasions”, “animals”, “rapists and criminals”,
“floods”, “crisis” — dehumanizing rhetoric leads to dehumanizing
policies. We cannot sacrifice our humanity in the name of security — or
we risk losing both.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="graf" id="2438" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">This week, we welcomed
the President to one of the safest cities in the United States. Safe not
because of walls, and not in spite of the fact that we are a city of
immigrants. Safe <em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";">because</span></em> we
are a city of immigrants and because we treat each other with dignity and
respect. A city that has the opportunity to lead on the most important issues
before us, out of experience, out of compassion and out of a fierce
determination to see this country live its ideals and rise to its full
potential.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 140%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><img border="0" id="_x0000_i1029" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/s3-beto/images/editor-2019-02-09-5.jpg" /><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.0pt; line-height: 140%;">El
Paso — Juárez</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="c331" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">We can learn from the
errors of our past, have the courage to do what’s right while we still have
the chance, and ensure that the President doesn’t commit this country to
making mistakes from which we may never recover.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="graf" id="4d6b" style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">It’s up to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 140%;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">Beto</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-57442799802008394732019-02-09T12:04:00.001-06:002019-02-09T12:04:33.206-06:00Stop telling me that both parties are to blame<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Maher/videos/626651744457857/?t=373">Both Parties are NOT the same</a>jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1665445670578227202.post-47161025269421846192019-01-10T15:27:00.002-06:002019-01-10T15:27:29.647-06:00Pie In The SkyWe often claim that our city of El Paso is, geographically, pretty large. 256.26 square miles, as a matter of fact. Our population of just under 700,000, equates to about 2500 people per square mile. By comparison, Dallas, Tx, is even larger, with a population of 3.2 million, and an area of 385.83 square miles, and 3469.9 people per square mile, and Houston is over 600 square miles, with a population of 2.3 million, which would be even fewer people per square mile. Comparatively speaking, then, El Paso is sort of small potatoes.<br />
<br />
Therefore, one may well ask, "Why are we always struggling to do things like those much larger cities?" Particularly strange has been our recent destruction of a still usable City Hall in order to build a minor league baseball park, and the complete tear down of a once iconic, if not unique central plaza to be replaced by a "modern" and rather barren tiny square. We also have been subjected to the introduction of a very expensive, but not easily accessible Top Golf facility, and something called iFly which, while still under construction, burned. There is a planned Great Wolf Lodge that will also cost local tax payers a great deal of money. There is continuous discussion about attracting new business to town, in order to create new jobs, but this is without ever addressing the reality of why new business, such as manufacturing, might not want to move to this isolated corner of far west Texas.<br />
<br />
As some of you may know, El Paso has recently launched a Trolley system that runs a total of 4.8 miles. Below is a map showing our already existing bus routes, which consistently carry buses that are always way under capacity. As a matter of fact, according to City reports, our taxpayer funded public transit system loses more riders each year.<br />
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<a href="http://www.sunmetro.net/~/media/files/sunmetro/sysmap.ashx">city bus routes</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjV82BuN2YrDBoOzBag_xQqJOoGekIpAYA3Ud68hNH5_IlwwslVro8rLA6Gne5Og0v-CK5QZgu0htmIxa3GghUX2MuQAc61xZFzz0oh7Je-ovABEaFUShsrBmyi5aDo3KfS8LBqg8diGBo/s1600/System+Map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjV82BuN2YrDBoOzBag_xQqJOoGekIpAYA3Ud68hNH5_IlwwslVro8rLA6Gne5Og0v-CK5QZgu0htmIxa3GghUX2MuQAc61xZFzz0oh7Je-ovABEaFUShsrBmyi5aDo3KfS8LBqg8diGBo/s320/System+Map.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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As you can see, the buses do cover a lot of the city. However, the tiny little troller pretty much runs from nowhere to nowhere. The route is obviously located in an area where comparatively few people actually live or work. And, it is too short to be of any practical use for transportation, even if lots of people lived and worked along that route.<br />
<a href="http://www.sunmetro.net/~/media/files/sunmetro/streetcarmap.ashx">Trolley Route</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldEujjbg95vy2w_vEovGO0JuRdcPsHrFfClPyt_c1w2hayF5dyPcdJThEaK8MWtEzjFML84pyo9me6P-mFKWloxHUj8NzCaW6RZ-DQCYmUfxFFEC8tMwzxPeRCLEaECWtjczOwAKyWWKJ/s1600/Trolley+Route.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1022" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgldEujjbg95vy2w_vEovGO0JuRdcPsHrFfClPyt_c1w2hayF5dyPcdJThEaK8MWtEzjFML84pyo9me6P-mFKWloxHUj8NzCaW6RZ-DQCYmUfxFFEC8tMwzxPeRCLEaECWtjczOwAKyWWKJ/s320/Trolley+Route.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
<br />
However, once upon a time we did have a practical trolley system that covered a larger part of El Paso, and even crossed the border to run through a good part of Cd. Juarez, our former sister city. Below is a photo of the interior of one of those trolleys (today's version features some of the same cars, renovated at great cost) when it was stopped at the international border crossing. The man in uniform was a U. S. Customs agent checking for status. It might be of interest to note that we rarely had to show any ID when crossing the border. All we had to do was declare our citizenship. Obviously, if one was a noncitizen, then one would be expected to have a border crossing card.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYqKOLdxYUcWJoppsfzXmleOp3db7myGj-YqHBrWE9BdYlw181l7q9ciXEQscLcwPGVr7oiI-ARWtzNnSwc1D4al9lcvam94wbRR_CHVkob0wntQ7jip7HMuKJSiWn9GiPJYvhrt7z9x6/s1600/Trolley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="720" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYqKOLdxYUcWJoppsfzXmleOp3db7myGj-YqHBrWE9BdYlw181l7q9ciXEQscLcwPGVr7oiI-ARWtzNnSwc1D4al9lcvam94wbRR_CHVkob0wntQ7jip7HMuKJSiWn9GiPJYvhrt7z9x6/s320/Trolley.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Nestor Valencia, a well known local artist who is behind many of the portraits you may have seen around the city, was also one of the planners for the Cordova Bridge -- Chamizal Park -- was also involved in helping to restore the Plaza Theatre and most recently helped plan the new San Jacinto Plaza:</div>
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"In 1920 through 1925 we had 52 miles of trolley system in El Paso. We were a street car system," Valencia said. Valencia told ABC-7 that in 1922, the street car was moving 2.1 million passengers a year.</div>
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<span style="color: #3a4145; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;">photos collected from around 1960, showing trolleys on both sides of the border can be seen here:</span><br />
<span style="color: #3a4145; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0i5kqn9Efw</span></div>
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So, we are left with a number of questions: Why did we just build this new trolley system, if we lack any real tourist attractions, don't need it for daily transportation, and cannot reasonably expect it, all by itself, to be a tourist attraction? Why do we continue to subsidize a public transportation system that consistently loses money, while not really providing necessary transportation? Why do we allow our elected representatives to neglect our streets at the expense of building unnecessary facilities and waste money fighting for things we don't need or want?</div>
jdocophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13181078856529970210noreply@blogger.com0