This, That, and The Other!

Presidential Quotes

2012-03-05T18:03:00.001-08:00

*Take the following test. See how many quotes that you can successfully match with the speakers.

1. “I tried marijuana once. I did not inhale.” A. Abraham Lincoln B. John F. Kennedy C. Bill Clinton D. Barack Obama.

2. “Contrary to the claims of some of my critics and some of the editorial pages, I am an ardent believer in the free market.” A. George Washington B. Barack Obama C. Thomas Jefferson D. Theodore Roosevelt.

3. “To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving the peace.” A. Andrew Jackson B. Abraham Lincoln C. John Tyler D. George Washington.

4. “If you want to make enemies, try to change something.” A. Woodrow Wilson B. Bill Clinton C. William Howard Taft D.
Abraham Lincoln.

5. “And so my fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” A. Richard Nixon B. Jimmy Carter C. John F. Kennedy D. Ronald Reagan.

6. “In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” A. Warren G. Harding B. Abraham Lincoln C. Jimmy Carter D. Bill Clinton.

7. “Cutting the deficit by gutting our investments in innovation and education is like lightening an overloaded airplane by removing its engine. It may make you feel like you’re flying high at first, but it won’t take long before you feel the impact.” A. Harry Truman B. Barack Obama C. Franklin D. Roosevelt D. Dwight D. Eisenhower.

8. “It does no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no God.” A. John Adams B. James Monroe C. Thomas Jefferson D. James Buchanan.

9. “Never spend your money before you have it.” A. Thomas Jefferson B. Barack Obama C. Ronald Reagan D. Dwight D. Eisenhower.

10. “Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind.” A. Abraham Lincoln B. Jimmy Carter C. George Washington D. John F. Kennedy.

11. “The best way to enhance freedom in other lands is to demonstrate here that our democratic system is worthy of emulation.” A. Jimmy Carter B. John F. Kennedy C. Franklin D. Roosevelt D. Lyndon B. Johnson.

12. “If government is to serve any purpose it is to do for others what they are unable to do for themselves.” A. Richard Nixon B. Gerald Ford C. Ronald Reagan D. Lyndon B. Johnson.

13. “It is better to be alone than in bad company. A. Jimmy Carter B. Woodrow Wilson C. George Washington D. Thomas Jefferson.

14. “People are just about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” A. Andrew Jackson B. William Howard Taft C. Abraham Lincoln D. Barack Obama.

15. “It is not strange to mistake change for progress.” A. James K. Polk B. William Henry Harrison C. Zachary Taylor D. Millard Fillmore.

16. “There is nothing stable but Heaven and the Constitution.” A. Ulysses S. Grant B. James Garfield C. Chester A. Arthur D. James Buchanan.

17. “The only man who makes no mistake is the man who does nothing.” A. Theodore Roosevelt B. Franklin D. Roosevelt C. Grover Cleveland D. William Howard Taft.

18. “It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.” A. George Washington B. Thomas Jefferson C. Jimmy Carter D. Abraham Lincoln.

19. “We must adjust to changing times and still hold to unchanging principles.” A. Bill Clinton B. Jimmy Carter C. Richard Nixon D. Franklin D. Roosevelt.

20. “Rules are not necessarily sacred; principles are.” A. Franklin D. Roosevelt B. Martin Van Buren C. Andrew Jackson D. James K. Polk.

21. “As to the Presidency, the two happiest days of my life were those of my entrance upon the office and my surrender of it.” A. Richard Nixon B. James Monroe C. James Madison D. Martin Van Buren.

22. “We Americans have no commission from God to police the world.” A. Dwight D. Eisenhower B. Woodrow Wilson C. Benjamin Harrison D. Chester A. Arthur.

23. “Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth.” A. John F. Kennedy B. Thomas Jefferson C. Franklin D. Roosevelt D. George W. Bush.

24. “That government is best which governs the least, because its people discipline themselves.” A. George W. Bush B. Thomas Jefferson C. James Madison D. George Washington.

25. “Always give your best, never get discouraged, never be petty, always remember, others may hate you. Those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself.” A. John F. Kennedy B. Bill Clinton C. Richard Nixon D. Harry S. Truman.

Answers: 1. C. 2. B 3. D. 4. A. 5. C. 6. B. 7. B. 8. C. 9. A. 10. D. 11. A. 12. D. 13. B. 14. C. 15. D. 16. D. 17. A. 18. D. 19. B. 20. A. 21. D. 22. C. 23. A. 24. B. 25. C.

Pizza

2012-02-22T07:10:00.000-08:00

Flatbreads with tasty ingredients spread on top could be found in many parts of Europe long before the time of Christopher Columbus. Even the ancient Romans had their own version of “pizza.” The birth of the modern pizza, however, began when European explorers brought back tomatoes from the New World.

Until the 1940s there were relatively few pizza restaurants in the United States. Italian immigrants in the late 1800s set up pizzerias in major cities such as New York and Chicago, but the average non -Italian American knew little about the dish. That all changed after World War II.

Allied troops occupying Italy discovered the delights of devouring pizza pie. Upon returning to America many veterans brought along recipes and made this delectable dish for their families and friends. Within a few years pizza chains were created to meet the demand. For instance, Shakey’s Pizza began in 1954 in Sacramento, California. In 1958 Pizza Hut set up a restaurant in Wichita, Kansas.

Since the 1960s, along with hamburgers, French fries, and shakes, pizza has been considered among the most favored “American” foods. Unfortunately, no one convinced my dad of that fact.

Although he had never tasted a pizza, the old man decided that it wasn’t worth buying. Therefore, pizza was officially banned from our house. Several of my friends had told me it was delicious, but by the time we visited some relatives, when I was about twelve years old, I still hadn’t tasted the stuff.

Anyway, these relatives sent one of their own to pick up a pizza for supper. I don’t know what kind of pizza it was, but it was extremely gross smelling. Fortunately, I’ve never again come across such a pizza. Neither Dad nor I ate any of it.

A few years later Mom began sneaking pizza mixes into the house. Dad worked on Saturdays, so those were perfect times to make pizza “behind his back.”

Eventually, sometime during junior high days, a friend took me to a local pizza parlor. It was love at first bite. From that time to the present, pizza has been my favorite food.

Sadly, however, Dad was still banning pizza from his home. When my sister married, her husband still had a year left in high school, so the couple spent part of the year at his parents’ home and the rest of the time with dear old dad. Occasionally we three young folks craved pizza. One of Dad’s many rules was that when he went to bed, everybody else did, also. So we would go to bed, wait until we heard the old man snoring, and then meet in the basement.

Quietly my sister would pick up the telephone and order a pizza. Then my brother -in-law and I would sneak out to his old Chevy, which was parked in front of the house. After he put the car in neutral we pushed it a block or so before starting the engine.

Returning with the pizza, my brother-in-law once again turned off the engine and coasted to his parking spot. Since Mom had a nose like a bloodhound we three ate the pizza in the backyard. Once finished we stashed the box in a neighbor’s trashcan so that Mom and Dad would not find any evidence. Then we quietly sneaked back into the house and settled in for the night.

One evening the old folks announced that they would be visiting neighbors on the other side of town. Within minutes of their departure we had ordered another tasty pizza. This one was delivered to us. We were just about to eat a few slices of heaven when Dad and Mom pulled into the driveway. It seems that the neighbors weren’t home.

Thinking quickly, my sister stuffed the incriminating evidence into a closet just as the folks entered. Immediately Mom’s bloodhound nose went into overdrive. Sniff! Sniff! “I smell something! Something smells funny in this house!”

“I don’t smell anything,” my sister replied.

“You probably just have a bad cold,” I added.

Sniff. Sniff. “I know that something smells in here!” she protested.

Finally, after smelling around most of the kitchen, Mom gave up and went to bed. Dad soon followed her.

As was expected, we three young folks also went to bed, or at least we pretended to do so.

After about ten minutes we sneaked into the living room, grabbed the pizza from the closet, and made our way to the backyard. I still love pizza, but somehow it tasted better back in the day in which it was “forbidden fruit.”

Car Trouble

2012-02-09T16:32:00.000-08:00

Getting permission to use Dad’s car was just slightly easier than skipping past the military men who guard Fort Knox. We washed Dad’s automobile so often that it’s a wonder we hadn‘t rubbed off the paint. It was polished at least once a month. It was always kept in perfect mechanical order. A son could be replaced, but a good car was hard to find.

I hated going through the “third degree,” so instead of asking for the car usually I walked from point A to point B. However, one needs a car when he has a date. She and I wanted to see a movie that was playing in a town that is several miles away. Unfortunately, there was no way that my father would allow me to take his automobile that far. Therefore, I simply resorted to lying. “Dad,” I said, “the movie that we want to see at the local drive-in is the last movie of the night, so I wouldn’t be home by my midnight curfew.”

To my utter surprise he said that we could stay for the late movie. At that moment I considered myself to be a genius of deception.

That evening I picked up my date. Certainly she would be impressed when she discovered that I could take her to see a movie that was playing in a fairly distant town.

Dad had owned this particular car for only a week, but he and I had already washed it five times and polished it once. While backing out the driveway I proudly noticed how its bright white surface gleamed under the evening’s last rays.

The movie was good; so was the popcorn. Now all I had to do was return to our town, drop off my date, and head home. No one would be the wiser.

However, about five miles from our town I heard the “plop” “plop” “plop” of what could only be a flat tire. Of course, I knew how to change a flat, so this seemed to be only a slight irritant. Besides, this was a chance to dazzle my date with my knowledge of automobiles. Actually, the only other things I knew were how to check the oil and how to fill the gas tank. Sadly, those are the only automotive skills that I possess today.

Opening the trunk, I pulled out the jack and the lug wrench. Bending down in front of the rear tire on the driver’s side, I must have turned white as a ghost when I discovered that the lug wrench did not fit! Unless Superman strolled along there was no way for me to remove the flat tire! As I have said, Dad had owned the car for only a week. Evidently the person cleaning the car at the dealership had simply thrown a lug wrench into the trunk without testing to see if it fit!

By then it was 1:15 in the morning. If I didn’t get home soon there would be big- time trouble. This was before the invention of cell phones, so desperately I looked around for a telephone booth so that I could explain to Dad why I wasn’t home yet (If you don’t know what a telephone booth is, kids, go ask Grandpa or contact the Smithsonian Institute).

We were parked alongside a motel. Unfortunately, all the rooms were dark. Frantically, I started knocking on doors. One male voice asked what I wanted, and then promptly told me to go visit a place well known for its extreme temperatures. The other hotel occupants decided not to respond to my urgent knocking. So there I was, just sixteen years old, and my life was probably finished. If the old man didn’t kill me I’d have to wait another forty or fifty years before he’d let me borrow his car again. Who would want to date me when I was an old man?

Then I noticed a house atop a hill on the other side of the road. After instructing my date to lock the car doors, I began to scale the hill. No lights were on in the house, but I was desperate. After knocking for what seemed like a minute or two, a very angry old lady opened the door (She might have been forty, but to a sixteen year old most adults are old).

She was not too pleased that I had awakened her in the middle of the night. The next moment, however, her husband appeared at the door. He was as friendly as his wife was grumpy. “There’s a lug wrench in the back of my truck,” he said, pointing to the vehicle. “Help yourself and then please return it when you’re finished.” I thanked him profusely and then began running back to Dad’s car.

Within minutes I had the tire changed. Then I returned the lug wrench and ran back to Dad’s “baby.” My next step was to find a telephone booth. Luckily, I spotted one just a few miles down the road. After explaining to Dad what had happened, I took my date home. A few minutes later I pulled the car into the garage. After turning off the engine I made certain that no pieces of popcorn were lying on the floor or the seat.

The next day Dad didn’t say a thing. Somehow I had sidestepped Armageddon. I thought about thanking God for my good fortune, but then I realized that He probably was not too happy with my fibbing.

At a later date I did “man-up” and tell Dad what I had done. Of course, at the time of my confession I was forty-two years old. The way I figured it, by then the statute of limitations had expired, and besides, by then Dad was way too slow to catch me.

Bonanza-The Lost Episode (satire)

2012-01-27T16:31:00.000-08:00

***Most “experts” believe that this popular western ran a total of 430 episodes, but now we can add one more show to the list. Last Wednesday, while cleaning out my sock drawer, I discovered a lost episode. I have no idea how the film got there. Of course, I once shot an elephant in my pajamas, and I have no idea how it got into those pajamas, so some things in life must remain a mystery.
***During the long run of the program (1959-1973) the three sons and even “Pa” were involved in several romances. Unfortunately, falling in love with a Cartwright was the kiss of death, as you shall see in this final episode.
***The setting is the huge living room of the Cartwright house, which is located in the middle of a 1,000 square-mile cattle ranch near Virginia City, Nevada. The year is 1867-just two years after the end of the Civil War. The youngest son, “Little Joe,” has brought his fiance, Miss Lillian Jones, to meet the family.
LITTLE JOE: Lillian, I’d like you to meet my father, Ben.
BEN: (always serious and wise): I’m honored to meet you, Lillian. Joe has told us so much about you.
LILLIAN: And Joe has told me so much about you and your boys, Mr. Cartwright.
BEN: Since you’re going to be part of the family, why don’t you call me “Pa?”
LILLIAN: Well, since I’ll soon be a Cartwright, I will call you “Pa.”
***Hoss, the huge middle son with the matching appetite, runs from the kitchen to the living room. He has a drumstick in one hand and a piece of apple pie in the other. The Chinese cook, Hop Sing, is chasing him while menacingly swinging a skillet:
HOP SING: Mr. Hoss, I warned you to stay out of kitchen until supper!
HOSS: (jumping over a chair while taking a bite of pie): Come on, Hop Sing! Have a heart! I haven’t had anything to eat since three-thirty!
HOP SING: Yes, but it’s now only three forty-five!
BEN: Men, we have company! Act like gentlemen! Lillian, this is my middle son, Eric, but he’s so big that we call him “Hoss.”
***After quickly devouring the rest of the pie, Hoss licks his fingers before shaking hands with Joe’s bride-to-be.
BEN: And this is our cook, Hop Sing.
HOP SING: Glad to meet you, missy.
***Hop Sing then whacks Hoss over the head with the skillet. As Hoss falls to the floor, Hop Sing grabs what remains of the chicken and heads back to the kitchen.
BEN (as Adam enters the room): Lillian, this is my oldest son, Adam. He’s the smartest of the three. As a matter of fact, he’s the only one smart enough to get off this show; he’s not signing a contract for the next season.
***After lunch the boys go about their typical day, rounding up stray cattle, helping clear a man wrongly accused of murder, diverting a raging river to protect a bustling city, and meeting Mark Twain and President Andrew Johnson at the stagecoach stop in Virginia City.
LILLIAN: So, Pa, is the boys’ mother deceased?
BEN: Yes, each of their mothers is dead.
LILLIAN: You had more than one wife?
BEN: I’ve had three. My first wife, Elizabeth, died giving birth to Adam. A few weeks after Hoss was born my second wife Inger was nailed by an Indian’s arrow. Marie, Little Joe’s mother, fell off a horse and died when he was only five.
LILLIAN That’s terrible, Pa!
BEN: Well, you know what they always say-lucky in land, unlucky in love. And, of course, on the bright side, those deaths eliminated any chance I’d ever have to pay alimony or give up part of my property.
LILLIAN: Pa, I’m surprised that none of your boys ever married. They aren’t gay, are they?
BEN: No, their straight as an arrow. Now Hop Sing, I can’t vouch for him.
LILLIAN: Then why didn’t they get married, Pa?
BEN: I guess you could call it the “Cartwright Curse.” I remember that Adam was madly in love with a cute little blonde from Virginia City. They set a wedding date and he bought her the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen.
LILLIAN: What happened?
BEN: It ended in tragedy. She was standing out front, just to the left of the house. Adam went back into the house to get his hat. Unbeknownst to her, a gaint beaver was gnawing on a nearby ponderosa pine; that tree came crashing down on her; she survived only long enough to give Adam a tearful goodbye.
LILLIAN: That’s terribe, Pa!
BEN: Well, in a way it was, but our ratings shot up after that show! It took poor Adam three episodes to get over that gal! Then he fell head over heels for a perky little brunette from San Francisco. They were planning to marry, but once again tragedy struck.
LILLIAN: Pa, what happened?
BEN: It was a bad case of hoof and mouth disease. There was nothing we could do to save her. With all that foam on her face, I can’t really blame Adam for not kissing her one last time.
LILLIAN: Pa, how did he cope with losing two loves?
BEN: He coped in the best way our writers could think of; he promptly fell in love with another lady. If I remember correctly, she was from back East in Ohio. She traveled here with her father, who was an encyclopedia salesman. To make a long story short, Adam built a house for her on the southeastern corner of the Ponderosa. That would be about four hundred miles from here. Anyway, she loved the house so much that she moved into it before the wedding.
LILLIAN: What happened, Pa? Did the roof fall on top of her? Did the Indians get her?
BEN: No, nothing like that. Adam didn’t realize that he had built the cabin on top of quicksand. By the time he rode out there to visit she’d been submerged for at least twelve hours. Adam pulled her out of the muck so that she could say a few appropriate last words before expiring. Poor Adam grieved for four episodes until he hooked up with a little redhead from Oregon.
LILLIAN: Pa, let me guess. She died, too.
BEN: Well, we think she did.
LILLIAN: You’re not sure?
BEN: On the day of the wedding a giant eagle swooped her up and we haven’t seen her since. Of course, her disappearance didn’t surprise me; she was signed for just one show.
LILLIAN: Pa, what about Hoss?
BEN: As you can see, Hoss isn’t the most pleasant thing to look at, and he’s not the brightest match in the pack, if you catch my drift, but when I kick the bucket he’ll be rich as heck, so women flock around him like flies to honey. He was to marry Peggy Sue from Virginia City. Unfortunately, she was shot by Sheriff Coffee.
LILLIAN: Pa, how did that happen?
BEN: A notorious bank robber was seen in this area. When holding up a bank he dressed in women’s clothing for a disguise. After he took the loot from the Virginia City 4th 5th Bank, the sheriff was given a description of what the outlaw was wearing. Unfortunately, Peggy Sue was wearing an identical outfit that day, and she was carrying a large bag of cookies that she had just baked for Hoss. The sheriff mistook the cookies for a bag of loot. It was a simple case of mistaken identity. At least Hoss enjoyed the cookies.
LILLIAN: Pa, I suppose he overcame his sorrow by finding another girl?
BEN: Not right away. To get through the crisis he had Hop Sing make him extra chicken and biscuits. That boy is a bottomless pit. About five episodes later Hoss fell for a gal who worked in a saloon. Unfortunately, a cattle stampede took care of her.
LILLIAN: Pa, I am Joe’s first true love, aren’t I?
BEN: Of course, except for Mary, Sally, Marie, Rachel, Jessie, Barbara, and Edith.
LILLIAN: My Little Joe was in love with all those women?
BEN: Not at the same time! I think he could have been happy with Mary for at least six or seven episodes; it’s too bad that those mountain lions mauled her while she was sunbathing. I told her repeatedly that lying out in the sun isn’t good for one’s health.
LILLIAN: Pa, did all of them die?
BEN: All but Rachel; technically she’s not dead.
LILLIAN: What do you mean, Pa?
BEN: She was overtaken by a glacier that had slid down from Canada. The doctor in Virginia City said that eventually we might find a way to thaw her out. Until then she’s traveling in a block of ice with a circus; she’s known as “The Frozen Lady of Borneo.” It took poor Joe almost three episodes to get over her.
LILLIAN: Well, Mr. Cartwright, this has been an enlightening conversation. Please tell Little Joe that I have some pressing business to attend to in Hong Kong. I’ll be very busy for the next couple decades.
BEN: Call me “Pa.”
LILLIAN: Goodbye, Mr. Cartwright.

Better than a Sleeping Pill

2012-01-14T15:16:00.000-08:00

The other night, while my wife Bev slumbered peacefully, I stared restlessly at the ceiling. On that particular night my brain refused to shut down; thought after thought raced by: Where will our son get a job? Roger Maris hit 61 homeruns in 1961. Water is made up of two molecules of hydrogen and one of oxygen. President Obama is a good basketball player. All roads lead to Rome. Marcia in Atlanta writes wonderful blogs. Etc., etc., etc.

Therefore, after fighting a losing battle for several hours, I got out of bed, grabbed a cold drink from the refrigerator, and turned on the TV in the family room. Armed with a blanket and a pillow, I spread out on the floor.

If you think the early evening shows are bad you should set your alarm for two a.m. Worse than the programs, however, are the commercials. Folks who have the misfortune to be awake in the wee hours of the morning are offered products that they probably don’t want or wouldn’t use, at least not for very long.

For example, the early hours seem to be the ideal time for pitching various exercise machines. Ironically, the actors using the machines don’t need them; they were slim, trim, and young. Maybe the advertiser hoped that the viewers are stupid enough to believe that after a few workouts on the machine they will look young and sexy once again. Hey, I’m proud of my wrinkles, gray hair, and swollen feet; it took me sixty long years to become what I am today.

There is an underwear commercial by a former NBA star. I admire his athleticism and basketball skills, but just what makes him an expert on underwear? If the number of years wearing such apparel makes one an expert, then I would be a better candidate for pitching those briefs and boxers. I imagine that some guys actually think they will be better basketball players if they wear this former star’s brand. If that were true, every coach, from biddy league to the pros, would have his players wearing this particular type of undies.

At my age I just want my underwear to be comfortable, priced reasonably, and tough enough to last through many washings. I’m too old to play basketball, and I’m certainly beyond caring how “cool’ they look on me. Besides, let’s face it; how sexy is anything going to look on a sixty-one-year-old guy?

Another advertising trick is to convince the viewer that anyone who is anyone is using the product. Moms usually have a ready answer for this argument: “So if everyone else is jumping off a cliff, you’d jump off, too?” This type of advertising is especially appealing to teenagers. Ironically, they go out of their way to not be like their folks, but they just have to fit in with their peer group.

Sex appeal is a powerful weapon in many areas of life, but particularly so in advertising. A young man is told that the right kind of hair cream, aftershave lotion, shoes, or whatever will turn him into a charming dynamo. Perhaps those pretty gals don’t even know that you exist, son, but with the purchase of our product you’ll have dates every night of the week. Guys, if you are not popular with the ladies, the cure is simple. Simply become rich. That will attract many ladies, although probably not the ones who would love you for yourself.

We oldsters frighten many members of the younger set. With our graying hair and wrinkles, they see us as “past it.” They’re scared to death of the day when they will become like us. Advertisers have used this fear to attract the young folks. You simply convince the young people that the “old fogies” use product “X“, but your product, “Y“, is the choice of the young and beautiful. This sounds ridiculous, but it works.

Like I have said, the early morning programs and advertisements were not very entertaining, but that turned out to be a blessing in disguise. After watching about an hour of this stuff I was slowly but surely bored into a deep sleep. The next morning my wife found me snoring in front of the still-playing television set. (P.S. For many, listening to Congressional speeches will also do the trick).

Four Restaurants

2012-01-01T12:50:00.000-08:00

We were a poor family. At least we lived as if we were poor.

The first house in which I lived had running water but no toilet or bathtub. Therefore, we made many trips along the little path in the backyard. Every Saturday night, whether we needed it or not, Mom heated water and then poured it into a washtub that we had dragged into the kitchen. Dad, the king of the household, always had the honor of bathing first. He was followed by Mom and then by each kid, starting with the oldest. Therefore, I, the youngest, bathed last. By then the water was so filthy that I was probably dirtier after the bath than I was before it!

The children were expected to wear clothing until it literally fell apart. If one outgrew an outfit, it was simply passed on to the next younger child, with little regard to sex. I remember having to wear my sister’s hand-me-down blue jeans. I didn’t mind hand-me-downs so much; the problem was that back in those days the girls’ blue jeans were made with zippers in the side. No self-respecting young man wanted to be seen wearing those things in the presence of his friends.

It shouldn’t be surprising, then, to learn that during my eighteen years at home I ate at restaurants a grand total of four times. Eating out was a luxury that Dad felt we neither needed nor could afford. (How times have changed. My wife probably couldn’t find our kitchen without a detailed map).

I was about nine or ten years old the first time I had the opportunity to eat in a restaurant. Back in those days the electric company where Dad worked allowed the employees to take their kids with them. Often Dad had to travel to other towns to work on company vehicles. One Saturday, with my older brother and me along, Dad worked well into the evening.

When he was finally finished he took us to a nearby restaurant. For the first time in my life I saw a pinball machine and heard music from a jukebox! That night I dined on a hamburger, French fries, and a chocolate shake.

A year or so later Dad was so impressed with a certain restaurant in one of the towns where he worked that he decided to take the entire family there. I distinctly remember eating fish, French fries (so I like fries!) and drinking iced tea. You might think it’s strange that I remember what I ate at these restaurants, but remember that each time was indeed special.

We kids hated whenever our father’s two-week vacation rolled around. With one exception, “vacation” consisted of scraping and painting the house. One summer, however, Dad surprised us by announcing that we would use his vacation time to visit relatives in Washington, D.C.

This was before the modern Interstate system was constructed. I remember traveling U.S. Route 40 for several miles before we took some winding back roads. Out in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere was a little restaurant. We stopped there for lunch. This probably comes as no surprise to you; I remember exactly what I ate there. I had a hamburger, French fries (again!) and a Coke. The hamburger was so delicious that I asked Dad for another. It was as good as the first one.

We had relatives who lived in Wheeling, West Virginia. The elderly couple lived in a rather dark and ugly apartment in the downtown section. One had to climb a set of steep steps to get to their residence. It was not a fun place for a kid.

On one of these Wheeling trips we arrived at lunch time. Dad didn’t want to impose, so he decided that we would find a “cheap” restaurant. He spotted a so-called “coffee shop” that was located in the basement of a hotel. Following his orders, we marched into the establishment.

I had never seen anything like it! The waiters were dressed in tuxedoes, soft music was piped into the room, and most of the patrons were dressed in their Sunday best. Dad took one look at the menu and almost had a heart attack. We later learned that this was the most expensive restaurant in the city. The old man was too proud to get up and leave; instead he commanded us to order only the most inexpensive items on the menu. Here’s a surprise; I had a hamburger, French fries, and a Coke. Unfortunately, that simple meal cost Dad about four times the amount that would have been charged at any of the previous restaurants at which we had dined.

After the meal my brother and I went to the men’s room. There we encountered something strange and new to us. To get into a stall one had to put a quarter into a slot. My brother really needed to use that toilet, but we were two kids from a poor family; we didn’t have ten cents between us, and we knew better than to ask Dad for a quarter.

Sometimes being small has its advantages. Without any problem I climbed under the door and released it from the other side. Not only had I helped my brother; I had saved poor Dad from spending any extra money in that joint!

The experience was just too much for Dad; never again did he take his family to a restaurant.

The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

2011-12-19T07:46:00.000-08:00

My wife Bev has a long bucket list. In case you are unfamiliar with such a list, it is composed of those things that one wants to do or experience before he or she dies. For example, my list contains such doable things as playing center field for the New York Yankees, becoming the President of the United States, and singing a duet with Paul McCartney. This Thanksgiving Bev was able to scratch one item from her wish list; we went to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City. She was thrilled; however, with all things considered, I’d prefer to watch the parade in the comfort of my own home.

Bev and I began our journey early Wednesday morning to my in-laws’ house in eastern Pennsylvania. Normally this is about a seven hour trip, but we took nine hours this time. My father-in-law went with us, so we had to take numerous restroom breaks, coffee stops, etc.

Thursday morning Bev awakened me at the ridiculously early hour of 3 a.m. While still half asleep I threw on some clothes, ate a quick breakfast, brushed my teeth, donned my winter coat and gloves, and shuffled to the van. The ride to the Big Apple took about two hours. Not many automobiles were on the highway; evidently most people were still nestled in their warm, comfortable beds. Oh, how I envied them!

One must pay twelve dollars to travel through the Lincoln Tunnel. The parking garage charged another fifteen bucks. The only cost while watching the parade at home would have been about ten dollars to have a pizza delivered. Now that’s my idea of a great Thanksgiving meal.

The Macy’s Parade began way back in 1924. The parade route begins in Central Park and ends at Herald Square. The show lasts about two hours. Those who are smart enough to stay at home can see it on NBC.

We opened our folding chairs along Times Square. Although it was only 7:15 a.m., hundreds of folks were already “camping” there. Although protected with a winter coat and gloves I shivered until near the end of the parade. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair while freezing to death for over two hours is not my idea of fun. However, my wife enjoyed every second she was there.

Finally, the parade came past our area at 9:30. Unfortunately, because there were so many people in front of us, it was difficult to see the floats and the bands. Several viewers brought along footstools so that they could see over the crowd. Of course, that made each of them seem about as tall as Kereem Abdul Jabbar. Fortunately, however, the balloons could easily be seen. They are larger than they look on TV.

The folks who did not come early to stake their claim to a few feet of pavement nevertheless wanted to be at or near the front of the crowd. Slowly they shoved, elbowed, and pushed their way among the people already there. Like in most crowds, some of the viewers were rude and crude. If I had guests like that in my home watching the parade, I’d simply throw them out.

By the time the parade ended I was half frozen, hungry, and very sleepy. Luckily, Bev took the wheel for the two hour drive back to the in-laws‘- house. After partially defrosting myself I fell into a deep sleep. Awakening about two hours later, I offered to take a turn behind the wheel. Bev uttered something under her breath that luckily was incomprehensible. I couldn’t help it that we were only three miles from her sister’s house! It’s the thought that counts, you know.

Fortunately, Keith, my brother-in-law, and his daughter Toni stayed at home to prepare a Thanksgiving feast. After an excellent meal the guys did what all red-blooded American men have been doing since the first Thanksgiving feast between the Pilgrims and the Indians; we watched football.

All in all, it was an exciting day. Despite the problems we encountered, I’m glad that we went to this great event. In fact, I can hardly wait to see next year’s parade - from the comfort of my Lazy Boy, that is.

*** On this holiday season we pray for peace on earth and goodwill to all.

Jack

2011-12-04T12:12:00.000-08:00

My father-in-law Jack is one of the nicest human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. He is a wonderful father, husband and friend. Yet, I must admit that his eating habits are somewhat strange; he could live on nothing else but popcorn, jelly, mixed nuts, pickles, and Pepsi.

It seems that all the members of Jack’s family have inherited a “popcorn” gene. I couldn’t blame any popcorn factory from banning Jack and his children from the premises, for like swarming locusts they’d gobble up every available grain. Whenever we go to the movie theater my wife “drowns” a large box of popcorn in fake butter. Perhaps she should use a straw.

Jack has never met a jelly that he didn’t like, although he seems to favor either grape or strawberry. Whenever he comes to our place for supper, no matter what is being served, he asks, “Honey, do you have any jelly?” If bread, toast, rolls, or biscuits are around, soon they’re certain to be covered with a thick layer of what Jack considers to be a heavenly delight. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him eat the jelly right out of the jar!

Likewise, he has never met a nut that he would refuse to eat. He especially loves to attack my supply of cashews, but he has also devoured my peanuts, walnuts, and almonds.

When it comes to food, however, Jack’s favorite thing is a jar of pickles. No pickle factory owners in their right minds would hire Jack; he’d put them out of business within two weeks. He likes the sweet variety, but a dill pickle is the true love of his life, at least when it comes to the world of food. He eats dills with hamburgers, hotdogs, lunch meat, sausages, and even fish. Sometimes he merely raids the pickle jar and eats the pickles all by themselves.

Once I read about a man who mysteriously turned orange. Other than his color he seemed to be totally healthy. His doctors were stumped. Finally one of them figured out that the man turned orange because he was eating too many carrots. Evidently eating tons of pickles does not turn a person green, or Jack would be doing commercials as the Jolly Green Giant.

Jack lives in assisted living, and for the most part loves the place. However, his one big complaint is that the cafeteria does not serve enough pickles with the meals, so now to each lunch and dinner he brings along his own jar of pickles (and a jar of jelly).

To be totally honest, I too am somewhat of a “pickle fiend,” but I prefer the sweet kind. Up until about the age of ten I devoured pickle sandwiches. It’s very simple to prepare. Take one piece of bread. Place a large sweet pickle on top of the bread. Apply lots of ketchep. Now there is a great sandwich! No wonder Jack welcomed me into the family.

His love of pickles is so great that I suspect that he is suffering from “pickleitis,” a little-known disease in which one thinks of pickles both day and night. While most folks count sheep at night, Jack counts pickles. While some folks see the world in terms of black and white, Jack no doubt sees it in shades of green.

Jack will be pleased to hear that a company is now bottling and selling pickle juice. After a vigorous workout it’s supposed to replenish salt and vital electrolytes to one’s system.

Pepsi has always been his first choice among beverages. In between munches of pickle he has declared his total dislike of Coke. Yet, many years ago, while shopping a t a grocery store, Jack was asked to take a blindfolded taste test. It was Coke versus Pepsi. He picked Coke. We don’t let him forget that one!

Last week we invited Jack over for supper. On purpose, I put away the jelly, nuts, and pickles. I bet my wife that her father would ask for all three items.

Within five minutes after the prayer was completed Jack asked, “Honey, do you have any jelly?” With a smile on his face he covered a couple bisquits with grape jelly. Then, after a few bites he made a second request: “Honey, do you have any pickles?” He then proceeded to place three large dills onto his plate.

I needed only one more request to earn the title of “supper prophet.” He waited until dessert was served. “Honey, do you have any mixed nuts to go with this dessert?” Even Bev had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Like I said, Jack is a wonderful human being. If eating pickles, jelly, nuts, and popcorn, and drinking Pepsi can help one become a good person like he is, then perhaps I should jump on the bandwagon.

Eating his Hat

2011-10-25T11:26:00.000-07:00

*This story was told to me by its victim. The setting is a Midwestern junior high school in the early 1960’s. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.

Mr. Darmin, one of the junior high teachers, couldn’t believe his eyes; Susie, a very intelligent young lady, was listed with the “slow learners” coming into the seventh grade. The “Slow Learners” class was made up of those students who supposedly had low IQ scores and thus were unable to comprehend much. Mr. Darmin knew Susie, and he knew that she didn’t belong in that class.

Mr. Darmin was never afraid to question authority. In fact, he once said that principals didn’t know what to make of him because he didn’t fit their stereotype of a teacher. Unlike so many educators at that time, Mr. Darmin’s classes were entertaining and relevant. Students loved to go to his classes. Up until his death about five years ago many of his ex-students stayed in touch. In essence, he was an especially gifted educator.

Mr. D. confronted the principal, Mr. Frank Putterman. “Frank,” he said, “you’re making a big mistake with Susie. She’s a very bright gal.”

The principal snarled: “She’s from the Smith neighborhood; I know what the people there are like!”

“She needs to be in advanced classes,” Mr. Darmin argued.

“I’ve made my decision. At least for this year she’s staying in the “slow” class, the principal barked.

“You’re going to eat your hat on this one, Frank,” Mr. D. responded.

So Susie had to spend 7th grade in the “Slow Learners’” class. In order to compensate, Mr. Darmin gave her more challenging work to do. No doubt the principal was not informed of Mr. D.’s actions.

Finally, when 8th grade rolled around Susie was allowed to enter regular classes. Susie’s teachers found her to be extremely bright and a hard worker. Mr. Darmin continued to give her special attention; he did what he could to rebuild her fractured self-esteem.

Susie did quite well in the eighth grade, but evidently the principal refused to acknowledge his grim mistake. However, Mr. D. and Susie’s other teachers were extremely supportive.

In ninth grade Susie continued to excel. Mr. Darmin in particular continued to build her up and offer her challenging learning situations. Still, there was no apology or explanation from the principal.

At the end of ninth grade the students would move on to the high school. When the final grades were calculated for grades seven through nine, Susie, the “slow learner,” was found to be the valedictorian of the class. Evidently her achievement was not recognized by the principal, but Mr. D. and several other teachers congratulated her.

A few days later Principal Putterman received a box in the mail. Inside was a nice-looking derby. The note with it said: “I told you you’d have to eat your hat on this one.” It was from Mr. D. Hopefully, the principal got a good case of indigestion from it.

A Tough Old Bird

2011-09-14T09:41:00.000-07:00

I remember that day in the late 1980s when my father was about to be wheeled into the operating room. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m a tough old bird.” He had certainly lived through tough times. From early childhood Dad had faced extreme poverty as well as a vicious father. By 1933, in the middle of the Great Depression, he was an orphan.

Luckily, I interviewed my father a few years before his death. The following transcript details his efforts to survive during those long ago years.

Question: As a young man during the 1930’s, were you basically on your own?

Answer: That’s right. I lost my dad on May 1st, 1931 and Mom on the 3rd of June 1933.

Q: Income wise, did your family do well when your father was alive?

A: The first I can remember, with Dad working at the coal mines, things were pretty nice until the 1930s when he started getting only three or four days a week. Later his work was cut to about two days a week. Finally it got to the point where he was lucky to get one day.

Q: After your mother died in 1933, where did you go?

A: I stayed with my brother. After my brother was married he and his wife got into a fight. His wife wanted her sister to live with them, but my brother didn’t like the idea. She then said that if her sister couldn’t live with them then I would have to leave. So the next morning I was gone. I went to the home of my cousin and asked if I could stay with him until I could find a job.

Q: About how old where you?

A: That was after Mother died, so I was about fifteen.

Q: What did you do after that?

A: I stayed there most of the winter and helped my cousin haul mine props. Then I went to Fairmont and started working on a dairy farm.

Q: How much money did you make?

A: $30 a month. I worked from four o’clock in the morning until eight or ten at night, seven days a week.

Q: Whenever a farm job ended did you have difficulty finding another one?

A: Yeah, but there was one place I could go, and that was back to my cousin’s home in Smithfield. I’d go back there and stay until I could find another job.

Q: Many people in the cities had little to eat. Did you ever have days in which you wondered from where the next meal was coming?

A: Yes. While going from one place to another trying to get a job, maybe I’d eat breakfast and then have no more food until late at night.

Q: Did you have many clothes?

A: I couldn’t afford extra clothing. All I had were the bare necessities.

Q: What did you do for fun and recreation?

A: I just worked and slept; there wasn’t any time to play ball or anything like that.

Q: You had to work seven days a week?

A: Yeah. Some of the farmers promised to give me Sunday afternoons off, but they always found something to keep me from leaving.

Q: Where did you usually sleep?

A: In most places they had a little house out by itself. At one farm, however, I stayed in what was originally a corncrib.

Q: How about the time you walked from Fairmont to Smithfield?

A: I had only thirty cents in my pocket. By two o’clock in the afternoon I still hadn’t had anything to eat, and I just couldn’t wait any longer. I went to this little store and asked the grocer what he could give me for thirty cents. He gave me a big slab of cheese, a quarter loaf of bread, and I think he put in a couple cupcakes. Normally I didn’t like cheese, but I never tasted anything so good.

Q: You usually had to walk to get from one job to another?

A: I had to walk or hitchhike. Once I tried to ride a freight train, but I nearly killed myself getting off. I swore I’d never ride another one. I let go of that train and went end-over-end over the side of the tracks and into the cinders.

Q: Were any of the farmers unkind?

A: Well, three of the farmers treated me like a dog. All they were interested in was how much work they could get from me.

*Dad survived the Great Depression, became a hero in World War II, learned a trade, married, had four children, and made a decent living. Like Dad had said in the hospital , he was indeed a tough old bird. He had to be.