Friday, December 18, 2009
Hello out there!?
Is there anyone out there..Is anyone reading this?? Please Just say Yes or at least nod your head..Thank you!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Thursday, December 11, 2008
WHY AM I DOING THIS..?
I found myself asking why am I writing all this? Well, I am 76 years Old and missing a lung, a gall bladder, tonsils and the cartilage in both knees. I have glasses which I need and hearing aids in both ears and I take about 6 different pills a day to keep everything going. They tell me I should be on oxygen but I put my foot down (gently, of course) there. The tank is sitting on the porch, to please my doctor and my wife, but I don’t use it during the day. However, I do when I sleep at night. I won’t deny that it helps me to prepare for the day. It does. I will know when it is time to make it a full time situation. And I know it is sneaking up on me.
I go through a lot of days shopping, to Art Galleries and art shows, visiting with other artists, dining out and cooking along with other duties around the house. Just normal activities that don’t require too much physical exertion. I get along fine as I have for the almost 16 years since I lost my lung. At this point I must say that my wife does most of the heavy chores around the house. She actually keeps everything going. It is not easy for her, either but we make a pretty good team.
Now, here’s the thing. When I am sitting at the computer or in a chair anywhere and am in my thoughts, I am not 76. I am probably anywhere from 26 to 56. Maybe even 16. I am watching myself walking through Europe or sitting at an outside Café in Naples, Italy or perhaps swimming and sunbathing on the Riviera in Italy or France or fly fishing and camping here in Colorado. And I am doing it effortlessly. I have done all those things effortlessly but I enjoy doing them over and over in my mind.
I know all this writing about myself seems egoistic on my part. However, I think it is somewhat cathartic for me, as one memory ignites another and I am remembering times and instances that I haven’t thought about for years or maybe ever but has been nudged or unearthed by another memory. I realized that I don’t want to lose those memories so I am writing them down. It is that simple. It also comes down to the fact that after my wife and I, there is no one to remember any of this and it is important to me to have been at least a notation. we have no children and I have no relatives living (that are interested, anyway) and I don’t want total anonymity when I breathe my last.
I of course, don’t know how much time I have. I am even truly surprised that I have had this much time. All I have to leave is my story and my paintings and perhaps someone’s memory of me as an acquaintance somewhere along the way. That is not much and I know it. Perhaps that is all any of us have, in the end. Keep in mind that even one small event that is hardly worth noting, to someone else, is part of what I am and who I am at this time. Taking the good along with the bad as that is the way it works. I won’t tell all the bad. Just some.
I go through a lot of days shopping, to Art Galleries and art shows, visiting with other artists, dining out and cooking along with other duties around the house. Just normal activities that don’t require too much physical exertion. I get along fine as I have for the almost 16 years since I lost my lung. At this point I must say that my wife does most of the heavy chores around the house. She actually keeps everything going. It is not easy for her, either but we make a pretty good team.
Now, here’s the thing. When I am sitting at the computer or in a chair anywhere and am in my thoughts, I am not 76. I am probably anywhere from 26 to 56. Maybe even 16. I am watching myself walking through Europe or sitting at an outside Café in Naples, Italy or perhaps swimming and sunbathing on the Riviera in Italy or France or fly fishing and camping here in Colorado. And I am doing it effortlessly. I have done all those things effortlessly but I enjoy doing them over and over in my mind.
I know all this writing about myself seems egoistic on my part. However, I think it is somewhat cathartic for me, as one memory ignites another and I am remembering times and instances that I haven’t thought about for years or maybe ever but has been nudged or unearthed by another memory. I realized that I don’t want to lose those memories so I am writing them down. It is that simple. It also comes down to the fact that after my wife and I, there is no one to remember any of this and it is important to me to have been at least a notation. we have no children and I have no relatives living (that are interested, anyway) and I don’t want total anonymity when I breathe my last.
I of course, don’t know how much time I have. I am even truly surprised that I have had this much time. All I have to leave is my story and my paintings and perhaps someone’s memory of me as an acquaintance somewhere along the way. That is not much and I know it. Perhaps that is all any of us have, in the end. Keep in mind that even one small event that is hardly worth noting, to someone else, is part of what I am and who I am at this time. Taking the good along with the bad as that is the way it works. I won’t tell all the bad. Just some.
MY FINAL LETTER and THOUGHTS (AKA My one-liners)
1. My hands will not be resting on my computer keyboard at work, in my final moments, after all.
2. Wish I had tried harder in the 50yd dash at the Quad city meet when I was 14. I came in
5th
3. Being late is not always bad. When I finally decided to leave Italy for the States, in 1956, I was too late to book passage on the Andrea Doria. It was all booked. Wound up taking a freighter to Norfolk. Remember the Andrea Doria in 1956?
26. Never got to hitch-hike to Tierra del Fuego, Argentina which was one of my goals in life. Only got as far as Beaumont, Texas. That was probably a pretty good thing.
27. Stood in front of the Louvre Museum on a Tuesday in about 1956. They are, of course, closed on Tuesdays. Crap!! I was only there for one day.
28. Drove over the San Bernardino Pass from Italy to Switzerland in a rented Citreon touring car (Shown below) that had the gear shift in the dash in around 1956.
35. Sent off for a Charles Atlas body building course in about 1946 or 1947. Nobody ever
kicked sand in my face after that.
36. My Heroes were Jim Thorpe, Joe Louis and Billy Conn in the early 40’s. And of course, FDR. in the 50’s and 60’s there were many. Paul Newman, Dwight Eddleman, Jackson Pollock, Phillip Wylie, John Kennedy and others. At this writing, I have to include Curtis Hicks and Jack Seeber. They made me realize that one can overcome anything and go on in life. Today, my new hero is Barack Obama. I wish him well and success.
2. Wish I had tried harder in the 50yd dash at the Quad city meet when I was 14. I came in
5th
3. Being late is not always bad. When I finally decided to leave Italy for the States, in 1956, I was too late to book passage on the Andrea Doria. It was all booked. Wound up taking a freighter to Norfolk. Remember the Andrea Doria in 1956?
4. I climbed the tower of Pisa in 1955 and it didn’t fall over.
5. Joined the navy at 17 in March of 1950 and got out in October of 1954. Danced on the bar at
Eddies Western Bar in Boston that night. I was 21 years and 9 months old. Another moment that will never be re-captured. But, I kept trying.
6. Saw my first separate bathroom and drinking fountain for blacks and whites at a bus station in Baltimore, MD in 1951.
7. Witnessed the first black nominee for president of the U.S. in 2008.
8. Hitch-hiked over the Alps from Cannes and Monaco, France to Genoa, Italy in 1955. It was pretty safe back then. Today it hovers between 'a box of chocolates' and 'Russian Roulette'. You never know what you'll get.
9. I got the deepest tan you ever seen during a cruise on the U.S.S. Worcester to Cuba and
Puerto Rico in November of 1953.
10. I drank (too many) Rum and cokes in Guantanamo Bay Cuba in 1953 on a beautiful beach
on a most beautiful day.
11. I went on a rowboat into the Grotto Azzuro (Blue Cave) on the Isle of Capri in 1952.
12. I travelled through France, Germany and Italy selling “Wonderland of Knowledge”
encyclopedias, to Americans living in Europe, for 6 months in 1955. Lived high on the
hog in Germany and almost starved in France.
13. Went back to Italy and Europe when I was 22 yrs old with a small bag and very little money. Hey, I was 22 and, of course, immortal!!
14. Went back to Italy when I was 72 but a little better heeled financially and spent 6 days
walking all over Rome. Shoulda’ stayed for a month!! Crap.
15. Did I mention that I really loved to travel?
16. Kayaked in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of the Isle of Ischia in Italy in 1953 with
a good Navy buddy back then.
17. Worked underground in a copper mine in Calumet, Michigan for a year in 1956 -1957. A year too long.
18. Was a mail carrier in Rock Island, Ill. and Long Beach, Ca. for total of five years from 1958.
19. Worked as a Candy maker in Bettendorf, Iowa when I was 15 till I was 17 before I joined the
Navy in 1950.
20. Worked as a welder, steel fabricator and layout man for about 30 years off and on from 1962 to 1992 in Tulsa Oklahoma, Davenport Iowa, Bonner Springs Kansas, Grand Junction
Colo, Hamilton Montana and all around the Denver area.
21. The navy took me to Dublin Ireland, Toulon France, Nice France, Portsmouth England, Port
Lyautey Morroco, Ponte Delgado Azore Islands, Barcelona Spain, Gander Newfoundland,
Guantanamo bay Cuba, San Juan Puerto Rico and the home port, Boston Mass. and Bar
Harbor, Me.
22. I loaded barges on the Mississippi river for 2 months before they found that I was only 14.
Reluctantly told to leave. Had to be 16 to work there.
23. I was told by my mother, when I was about 6, not to play with my belly button. She said if I
broke the string that my arms and legs would fall off. I believed her until I was about 8.
You wouldn’t believe the lint that was in there by then! 
24. I’ve had 2 convertibles in my life. In 1959, I had a 1958 black Chevrolet with a white top
and blood red interior.
In 1966, I had a cream colored 1964 ford with red interior. Every
one should have had at least one convertible in their life.
26. Never got to hitch-hike to Tierra del Fuego, Argentina which was one of my goals in life. Only got as far as Beaumont, Texas. That was probably a pretty good thing.
27. Stood in front of the Louvre Museum on a Tuesday in about 1956. They are, of course, closed on Tuesdays. Crap!! I was only there for one day.
28. Drove over the San Bernardino Pass from Italy to Switzerland in a rented Citreon touring car (Shown below) that had the gear shift in the dash in around 1956.
29. Rode a train from Italy through Switzerland to Germany. Most beautiful trip of all. Ever! The stuff that post cards are made of.
30. Boxed in the Golden gloves at 16. Not too bad. Boxed in the Navy while in boot camp at Great Lakes Training Center. Won one and tied one. That's me on the left.
31. Went thru Hospital Corps School in Great Lakes near Milwaukee and Chicago and transferred to Quantico, Va. Military hospital and stayed 2 years.
32. Shipped to Naples, Italy in 1952 at a small Naval Infirmary in Afragola, Italy. I stayed 2 years. I was in Heaven. (Again).
33. Worked in a bowling alley in Long beach California as a desk league co-ordinator by day and a bowler by night and slept on the beaches in the early mornings 3 days a week
back when you could actually sleep on the beach, legally.
34. My uncle in Milan, Illinois was a clever and talented man. In about 1947, he took a regular boys bike and mounted a small engine on it, making it into a motor bike. I paid him about 25.00 for it and drove it back and forth to work from Illinois to Iowa for about a year. I don’t remember what happened to it. I also have a memory about his Home Brew. More about all that later.
35. Sent off for a Charles Atlas body building course in about 1946 or 1947. Nobody ever
kicked sand in my face after that.
36. My Heroes were Jim Thorpe, Joe Louis and Billy Conn in the early 40’s. And of course, FDR. in the 50’s and 60’s there were many. Paul Newman, Dwight Eddleman, Jackson Pollock, Phillip Wylie, John Kennedy and others. At this writing, I have to include Curtis Hicks and Jack Seeber. They made me realize that one can overcome anything and go on in life. Today, my new hero is Barack Obama. I wish him well and success.
37. I drank the incredible Pernod Absinthe (or Pastis) in Toulon, France and listened to Lili Marlene being sung by everyone in the bar, in french, of course. I was 20. It was 1953. I knew then I would remember that moment forever. I can still seem to smell the bar rag and the smoke if I really try.
38. In 1952 and 1953 while in Naples, They played the old Neapolitan music in most clubs with just an accordian and a violin. Such as Ole sole mio, Torna Sorrento, Mala Femmena, Anema Core, Ciao Ciao Bambino, Piscatore e Pusilleco, Nel Pinto di Blu and many more. And all that could bring tears to your eyes. Today, you can hardly hear these old songs. It is like here in the U.S. Too loud, too fast and you can't even understand the words. But the world turns, alas..
39. The good thing about being retired is that you get weekdays and weekends off.
40. If you eat lots of fruits and veggies you will eventually die.
41. God, I'm really getting old.
1. The Blue Grotto in the Isle of Capri.
2. The blue translucent sea water around Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. You can almost see
the bottom.
3. The smell of pizza in Naples, Italy for the first time and the old Neapolitan music in the air.
4. Spending a week-end in Santa Maria, Italy with a beautiful girl in 1953. I wish it could have gone on forever. Alas, it was not to be.
5. The final play when the Denver Broncos won the super bowl the first time. WOW..
6. 1945. Walking home from school one afternoon and seeing my dad on the front porch
after 2 years away in the war. I was 12. The world was right again.
7. Standing outside in the clear dark of a night in the hills above Hamilton, Montana and seeing the billions of stars that seem to nearly touch each other. Such as never to be seen living near a city.
8. Winning a “nickel” from my dad on the “Friday night fights” on the radio in the early ‘40’s. I always picked Louis, Marciano, Graziano or Billy Conn. My dad was a prize fighter when he was young.
9. November 4th, 2008. Election night. At 9:00, the election was called and Barack
Obama was Elected the President of the United States. A moment I will remember forever.
FINAL LETTER Part two
43. I have (swam, swum , swammed or swimmed ??) in the Mediterranean sea, the Pacific ocean, the Atlantic Ocean, the Tyrrhenian sea, the Ligurian sea, the Adriatic sea and the Mississippi river and countless filthy canals in and around Rock Island and Milan, Illinois. Also, a pond in Bonner Springs, Kansas.
44. For me, a life is like a book divided into chapters. Each is an adventure and more than likely, never to be regained. Though we try and we try till we are finally too old or too used up. So we just start new chapters.
45. Don’t SMOKE!! Okay, no one listens. I didn’t. Did it for 50 years. Got lung cancer. However, welding for 30 years didn’t help, either. Lost my left lung. Wasn’t any good anyway. Went on with life the best I could. Didn’t smoke or weld any more, though. Learned one thing. Getting
cancer is one way to quit smoking that works. As of December 21st 2008, it will be 15 years.
Not bad years, either. Just slower. Kind of an epilogue or re-run of all my preceding chapters going through my mind. And then I realize it isn’t over. Perhaps, there is one more chapter yet.
46. I was a medical corpsman while in the Navy. I wanted to be a mechanic. They said I wanted
to be a corpsman. They won. Actually, we both won. I really got into it and it became a better
place for me to be in the Navy. Another one of those chapters I’ve mentioned.
47. Had my first beer when 11 years old. First cigarette at 12. Last cigarette at 62. First sex at last!
48. First girlfriend was Shirley B. I was 17. Met her at a drug store counter. She was a waitress. I was on my first leave from boot camp. Wound up sending her a “Dear Shirley” letter from Italy. Mistake # 42 already and I was only 18 years old. Not a good start in life!
49. Had only 3 good friends that mattered in my life. Wayne K., Whom I grew up with and Larry S. whom I spent most of my time in the Navy with and Gloria whom I have spent 40 years with.
50. I should have died at least 3 times in my life:
I once ran my 1964 ford falcon convertible off a slippery road in the rain and hit a telephone pole going about 30. I went through the windshield but not all the way through. 27 stitches and I went home the next morning. Yeah, I had been drinking.
Another time, when I was thirty-something and yeah, I was drinking, I was depressed enough to take a whole bottle of aspirin. Fortunately or unfortunately, I simply spent the entire night
throwing up. The whole long, entire night.
The third time, it was my wrists. Yeah, I was. And that we won’t talk about.
51. I always wanted to be an artist. I have the soul of an artist, I have the heart, I have the desire to be creative and the passion (and I am left-handed), but, alas, perhaps, not the talent.
52. I never went to kindergarten but started school in the first grade. Got sick. Don’t remember what but missed a lot of school and couldn’t read so they kept me another year in first grade. I could read better than the others in my class in that year.
53. I read most of the classics when I was very young. I was a voracious reader in my younger years while growing up. My favorites books were and are “The Grapes of Wrath” by Steinbeck, “Watership Down”by Richard Adams, “The Winter of Our Discontent” by Steinbeck, “Travels with Charley” by Steinbeck, “Lost Horizon” by James Hilton, and anything by Phillip Wylie. Believe it or not, I read "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey" when I was in 6th grade and actually enjoyed them. So many more. Oh yeah, and “Gods Little Acre” by Erskine Caldwell. Whew! That was a keeper.
54. Regrets:
Wish I had learned to speak fluent Italian.
Wish I had seen the Matterhorn in person and up close.
Never got to see inside the Louvre Museum. It was Tuesday and it is closed on Tuesdays.
Wish I had payed more attention to and explored more the places I did get to and the adventures I did have.
I had so much more to see and to experience and it makes me sad sometimes.
Sometimes I wish I had just stayed in the Navy. Sometimes…
Should have taken better care of that 58 Chevy “chick magnet” Convertible.
Wish I’d kept contact with friends I made through the years. Particularly, Wayne K. from Rock Island, Ill., Larry S. from The Dalles, Ore., and a girl from Casagiove, Italy, Gary F. from Rock Island, ILL. Never been good at that.
55. To everyone. Don’t put off. Do it. You will regret it eventually if you don’t. Trust me on this!
56. I really love Limburger cheese. The only problem is that you have to eat all of it fairly quick
because, how do you know when Limburger cheese has turned bad?
57. I had a Beagle in Montana named Heidi. She was the only dog I knew of that would let out
the most stinking farts you have ever encountered and then sulk away in shame when you said something.
58. Perhaps this is related but when I would open some of that limburger cheese I mentioned before, her eyes would get big and her tail would go crazy. We would share a good deal of it together. She was a good doggy but a bad farter.
59. When I was about 9 yrs old, I was bit by a neighbors dog and to be safe, I went through the
Rabies shots. This was in about 1941 0r 1942. Then they gave the series of shots in your stomach. I remember that pain till today. It took my dad, a nurse and a cop to hold me down.
60. Another “Best Lesson” learned. 10 days into boot camp, the company ACPO (acting company Petty officer) gave me an order I couldn’t obey. So I punched him out and wound up in the brig for 3 days on bread and water. I learned then that I could do anything I wanted if I was willing to pay the price. The navy never had another problem with me after that.
61. Cemeteries are peaceful places to slow down in. In Bonner Springs, Kansas I used my Sunday afternoon’s at the cemetery to sit and read and wind down and listen to the quiet.
62. There is no doubt in my mind that if I had another lung and lots of money that I would go
to live in Italy and spend the remaining time traveling until my body gave out. Preferably
right after the money ran out.
63. One of the hardest and dirtiest jobs I ever had was underground in the copper mines in the upper peninsula of Michigan. The Houghton and Hancock area, actually. I worked there one year down in the 2000 foot level. One year too long.
64. Once while on liberty in Toulon, France I walked in a noisy club and sat at the bar and ordered a beer. When I looked up at the mirror, with beer in hand, I saw a topless dancer behind me on a stage. Not unusual? Not today. but this was 1954 and I was 20 and this was the first time for me. I about choked on my beer. But, I recovered and , of course, enjoyed.
44. For me, a life is like a book divided into chapters. Each is an adventure and more than likely, never to be regained. Though we try and we try till we are finally too old or too used up. So we just start new chapters.
45. Don’t SMOKE!! Okay, no one listens. I didn’t. Did it for 50 years. Got lung cancer. However, welding for 30 years didn’t help, either. Lost my left lung. Wasn’t any good anyway. Went on with life the best I could. Didn’t smoke or weld any more, though. Learned one thing. Getting
cancer is one way to quit smoking that works. As of December 21st 2008, it will be 15 years.
Not bad years, either. Just slower. Kind of an epilogue or re-run of all my preceding chapters going through my mind. And then I realize it isn’t over. Perhaps, there is one more chapter yet.
46. I was a medical corpsman while in the Navy. I wanted to be a mechanic. They said I wanted
to be a corpsman. They won. Actually, we both won. I really got into it and it became a better
place for me to be in the Navy. Another one of those chapters I’ve mentioned.
47. Had my first beer when 11 years old. First cigarette at 12. Last cigarette at 62. First sex at last!
48. First girlfriend was Shirley B. I was 17. Met her at a drug store counter. She was a waitress. I was on my first leave from boot camp. Wound up sending her a “Dear Shirley” letter from Italy. Mistake # 42 already and I was only 18 years old. Not a good start in life!
49. Had only 3 good friends that mattered in my life. Wayne K., Whom I grew up with and Larry S. whom I spent most of my time in the Navy with and Gloria whom I have spent 40 years with.
50. I should have died at least 3 times in my life:
I once ran my 1964 ford falcon convertible off a slippery road in the rain and hit a telephone pole going about 30. I went through the windshield but not all the way through. 27 stitches and I went home the next morning. Yeah, I had been drinking.
Another time, when I was thirty-something and yeah, I was drinking, I was depressed enough to take a whole bottle of aspirin. Fortunately or unfortunately, I simply spent the entire night
throwing up. The whole long, entire night.
The third time, it was my wrists. Yeah, I was. And that we won’t talk about.
51. I always wanted to be an artist. I have the soul of an artist, I have the heart, I have the desire to be creative and the passion (and I am left-handed), but, alas, perhaps, not the talent.
52. I never went to kindergarten but started school in the first grade. Got sick. Don’t remember what but missed a lot of school and couldn’t read so they kept me another year in first grade. I could read better than the others in my class in that year.
53. I read most of the classics when I was very young. I was a voracious reader in my younger years while growing up. My favorites books were and are “The Grapes of Wrath” by Steinbeck, “Watership Down”by Richard Adams, “The Winter of Our Discontent” by Steinbeck, “Travels with Charley” by Steinbeck, “Lost Horizon” by James Hilton, and anything by Phillip Wylie. Believe it or not, I read "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey" when I was in 6th grade and actually enjoyed them. So many more. Oh yeah, and “Gods Little Acre” by Erskine Caldwell. Whew! That was a keeper.
54. Regrets:
Wish I had learned to speak fluent Italian.
Wish I had seen the Matterhorn in person and up close.
Never got to see inside the Louvre Museum. It was Tuesday and it is closed on Tuesdays.
Wish I had payed more attention to and explored more the places I did get to and the adventures I did have.
I had so much more to see and to experience and it makes me sad sometimes.
Sometimes I wish I had just stayed in the Navy. Sometimes…
Should have taken better care of that 58 Chevy “chick magnet” Convertible.
Wish I’d kept contact with friends I made through the years. Particularly, Wayne K. from Rock Island, Ill., Larry S. from The Dalles, Ore., and a girl from Casagiove, Italy, Gary F. from Rock Island, ILL. Never been good at that.
55. To everyone. Don’t put off. Do it. You will regret it eventually if you don’t. Trust me on this!
56. I really love Limburger cheese. The only problem is that you have to eat all of it fairly quick
because, how do you know when Limburger cheese has turned bad?
57. I had a Beagle in Montana named Heidi. She was the only dog I knew of that would let out
the most stinking farts you have ever encountered and then sulk away in shame when you said something.
58. Perhaps this is related but when I would open some of that limburger cheese I mentioned before, her eyes would get big and her tail would go crazy. We would share a good deal of it together. She was a good doggy but a bad farter.
59. When I was about 9 yrs old, I was bit by a neighbors dog and to be safe, I went through the
Rabies shots. This was in about 1941 0r 1942. Then they gave the series of shots in your stomach. I remember that pain till today. It took my dad, a nurse and a cop to hold me down.
60. Another “Best Lesson” learned. 10 days into boot camp, the company ACPO (acting company Petty officer) gave me an order I couldn’t obey. So I punched him out and wound up in the brig for 3 days on bread and water. I learned then that I could do anything I wanted if I was willing to pay the price. The navy never had another problem with me after that.
61. Cemeteries are peaceful places to slow down in. In Bonner Springs, Kansas I used my Sunday afternoon’s at the cemetery to sit and read and wind down and listen to the quiet.
62. There is no doubt in my mind that if I had another lung and lots of money that I would go
to live in Italy and spend the remaining time traveling until my body gave out. Preferably
right after the money ran out.
63. One of the hardest and dirtiest jobs I ever had was underground in the copper mines in the upper peninsula of Michigan. The Houghton and Hancock area, actually. I worked there one year down in the 2000 foot level. One year too long.
64. Once while on liberty in Toulon, France I walked in a noisy club and sat at the bar and ordered a beer. When I looked up at the mirror, with beer in hand, I saw a topless dancer behind me on a stage. Not unusual? Not today. but this was 1954 and I was 20 and this was the first time for me. I about choked on my beer. But, I recovered and , of course, enjoyed.
FINALLY, THE FINAL FINAL LETTER..
65. Time to list every type of work I have ever done, if I can remember. Starting at 12 yrs old:
1. Paper routes. Rock Island Argus.
2. Mowed lawns, weeded, trimmed, shoveled walks. I had regular customers all year
round.
3. Worked at Borden’s Dairy making fudgesicles and popsicles for 2 weeks.
4. Collected bottles, lead foil, tin cans, string, newspapers, etc. in my wagon. Sold to
junk yard.
5. Sacked potatoes and bananas and onions, etc at the grocers next door.
6. Loaded barges on the Mississippi for a month when 14. Under age. Got caught.
Fired.
7 Set pins at “Bowladrome” Bowling alley most every night for the leagues. 10 cents a game.
9. Quit school at 15 and got job at Ucanco Candy Co as a candy maker and worked
2 yrs.
10. Joined the U.S.Navy at 17 in March of 1950 and discharged at 21 in November
of 1954.
11. Went to Italy in 1954. Started selling Encyclopedias to American Military in
Italy, France and Germany.
12. Came back. Worked in Hancock, Michigan at a Diner flipping burgers and waited
tables.
13. Went to work in the Copper Mines underground as a miner for a year.
14. Moved to Rock Island and went to work at a Sanitary Service cleaning restrooms.
15. Got a job at the Peterson Paper Co. filling orders in a warehouse.
16. Passed a civil test for the Post Office as a Letter Carrier in Rock Island.
17. Transferred to Long Beach, California Post Office.
18. Worked part time at a Bowling center in Long Beach. I got divorced in here
somewhere.
19. Quit the Post office to work full time at the Bowling center. Yeah! I know.
20. Worked for 3 months at a Cabinet shop and bartended part-time in the evenings.
21. Left California and went to Tulsa and worked at Braden Steel Fabricators for
3 months.
22. Found work at a door fabrication shop for 2 or 3 months.
23. Friend and I started a bakery sales route out of a Bakery which only lasted
3 months. Made a few bucks.
24. I left for Bonner Springs, Kansas and worked at an Underground Storage Center.
25. Quit. Worked at a Steel fabricator company for 1 ½ years and got laid off.
26. Started at a Safeway Cereal Plant in Bonner as a mill worker.
27. Went to Davenport, Iowa and worked at another steel company for nearly a year.
28. Moved to Pueblo, Co. Found a job at a Feed Mill for a few months.
29. Moved to Denver, Co. Worked at a Hotel as a night desk attendant for 6 months.
30. Got a job at Roy Glazier Iron Works and stayed almost a year.
31. Moved to Grand Junction, Co. Got a job at Grand Junction Steel and Stayed for
6 months.
32. Back to Denver and entered the Alcoholic treatment center at Ft. Logan for
3 weeks, finally. this was 1967. From then to the present I worked at the
following Co’s.
33. Found a job at Jeffco Steel Fabricators and stayed about two years and I
learned a trade. Steel Layout using all that geometry that I thought I hated
earlier in life.
34. Went to work for CF&I Iron works as a Layout man for about 2 years.
35. Worked at Card Iron Works as a layout man and steel fabricator.
36. Went to General Cable Corporation as an inspector and moved up to weld
shop foreman after 6 months. I stayed for about 9 months.
37. Hired on as Shop Foreman at Lomax Steel.
38. Started own business making ornamental iron and Small utility trailers in
Hygiene, Co.
39. Went back to Lomax Steel. After one year the business closed down.
40. Moved to Hamilton, Montana and Hired as Maintenance man in Log Home
construction.
41. Went to work at Selway Corporation in Stevensville as layout man and
stayed 2 years.
42. Started my own business in a shop I built and named it “Sleeping Child Welding”. Lasted for about 2 years. Sold the shop.
43. Moved back to Denver in 1982. Found a job in another Steel shop in Arvada.
44. I went to work for Silver Engineering in Aurora and stayed a couple of years.
45. Started at Cleasby Manufacturing and stayed 3 years.
46. Found I had lung cancer. Had lung surgically removed. This was late in 1993.
47. Went to work for Meals on Wheels for a year.
48. Went to Jefferson Center for Mental Health as a van driver and stayed 5 years.
49. Moved to Medical Records at Jefferson Center for Mental Health and stayed
8 more years.
50. Retired at 76 yrs old, finally.
59. Now I paint and write about all the above and below and am realizing how lucky
I have been in my life and my wife and I actually sit and talk and laugh about it all.
60. I said earlier that I had witnessed a black man being nominated for President of the United
States and tonight, the 4th of November, 2008, I watched a black man elected to the
Presidency of the United States. I am proud of this country and the people in it. I am happy to have lived long enough to see this happen.
1. Paper routes. Rock Island Argus.
2. Mowed lawns, weeded, trimmed, shoveled walks. I had regular customers all year
round.
3. Worked at Borden’s Dairy making fudgesicles and popsicles for 2 weeks.
4. Collected bottles, lead foil, tin cans, string, newspapers, etc. in my wagon. Sold to
junk yard.
5. Sacked potatoes and bananas and onions, etc at the grocers next door.
6. Loaded barges on the Mississippi for a month when 14. Under age. Got caught.
Fired.
7 Set pins at “Bowladrome” Bowling alley most every night for the leagues. 10 cents a game.
9. Quit school at 15 and got job at Ucanco Candy Co as a candy maker and worked
2 yrs.
10. Joined the U.S.Navy at 17 in March of 1950 and discharged at 21 in November
of 1954.
11. Went to Italy in 1954. Started selling Encyclopedias to American Military in
Italy, France and Germany.
12. Came back. Worked in Hancock, Michigan at a Diner flipping burgers and waited
tables.
13. Went to work in the Copper Mines underground as a miner for a year.
14. Moved to Rock Island and went to work at a Sanitary Service cleaning restrooms.
15. Got a job at the Peterson Paper Co. filling orders in a warehouse.
16. Passed a civil test for the Post Office as a Letter Carrier in Rock Island.
17. Transferred to Long Beach, California Post Office.
18. Worked part time at a Bowling center in Long Beach. I got divorced in here
somewhere.
19. Quit the Post office to work full time at the Bowling center. Yeah! I know.
20. Worked for 3 months at a Cabinet shop and bartended part-time in the evenings.
21. Left California and went to Tulsa and worked at Braden Steel Fabricators for
3 months.
22. Found work at a door fabrication shop for 2 or 3 months.
23. Friend and I started a bakery sales route out of a Bakery which only lasted
3 months. Made a few bucks.
24. I left for Bonner Springs, Kansas and worked at an Underground Storage Center.
25. Quit. Worked at a Steel fabricator company for 1 ½ years and got laid off.
26. Started at a Safeway Cereal Plant in Bonner as a mill worker.
27. Went to Davenport, Iowa and worked at another steel company for nearly a year.
28. Moved to Pueblo, Co. Found a job at a Feed Mill for a few months.
29. Moved to Denver, Co. Worked at a Hotel as a night desk attendant for 6 months.
30. Got a job at Roy Glazier Iron Works and stayed almost a year.
31. Moved to Grand Junction, Co. Got a job at Grand Junction Steel and Stayed for
6 months.
32. Back to Denver and entered the Alcoholic treatment center at Ft. Logan for
3 weeks, finally. this was 1967. From then to the present I worked at the
following Co’s.
33. Found a job at Jeffco Steel Fabricators and stayed about two years and I
learned a trade. Steel Layout using all that geometry that I thought I hated
earlier in life.
34. Went to work for CF&I Iron works as a Layout man for about 2 years.
35. Worked at Card Iron Works as a layout man and steel fabricator.
36. Went to General Cable Corporation as an inspector and moved up to weld
shop foreman after 6 months. I stayed for about 9 months.
37. Hired on as Shop Foreman at Lomax Steel.
38. Started own business making ornamental iron and Small utility trailers in
Hygiene, Co.
39. Went back to Lomax Steel. After one year the business closed down.
40. Moved to Hamilton, Montana and Hired as Maintenance man in Log Home
construction.
41. Went to work at Selway Corporation in Stevensville as layout man and
stayed 2 years.
42. Started my own business in a shop I built and named it “Sleeping Child Welding”. Lasted for about 2 years. Sold the shop.
43. Moved back to Denver in 1982. Found a job in another Steel shop in Arvada.
44. I went to work for Silver Engineering in Aurora and stayed a couple of years.
45. Started at Cleasby Manufacturing and stayed 3 years.
46. Found I had lung cancer. Had lung surgically removed. This was late in 1993.
47. Went to work for Meals on Wheels for a year.
48. Went to Jefferson Center for Mental Health as a van driver and stayed 5 years.
49. Moved to Medical Records at Jefferson Center for Mental Health and stayed
8 more years.
50. Retired at 76 yrs old, finally.
59. Now I paint and write about all the above and below and am realizing how lucky
I have been in my life and my wife and I actually sit and talk and laugh about it all.
60. I said earlier that I had witnessed a black man being nominated for President of the United
States and tonight, the 4th of November, 2008, I watched a black man elected to the
Presidency of the United States. I am proud of this country and the people in it. I am happy to have lived long enough to see this happen.
A MOST BEAUTIFUL POEM from the NEW YORKER by Stuart Dischell
SHE PUT ON HER LIPSTICK IN THE DARK
I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once.
It was in the garden of a museum,
where I saw her touching the statues.
She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf.
It was in the garden of the museum.
I told her I was a thief disguised as a guard.
She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf.
She told me she was a student from Grenoble.
I told her I was not a thief disguised as a guard.
We had coffee at the little commissary.
She said she had time till her train to Grenoble.
We talked about our supreme belief in Art.
We had coffee at the little commissary,
then sat on a bench near the foundry.
We talked about our supreme belief in Art.
She leaned her head upon my chest.
We kissed on a bench near the foundry.
I closed my eyes when no one was watching.
She leaned her head upon my chest.
The museum was closing. It was time to part.
I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once.
I never saw her again and she never saw me.
In a garden she touched the statues.
She put on her lipstick in the dark.
I close my eyes when no one was watching.
She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf.
The museum was closing. It was time to part.
I never saw her again and she never saw me.
I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once.
It was in the garden of a museum,
where I saw her touching the statues.
She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf.
It was in the garden of the museum.
I told her I was a thief disguised as a guard.
She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf.
She told me she was a student from Grenoble.
I told her I was not a thief disguised as a guard.
We had coffee at the little commissary.
She said she had time till her train to Grenoble.
We talked about our supreme belief in Art.
We had coffee at the little commissary,
then sat on a bench near the foundry.
We talked about our supreme belief in Art.
She leaned her head upon my chest.
We kissed on a bench near the foundry.
I closed my eyes when no one was watching.
She leaned her head upon my chest.
The museum was closing. It was time to part.
I really did meet a blind girl in Paris once.
I never saw her again and she never saw me.
In a garden she touched the statues.
She put on her lipstick in the dark.
I close my eyes when no one was watching.
She had brown hair and an aquamarine scarf.
The museum was closing. It was time to part.
I never saw her again and she never saw me.
Monday, December 1, 2008
THE NEIGHBORHOOD..
My name is Billy Peterson but NO one back then called me Billy. To most everyone, I was Pete or Bill. I am 11 years old. I spend a lot of time watching over my 2 half brothers during the day and most nights. They are 4 and 5 years old.
My dad has been away in the army for over a year. Almost 2 years This was during World War 2. Our house is on 7th Ave between 14½ Street and 15th street. We live in the middle of the block. On the corner down the street to the right is Mickey’s Tavern. Next door to us on the right is Lorentzen’s grocery store and next is Licata’s music store and then Mickey’s. To the left is a house that that Chet, the barber owned. His shop was next door to him. Then came the radio repair shop and then Schaums Tavern. And, as if there weren’t enough bars, there was the Spin Inn across the street from Schaums. We have an alley directly behind our house. Actually, 2 alleys. One is parallel to our backyard and another joins it behind our house making an “L” shape going up to 9th ave. The alley was also our playground. Mom spent a lot of time at Schaums tavern or at one of the others as a waitress or bar-maid or as a customer.
I spent as much time as I can up the street or alley where some of my friends lived. We had a garage, which we called the barn. We had found some old couches and chairs that probably were meant for throwing away. We pretty much hung out there a lot. Some times I slept there to avoid going home. There was Wayne, Earl, Harold, another Harold, Gene, Tom, Sonny and others at different times. Wayne was my best friend. One of probably two in my whole life. The other was Larry S. who I met in the Navy, later. Larry and I spent most of the time together in the Navy from Corps school in Great Lakes and to Quantico Naval Hospital and to Naples, Italy.
I could always buy beer at one of the taverns. I just told them that it was for my mom. So, we had beer at the barn whenever we wanted. We were all either 13 or 14, at the time except Harold. He was 15.
Harold had an older brother that had a “hot rod” he and another friend had built from scratch. It was a Ford coupe with a rumble seat in the back and was missing the back window. A souped up engine with Motorcycle fenders over the front wheels that turned with the wheels and the whole car was painted “robin egg” blue. The engine hood was off and the engine was painted bright red. Whenever he took it out on the streets, he would get tickets for no reason, probably, except it looked like it deserved one. It was fast and noisy. Harold’s brother worked the graveyard shift so, occasionally we would back it out of the garage and Harold would start it by rolling it down the alley. Then we would jump in,two in the rumble seat and two in the front, and take off. Usually we went out to Airport Road and hit the apple cider stands and buy a gallon jug of hard apple cider which we would pass back and forth through the open window. Now if you have ever drank much apple cider, you know that it makes you piss a lot which meant that about every half mile, we would have to stop for a piss call. But, they were great times. I don’t know if Harold’s brother ever knew but I suspect he did.
I learned the best lesson of my life when I was about 7 or 8 years old. My mother sent me next door to lorentzens grocery store one day to pick up a few things she had on a list. I gave the list to the clerk and while he was putting it together, I walked around the store and at some point I picked up an apple and innocently put it in my pocket. When I got home with the groceries I began eating the apple. My mother asked me where I got the apple. I told her and she told me ‘that is stealing’. She told me to take it back to the store and tell them what I did. I remember crying when I showed them the half-eaten apple and they, of course, played it up as stealing but they would let it go this time. The lesson stuck with me the rest of my years.
My dad has been away in the army for over a year. Almost 2 years This was during World War 2. Our house is on 7th Ave between 14½ Street and 15th street. We live in the middle of the block. On the corner down the street to the right is Mickey’s Tavern. Next door to us on the right is Lorentzen’s grocery store and next is Licata’s music store and then Mickey’s. To the left is a house that that Chet, the barber owned. His shop was next door to him. Then came the radio repair shop and then Schaums Tavern. And, as if there weren’t enough bars, there was the Spin Inn across the street from Schaums. We have an alley directly behind our house. Actually, 2 alleys. One is parallel to our backyard and another joins it behind our house making an “L” shape going up to 9th ave. The alley was also our playground. Mom spent a lot of time at Schaums tavern or at one of the others as a waitress or bar-maid or as a customer.
I spent as much time as I can up the street or alley where some of my friends lived. We had a garage, which we called the barn. We had found some old couches and chairs that probably were meant for throwing away. We pretty much hung out there a lot. Some times I slept there to avoid going home. There was Wayne, Earl, Harold, another Harold, Gene, Tom, Sonny and others at different times. Wayne was my best friend. One of probably two in my whole life. The other was Larry S. who I met in the Navy, later. Larry and I spent most of the time together in the Navy from Corps school in Great Lakes and to Quantico Naval Hospital and to Naples, Italy.
I could always buy beer at one of the taverns. I just told them that it was for my mom. So, we had beer at the barn whenever we wanted. We were all either 13 or 14, at the time except Harold. He was 15.
Harold had an older brother that had a “hot rod” he and another friend had built from scratch. It was a Ford coupe with a rumble seat in the back and was missing the back window. A souped up engine with Motorcycle fenders over the front wheels that turned with the wheels and the whole car was painted “robin egg” blue. The engine hood was off and the engine was painted bright red. Whenever he took it out on the streets, he would get tickets for no reason, probably, except it looked like it deserved one. It was fast and noisy. Harold’s brother worked the graveyard shift so, occasionally we would back it out of the garage and Harold would start it by rolling it down the alley. Then we would jump in,two in the rumble seat and two in the front, and take off. Usually we went out to Airport Road and hit the apple cider stands and buy a gallon jug of hard apple cider which we would pass back and forth through the open window. Now if you have ever drank much apple cider, you know that it makes you piss a lot which meant that about every half mile, we would have to stop for a piss call. But, they were great times. I don’t know if Harold’s brother ever knew but I suspect he did.
I learned the best lesson of my life when I was about 7 or 8 years old. My mother sent me next door to lorentzens grocery store one day to pick up a few things she had on a list. I gave the list to the clerk and while he was putting it together, I walked around the store and at some point I picked up an apple and innocently put it in my pocket. When I got home with the groceries I began eating the apple. My mother asked me where I got the apple. I told her and she told me ‘that is stealing’. She told me to take it back to the store and tell them what I did. I remember crying when I showed them the half-eaten apple and they, of course, played it up as stealing but they would let it go this time. The lesson stuck with me the rest of my years.
THE BEGINNING..
Rock Island, Illinois was a nice small town in the 40’s and 50’s. I lived here for 17 years and 3 months before I joined the Navy in March of 1950.
There were a lot of us kids about the same age living up and down 14 ½ street for a stretch of three blocks. This is looking up the street in the picture to the left. I wouldn’t call us a gang but we did get a little out of hand, at times. We played football and softball on this street. We fought and played on this street. It was our street. Cars learned early on not to come up or down this street unless they lived here.
This was an all white neighborhood. The “colored”, as we called them then, lived from 11th street on down to first street. Some whites lived there too but the colored did not come up past 11th street. Everyone said that it was not safe to go down to 9th street after dark, which was full of bars and kind of wild at night, but I did and never had any problems. There was a 4 lane bowling alley there and I made a little money setting pins at night.
We never had any colored play ball with us. Not really a rule but it just never happened. I had one colored friend named Roy Q. We usually walked to school as he would go by my house every morning anyway. At first he used to knock on my door but after a couple times, my mom got really mad. She said she didn’t want that ‘nigger’ knocking on her door. Some of the neighbors might see him. So, I usually waited outside for him. We both played sports at school. He was the fastest kid I ever saw but he was too lazy or perhaps afraid to go out for track because he was colored. I was the fastest kid at central junior high in the 50 yard dash and the 100 yard dash but I knew Roy was faster because off the track, I could never beat him. He would run, while looking backwards, just fast enough for me not to catch him. He was also a thief. He was always showing me comic books and other things he would steal from Larson’s soda fountain and Walgreens drug store. He never really had a chance. His two older brothers were already in prison. He just did what he knew. Eventually we drifted apart without realizing it. But we were friends for while there and I am glad for that. This was in the early 1940’s.
I never understood completely why the colored couldn’t live past 11th street. I knew there was some segregation in those days but it never bothered me much. In fact, I don’t believe I really knew what Segregation meant back then. It was just a way of life. It was not until I joined the navy and eventually wound up at Quantico, Va. One day I went on liberty to Baltimore, Maryland and for the first time, when I got off the bus, I saw white and colored toilets and colored and white drinking fountains. Here I was 18 at that time and never knew this was the way it was in much of the country. But I learned fast.
There were a lot of us kids about the same age living up and down 14 ½ street for a stretch of three blocks. This is looking up the street in the picture to the left. I wouldn’t call us a gang but we did get a little out of hand, at times. We played football and softball on this street. We fought and played on this street. It was our street. Cars learned early on not to come up or down this street unless they lived here.
This was an all white neighborhood. The “colored”, as we called them then, lived from 11th street on down to first street. Some whites lived there too but the colored did not come up past 11th street. Everyone said that it was not safe to go down to 9th street after dark, which was full of bars and kind of wild at night, but I did and never had any problems. There was a 4 lane bowling alley there and I made a little money setting pins at night.
We never had any colored play ball with us. Not really a rule but it just never happened. I had one colored friend named Roy Q. We usually walked to school as he would go by my house every morning anyway. At first he used to knock on my door but after a couple times, my mom got really mad. She said she didn’t want that ‘nigger’ knocking on her door. Some of the neighbors might see him. So, I usually waited outside for him. We both played sports at school. He was the fastest kid I ever saw but he was too lazy or perhaps afraid to go out for track because he was colored. I was the fastest kid at central junior high in the 50 yard dash and the 100 yard dash but I knew Roy was faster because off the track, I could never beat him. He would run, while looking backwards, just fast enough for me not to catch him. He was also a thief. He was always showing me comic books and other things he would steal from Larson’s soda fountain and Walgreens drug store. He never really had a chance. His two older brothers were already in prison. He just did what he knew. Eventually we drifted apart without realizing it. But we were friends for while there and I am glad for that. This was in the early 1940’s.
I never understood completely why the colored couldn’t live past 11th street. I knew there was some segregation in those days but it never bothered me much. In fact, I don’t believe I really knew what Segregation meant back then. It was just a way of life. It was not until I joined the navy and eventually wound up at Quantico, Va. One day I went on liberty to Baltimore, Maryland and for the first time, when I got off the bus, I saw white and colored toilets and colored and white drinking fountains. Here I was 18 at that time and never knew this was the way it was in much of the country. But I learned fast.
SO MANY BARS..SO LITTLE TIME...
Somewhere along the line here, because of my time spent in many bars and clubs throughout Europe and America, I must speak of the favorites or most memorable and there were a few. This may take a while!
For somewhere to start I will pick a Bar in, I think Los Angeles or nearby, that had an large open Bar-B-Q pit in the middle of the floor. This was in the 60’s. You could go up to the bar and buy a 1 inch thick raw steak for a dollar and take it to the grill and cook it yourself. There was a bean salad bar which was free with the steak. This would never be allowed today because of the health department laws, I’m pretty sure but back then it was quite a place to hangout. I could eat 2 of them some nights. It was a good sized bar and was always full. They had live music on Friday nights. I spent a fair amount of time there. Met a lot of people. Drank a couple beers.
When I was close to being discharged I was stationed aboard the U.S.S. Worcester whose home port was Boston, Mass. My favorite bar there was Eddies Western Bar. There was an Eddie and he ran the place pretty much himself save for a couple bar maids. He was exactly as you might picture him. Short stocky with a cigar constantly between his lips. I have never felt more at home in any bar anywhere as I did there. It was a typical sailors bar and mostly the Worcester’s bar. It was here where I saw and was involved in my first and only ‘bar-room fight’. It all started when a bunch of bikers came in. Not pretty but an experience.
There were the usual girl hanger-ons that would be there when their ‘boyfriends’ ship was in port and more than likely when it wasn’t, also. It was where I spent my discharge party on October 27th, 1954. Eddie done it up right for me. Before the night was over I had been dancing on the bar, so they told me. He was one of my most memorable people. I left for home in Illinois the next morning.
In Naples, Italy in 1952 there was the ‘Kit Kat Club. It was located down some stairs just below the Galleria Umberto. It was a typical smoke filled club that was awash with Marines, Sailors and prostitutes. You could have just about anything you wanted simply by asking. It was, understandably, frequently patrolled by the MP’s for the protection of everyone. What I really liked about it was the music. There was an accordionist and a violinist that played all the old Italian music. I can close my eyes at times and smell the smoke and the Peroni beer and hear the music and the smells of the cheap perfume and feel the camaraderie we had with friends. Life was not to be taken serious in those days. Just enjoy the moments.
Another bar in, 1952, was a very small but memorable place called ‘Boston Blackie’s’. What was memorable was Boston Blackie himself. A Huge man with the constant cigar and a tremendous stomach but carried himself well enough that you knew better to give him his berth. He was a money changer and a black market dealer. I’m sure he was connected with the Mafia in those days. The bar was located just off the port entry. The first bar the sailors saw when they entered Naples from the ship. They would generally have American dollars or ‘script’ which was what the navy paid us in. It was pretty much accepted most places in Naples but they preferred the American dollars. Blackie would convert your money however you needed. He always made money no matter which direction you traded your money or script or Lire.. Back then the Italian currency was the Lira. You could sell cigarettes on the black market. We could buy a carton for ninety cents at the ships store and sell them for 1500 or 2000 lire which was 2.40 or 3.20 American dollars. We were allowed 3 cartons every two weeks so it gave us some extra spending money. You had to go to Boston Blackie’s at least once in your stay while berthed in Naples. I was stationed there so I knew what I was getting into.
In Toulon, France there was a place that I visited while on Liberty from the U.S.S. Worcester in 1954. I was alone for some reason, which was rare. I remember hearing some beautiful French music and singing and decided to go in. It was right out of a French movie or a painting. There were other sailors there scattered around. A short bar and many small round tables that were mostly full. In the corner was a small stage area where a girl was singing. No mike was needed as it was a fairly small place. Within minutes I was talking with a older gentleman on one side and a ‘girl of the night’ on the other side at the bar. I had my first Absinthe there followed by a few more. Not too many as I was savoring the night. Smoke in the air along with the songs like ‘Lili Marlene’ and many other French songs I didn’t know. The whole crowd would join in spontaneously with the singing. A beautiful long moment in time and I never have forgotten it.
In 1953 or 1954, while still in the Navy and stationed in Italy, my friend Larry S. and I went to the Isle of Ischia, just off the Bay of Naples. It was an Island less travelled by tourists unlike The Isle of Capri. We rented a hotel room on the beach where we spent 5 days laying on the beach and eating good food and kayaking in the clear blue water most every day. That was the only time in my life that I ever wore an Hawaiian shirt. We met a couple girls on the second day in town. We kayaked alone but spent most of the other time with them.
On the 4th evening they wanted to go to a club called the “Monkey Bars”. I expected a typical bar like most of Ischia had but We were taken aback by the sheer beauty of the place from the entrance clear through the entire club. The entrance was an opening similar to walking into a cave. An actual tunnel that led into a huge open room that had a tree in the center of the room that poked up thru an opening in the ceiling. It would closely resemble being in a volcano and looking up thru the opening. In fact, It was shaped as a volcano in the inside. Around the Tree was a circular marble platform about15 or 20 ft in diameter. That was the dance floor. Behind it was an Italian orchestra that played dance music thru the night. They were really good and played mostly the old Napolitano music that I love so well. I danced a couple times but rather wanted to sit and soak up the atmosphere and people watch. It was too classy for my taste to drink beer so I drank Black Russians. Actually way too many. Larry and his girl went back to the Hotel but I really couldn’t pull myself away. All the tables were full and it was a people watchers dream. I soaked it all up. We were in Uniform so it served as a suit which was the dress code form what I could gather.
I have searched the internet for that place since but I can not find it or any reference to it. I had a lot of black Russians but that was early on so it was not an imagination. I know I was there. I can find no one that has heard of it.
There were more places but I will have to return as I remember them.
For somewhere to start I will pick a Bar in, I think Los Angeles or nearby, that had an large open Bar-B-Q pit in the middle of the floor. This was in the 60’s. You could go up to the bar and buy a 1 inch thick raw steak for a dollar and take it to the grill and cook it yourself. There was a bean salad bar which was free with the steak. This would never be allowed today because of the health department laws, I’m pretty sure but back then it was quite a place to hangout. I could eat 2 of them some nights. It was a good sized bar and was always full. They had live music on Friday nights. I spent a fair amount of time there. Met a lot of people. Drank a couple beers.
When I was close to being discharged I was stationed aboard the U.S.S. Worcester whose home port was Boston, Mass. My favorite bar there was Eddies Western Bar. There was an Eddie and he ran the place pretty much himself save for a couple bar maids. He was exactly as you might picture him. Short stocky with a cigar constantly between his lips. I have never felt more at home in any bar anywhere as I did there. It was a typical sailors bar and mostly the Worcester’s bar. It was here where I saw and was involved in my first and only ‘bar-room fight’. It all started when a bunch of bikers came in. Not pretty but an experience.
There were the usual girl hanger-ons that would be there when their ‘boyfriends’ ship was in port and more than likely when it wasn’t, also. It was where I spent my discharge party on October 27th, 1954. Eddie done it up right for me. Before the night was over I had been dancing on the bar, so they told me. He was one of my most memorable people. I left for home in Illinois the next morning.
In Naples, Italy in 1952 there was the ‘Kit Kat Club. It was located down some stairs just below the Galleria Umberto. It was a typical smoke filled club that was awash with Marines, Sailors and prostitutes. You could have just about anything you wanted simply by asking. It was, understandably, frequently patrolled by the MP’s for the protection of everyone. What I really liked about it was the music. There was an accordionist and a violinist that played all the old Italian music. I can close my eyes at times and smell the smoke and the Peroni beer and hear the music and the smells of the cheap perfume and feel the camaraderie we had with friends. Life was not to be taken serious in those days. Just enjoy the moments.
Another bar in, 1952, was a very small but memorable place called ‘Boston Blackie’s’. What was memorable was Boston Blackie himself. A Huge man with the constant cigar and a tremendous stomach but carried himself well enough that you knew better to give him his berth. He was a money changer and a black market dealer. I’m sure he was connected with the Mafia in those days. The bar was located just off the port entry. The first bar the sailors saw when they entered Naples from the ship. They would generally have American dollars or ‘script’ which was what the navy paid us in. It was pretty much accepted most places in Naples but they preferred the American dollars. Blackie would convert your money however you needed. He always made money no matter which direction you traded your money or script or Lire.. Back then the Italian currency was the Lira. You could sell cigarettes on the black market. We could buy a carton for ninety cents at the ships store and sell them for 1500 or 2000 lire which was 2.40 or 3.20 American dollars. We were allowed 3 cartons every two weeks so it gave us some extra spending money. You had to go to Boston Blackie’s at least once in your stay while berthed in Naples. I was stationed there so I knew what I was getting into.
In Toulon, France there was a place that I visited while on Liberty from the U.S.S. Worcester in 1954. I was alone for some reason, which was rare. I remember hearing some beautiful French music and singing and decided to go in. It was right out of a French movie or a painting. There were other sailors there scattered around. A short bar and many small round tables that were mostly full. In the corner was a small stage area where a girl was singing. No mike was needed as it was a fairly small place. Within minutes I was talking with a older gentleman on one side and a ‘girl of the night’ on the other side at the bar. I had my first Absinthe there followed by a few more. Not too many as I was savoring the night. Smoke in the air along with the songs like ‘Lili Marlene’ and many other French songs I didn’t know. The whole crowd would join in spontaneously with the singing. A beautiful long moment in time and I never have forgotten it.
In 1953 or 1954, while still in the Navy and stationed in Italy, my friend Larry S. and I went to the Isle of Ischia, just off the Bay of Naples. It was an Island less travelled by tourists unlike The Isle of Capri. We rented a hotel room on the beach where we spent 5 days laying on the beach and eating good food and kayaking in the clear blue water most every day. That was the only time in my life that I ever wore an Hawaiian shirt. We met a couple girls on the second day in town. We kayaked alone but spent most of the other time with them.
On the 4th evening they wanted to go to a club called the “Monkey Bars”. I expected a typical bar like most of Ischia had but We were taken aback by the sheer beauty of the place from the entrance clear through the entire club. The entrance was an opening similar to walking into a cave. An actual tunnel that led into a huge open room that had a tree in the center of the room that poked up thru an opening in the ceiling. It would closely resemble being in a volcano and looking up thru the opening. In fact, It was shaped as a volcano in the inside. Around the Tree was a circular marble platform about15 or 20 ft in diameter. That was the dance floor. Behind it was an Italian orchestra that played dance music thru the night. They were really good and played mostly the old Napolitano music that I love so well. I danced a couple times but rather wanted to sit and soak up the atmosphere and people watch. It was too classy for my taste to drink beer so I drank Black Russians. Actually way too many. Larry and his girl went back to the Hotel but I really couldn’t pull myself away. All the tables were full and it was a people watchers dream. I soaked it all up. We were in Uniform so it served as a suit which was the dress code form what I could gather.
I have searched the internet for that place since but I can not find it or any reference to it. I had a lot of black Russians but that was early on so it was not an imagination. I know I was there. I can find no one that has heard of it.
There were more places but I will have to return as I remember them.
READING and WANDERLUST..
I really believe that all the reading I did when I was young is what gave me the urge to travel. Even in my pre-teens and my teens I yearned to see all those places far away that I read about. I read the Odyssey and the Iliad and their travels and adventures when I was very young. When you live in a small town and read books about those faraway places that exist only on a map you begin to see that your city is but a mere dot on a globe. So much more to be seen.
Incidentally, when I was in the sixth grade at Irving grade school, they had a carnival event one Halloween evening. Each room had something special to offer and my home room teacher was the ‘palm reader’ and ‘psychic’. There were me and my two buddies together and when she read my palm she ‘seriously’ told me that I “would do a lot of traveling in my life”. We all laughed and went on but I always remembered that moment as I moved through life because I really did do a lot of traveling. In fact, I would have surely been drafted into the Army when I turned 18, which is why I joined the Navy when I was 17 to “See the world”, as they said. Well, I haven’t seen the world but more of it than a lot of people have. However, not enough for my thirst.
Incidentally, when I was in the sixth grade at Irving grade school, they had a carnival event one Halloween evening. Each room had something special to offer and my home room teacher was the ‘palm reader’ and ‘psychic’. There were me and my two buddies together and when she read my palm she ‘seriously’ told me that I “would do a lot of traveling in my life”. We all laughed and went on but I always remembered that moment as I moved through life because I really did do a lot of traveling. In fact, I would have surely been drafted into the Army when I turned 18, which is why I joined the Navy when I was 17 to “See the world”, as they said. Well, I haven’t seen the world but more of it than a lot of people have. However, not enough for my thirst.
MORE TRAVELIN' TRAVAILS...
Once, in my travels in Europe about 1955, I was in Orleans, France selling the “Wonderland of Knowledge” encyclopedia for a company based in Chicago.
We sold mostly to American Military families. We, the sales crew of four, had come from Germany where Americans were practically wall to wall. Many hi-rise apartment buildings leased mostly to American military and were all over the larger cities in Germany. We went thru them like a knife thru butter. But we got jerked back to reality here in France. Most military families were scattered around the city. We had to canvass during the day and sell in the evening. We didn’t make much money and eventually, after a couple weeks, the others sort of drifted out of Orleans. I stayed as I couldn’t pay the hotel bill. I tried to find more Americans but, except for a couple of sales, I too had to give it up.
One evening I snuck out of the hotel without paying as I decided I needed all the money I had, at the time. I started hitch-hiking towards the south of France. Actually down to Cannes and Nice. Eventually I got to Nice and spent some time eating and walking along the Riviera. It was beautiful there so I took my time sitting occasionally to watch the people on the beach. The beautiful girls especially. Eventually I started walking up the hill on the highway going past Monaco on the left. It was really impressive but I knew I couldn’t even afford to walk in. You could even smell the money.
I would stick my thumb out when a car would come by and there were a lot that went by. I had walked a good deal when a small sport car with the top down stopped. They were a fairly young English couple that were on their way to San Remo. I got in the back seat and enjoyed the temporary feel of elegance. A memorable moment but it was short lived as San Remo was not that far up the road. They let me out on the highway. Eventually, after walking a really long way up over the Maritime Alps, I got another ride that was going as far as Imperia, Italy.
It was getting to be about two hours or so from the end of daylight so I went into a small café to rest and regroup.
I went to the bar and ordered a Peroni beer. After I paid, I sat down in a booth across from the bar. There were only four young guys standing around a pinball machine in the corner. I finished the beer and ordered another one. When I went to pay, He charged me more than the first one and, stupidly, I asked him why. Keep in mind, I was speaking what Italian I could which wasn’t too bad. He said that ‘a drink in the booth cost more because of the service’. I said ok and I sat down. He asked me ‘if I was American’ and sensing something I said ‘no’. I was “Inglese”. I don’t think he believed me. As I sat there I noticed he walked over to the young men and they were in a quiet conversation. Shortly after, the four went outside rather casually. I had a feeling there was something going on so I decided to change into my tennis shoes. I only had this little handbag which held everything I owned, which wasn’t much. Eventually, I had to leave so I slowly got up and walked toward the door. A few steps out the door and I knew I was right. A car started up and started to bear down on me. Now, I really believe that if I was timed at that moment, I would have set some kind of speed record. I ran like I had never run before as I am sure that the least they would have done would to have beat me to a pulp. There was a downhill road off to the right that went to a small train station not far away. How I got there ahead of them is a wonder but I did and ran inside and didn’t even hesitate running inside the ticket office and tried to tell the clerk in the best Italian I could what had happened. We heard the guys outside yelling and he saw the fear which I am sure I showed. He told them to leave and after a while they quieted down. I don’t know if they left and I was even afraid to go out in the waiting room right away so he told me to just sit down in a chair nearby.
I decided to buy a ticket to Genoa, the next largest city on the way. It arrived soon after and he went out with me to reassure that they were not still out there. It could very well be that he saved my life that night. The train finally left and I was never so relieved in my life to leave a town. I was safe. I only learned later that the town of Imperia was a very communist town and really felt contempt for Americans. Not exactly a Tourist Stop.
We sold mostly to American Military families. We, the sales crew of four, had come from Germany where Americans were practically wall to wall. Many hi-rise apartment buildings leased mostly to American military and were all over the larger cities in Germany. We went thru them like a knife thru butter. But we got jerked back to reality here in France. Most military families were scattered around the city. We had to canvass during the day and sell in the evening. We didn’t make much money and eventually, after a couple weeks, the others sort of drifted out of Orleans. I stayed as I couldn’t pay the hotel bill. I tried to find more Americans but, except for a couple of sales, I too had to give it up.
One evening I snuck out of the hotel without paying as I decided I needed all the money I had, at the time. I started hitch-hiking towards the south of France. Actually down to Cannes and Nice. Eventually I got to Nice and spent some time eating and walking along the Riviera. It was beautiful there so I took my time sitting occasionally to watch the people on the beach. The beautiful girls especially. Eventually I started walking up the hill on the highway going past Monaco on the left. It was really impressive but I knew I couldn’t even afford to walk in. You could even smell the money.
I would stick my thumb out when a car would come by and there were a lot that went by. I had walked a good deal when a small sport car with the top down stopped. They were a fairly young English couple that were on their way to San Remo. I got in the back seat and enjoyed the temporary feel of elegance. A memorable moment but it was short lived as San Remo was not that far up the road. They let me out on the highway. Eventually, after walking a really long way up over the Maritime Alps, I got another ride that was going as far as Imperia, Italy.
It was getting to be about two hours or so from the end of daylight so I went into a small café to rest and regroup.
I went to the bar and ordered a Peroni beer. After I paid, I sat down in a booth across from the bar. There were only four young guys standing around a pinball machine in the corner. I finished the beer and ordered another one. When I went to pay, He charged me more than the first one and, stupidly, I asked him why. Keep in mind, I was speaking what Italian I could which wasn’t too bad. He said that ‘a drink in the booth cost more because of the service’. I said ok and I sat down. He asked me ‘if I was American’ and sensing something I said ‘no’. I was “Inglese”. I don’t think he believed me. As I sat there I noticed he walked over to the young men and they were in a quiet conversation. Shortly after, the four went outside rather casually. I had a feeling there was something going on so I decided to change into my tennis shoes. I only had this little handbag which held everything I owned, which wasn’t much. Eventually, I had to leave so I slowly got up and walked toward the door. A few steps out the door and I knew I was right. A car started up and started to bear down on me. Now, I really believe that if I was timed at that moment, I would have set some kind of speed record. I ran like I had never run before as I am sure that the least they would have done would to have beat me to a pulp. There was a downhill road off to the right that went to a small train station not far away. How I got there ahead of them is a wonder but I did and ran inside and didn’t even hesitate running inside the ticket office and tried to tell the clerk in the best Italian I could what had happened. We heard the guys outside yelling and he saw the fear which I am sure I showed. He told them to leave and after a while they quieted down. I don’t know if they left and I was even afraid to go out in the waiting room right away so he told me to just sit down in a chair nearby.
I decided to buy a ticket to Genoa, the next largest city on the way. It arrived soon after and he went out with me to reassure that they were not still out there. It could very well be that he saved my life that night. The train finally left and I was never so relieved in my life to leave a town. I was safe. I only learned later that the town of Imperia was a very communist town and really felt contempt for Americans. Not exactly a Tourist Stop.
A MARRIAGE THAT WASN’T...
or the best laid plans of mice….
When I left Michigan for Italy I had planned that we would get married and Angelina would get her passport and we would depart for the promised land at the most within 3 or 4 weeks.
That was the plan but of course, maybe not a good one. The first thing that went wrong was due to a ‘stupid’ Doctor at the American Embassy, there was a hold on her passport. There was a physical that Angelina had to pass which included a chest X-Ray. I don’t believe it to this day but that Doctor claimed that there was a ‘spot’ on her x-ray that had to be “evaluated”. There was not an open arms policy that welcomed Americans marrying foreigners by any means. I didn’t have the money or the standing to have a voice about this. At any rate, there was an obstacle that had put things on hold.
We went back to Casagiove and her parents home. Her father was a wonderful old gentleman whom I got along very well with as well as her sister and 2 brothers. It went well for a little while but the money was running out quickly. There wasn’t much to begin with. There is an American monthly paper that is distributed throughout Italy. In the last issue was an ad for employment that required English. “No experience Necessary”. So far so good. Any applicants had to go to Livorno, Italy to apply. With no other options available I decided to try it out. Things between Angelina were not great anyway. I found that she had a boyfriend while I was gone and evidently he was still around after I came back and even after we were married. It would be better for both of us if we separated for a while.
I got the job. It was selling Encyclopedia’s to American military all around Europe. There were teams of several, 4 to 6 salesmen, that would go into a town or city and would seek out (canvass) buildings that housed Americans during the day and went in the evening to sell. It turned out to be pleasingly challenging and a lot of the guys were just like me. Traveling around Europe and trying to hang on. There was Boris from England who fancied himself a Poet. He talked like someone out of a Shakespearian play who was never off the stage. Pleasant guy who really loved women. All women. And there was Mark who had come from America through Caracas, Venezuela. He was a Geologist working in Caracas until someone, more than fairly important, found him with his wife and he decided Italy would be a nice change of pace. I liked him. He introduced me to a lot of things. Aperitifs, French foods, philosophy and Philip Wylie’s books. Because of Mark I read and enjoyed a few of Wylie’s books such as An ‘Essay on Morals’, ‘Generation of Vipers’ and my favorite ‘Finnley Wren: His Notions and Opinions’. He could talk for hours and I hung on almost every word. He had been formerly educated, which I had not, and street educated which I was, a little. There were others but rather non descript. Just guys trying to make a living.
While we were in Kaiserslautern, Germany some of us stayed in the Hotel Kaiserhauf. It was there that I met a very beautiful blond girl named Kitty. She was from Belgium and spoke 5 languages. Flemish, Spanish, English, French and German. She was amazing. She looked a lot like May Britt of the movies in the 50’s. When she found out what work we were doing she wanted to try it. Our manager, Nicholas, said why not so I more or less trained her on the ‘pitch’ we used. She did pretty good. In Germany we all made good sales. There were American military everywhere in hi-rise apartment buildings in all the larger cities. A lot of them with children. It was good times. We ate in the best restaurants and drank the best wines.
And then we went to France. Not all of us. Just Mark and a guy named Jules. Kitty and I had lost interest in each other by that time.
When I left Michigan for Italy I had planned that we would get married and Angelina would get her passport and we would depart for the promised land at the most within 3 or 4 weeks.
That was the plan but of course, maybe not a good one. The first thing that went wrong was due to a ‘stupid’ Doctor at the American Embassy, there was a hold on her passport. There was a physical that Angelina had to pass which included a chest X-Ray. I don’t believe it to this day but that Doctor claimed that there was a ‘spot’ on her x-ray that had to be “evaluated”. There was not an open arms policy that welcomed Americans marrying foreigners by any means. I didn’t have the money or the standing to have a voice about this. At any rate, there was an obstacle that had put things on hold.
We went back to Casagiove and her parents home. Her father was a wonderful old gentleman whom I got along very well with as well as her sister and 2 brothers. It went well for a little while but the money was running out quickly. There wasn’t much to begin with. There is an American monthly paper that is distributed throughout Italy. In the last issue was an ad for employment that required English. “No experience Necessary”. So far so good. Any applicants had to go to Livorno, Italy to apply. With no other options available I decided to try it out. Things between Angelina were not great anyway. I found that she had a boyfriend while I was gone and evidently he was still around after I came back and even after we were married. It would be better for both of us if we separated for a while.
I got the job. It was selling Encyclopedia’s to American military all around Europe. There were teams of several, 4 to 6 salesmen, that would go into a town or city and would seek out (canvass) buildings that housed Americans during the day and went in the evening to sell. It turned out to be pleasingly challenging and a lot of the guys were just like me. Traveling around Europe and trying to hang on. There was Boris from England who fancied himself a Poet. He talked like someone out of a Shakespearian play who was never off the stage. Pleasant guy who really loved women. All women. And there was Mark who had come from America through Caracas, Venezuela. He was a Geologist working in Caracas until someone, more than fairly important, found him with his wife and he decided Italy would be a nice change of pace. I liked him. He introduced me to a lot of things. Aperitifs, French foods, philosophy and Philip Wylie’s books. Because of Mark I read and enjoyed a few of Wylie’s books such as An ‘Essay on Morals’, ‘Generation of Vipers’ and my favorite ‘Finnley Wren: His Notions and Opinions’. He could talk for hours and I hung on almost every word. He had been formerly educated, which I had not, and street educated which I was, a little. There were others but rather non descript. Just guys trying to make a living.
While we were in Kaiserslautern, Germany some of us stayed in the Hotel Kaiserhauf. It was there that I met a very beautiful blond girl named Kitty. She was from Belgium and spoke 5 languages. Flemish, Spanish, English, French and German. She was amazing. She looked a lot like May Britt of the movies in the 50’s. When she found out what work we were doing she wanted to try it. Our manager, Nicholas, said why not so I more or less trained her on the ‘pitch’ we used. She did pretty good. In Germany we all made good sales. There were American military everywhere in hi-rise apartment buildings in all the larger cities. A lot of them with children. It was good times. We ate in the best restaurants and drank the best wines.
And then we went to France. Not all of us. Just Mark and a guy named Jules. Kitty and I had lost interest in each other by that time.
HONEYMOON FROM HELL..
Omen (o`men) 1. Anything perceived or happening that is regarded as portending good or evil or giving some indication as to the future; a prophetic sign.
Having defined ‘Omen’, I believe I have the perfect example. I know of this couple that had the “honeymoon from hell”. If there was ever an ‘omen’, this was one.
This couple met in Naples, Italy. It was truly love at first sight. At least for him. Perhaps for her, too. There was about a year of courtship, if you could call it that. And mostly, it was a great year. At any rate, there was a parting for nearly a year due to previous obligations on his part. He promised to return and would marry her. There was a tear-jerking departure, of course, at the pier. Perhaps even doubts whether he would truly return but not likely at that moment, however. True love would not be denied.
Almost to the year and almost 300 plus letters later, lo and behold, he returned. The wedding was set. It was a simple in home-wedding. He returned with very little money and very little baggage as it was to be a quick marriage and return trip which forced him to borrow a suit from her brother. The honeymoon, it was planned, would be a boat trip to Palermo, Sicily from Naples, Italy to visit her friend and her friend’s fiancé.
There were other nagging problems, such as her having met someone else during his absence which wasn’t quite ended before the wedding and unfortunately, not after the wedding, either. But that is another story. This is about the honeymoon.
They left this small ‘village’ by horse and carriage and eventually by a taxi and arriving at a forgotten hotel in Naples. They had planned the trip to Palermo for the next morning. During the night there was something, somehow that plugged the sink in the adjoining bathroom. Consequently, the floor was flooded in the night as were some of their belongings. Getting thru this was not easy but they did.
Eventually they arrived in time to board the ferry. The trip wasn’t really that lengthy. Perhaps 3 to 4 hours but during that time she succumbed to sea sickness, or something similar, causing her to lose it several times over the edge of the boat. They eventually arrived in Palermo and were met by her friend and fiancé. The rest of the evening was sort of foggy but went something like this. Upon exiting the friends car, the groom caught the ‘borrowed’ suit pocket on the door handle and nearly ripped the pocket off. After pinning it up with safety pins while trying to regain some dignity he tripped on a curb spraining his ankle fairly severe causing him to limp for the rest of the evening. He could not even recall the rest of the trip due to the drinks it took to ease the pain. I’m sure it was not pretty. He labeled that ‘blissful’ two days as the “Honeymoon from Hell”, aptly so! The marriage went downhill from there. Lets just say ‘it takes two to tango’ and neither of them could dance. End of story.
Having defined ‘Omen’, I believe I have the perfect example. I know of this couple that had the “honeymoon from hell”. If there was ever an ‘omen’, this was one.
This couple met in Naples, Italy. It was truly love at first sight. At least for him. Perhaps for her, too. There was about a year of courtship, if you could call it that. And mostly, it was a great year. At any rate, there was a parting for nearly a year due to previous obligations on his part. He promised to return and would marry her. There was a tear-jerking departure, of course, at the pier. Perhaps even doubts whether he would truly return but not likely at that moment, however. True love would not be denied.
Almost to the year and almost 300 plus letters later, lo and behold, he returned. The wedding was set. It was a simple in home-wedding. He returned with very little money and very little baggage as it was to be a quick marriage and return trip which forced him to borrow a suit from her brother. The honeymoon, it was planned, would be a boat trip to Palermo, Sicily from Naples, Italy to visit her friend and her friend’s fiancé.
There were other nagging problems, such as her having met someone else during his absence which wasn’t quite ended before the wedding and unfortunately, not after the wedding, either. But that is another story. This is about the honeymoon.
They left this small ‘village’ by horse and carriage and eventually by a taxi and arriving at a forgotten hotel in Naples. They had planned the trip to Palermo for the next morning. During the night there was something, somehow that plugged the sink in the adjoining bathroom. Consequently, the floor was flooded in the night as were some of their belongings. Getting thru this was not easy but they did.
Eventually they arrived in time to board the ferry. The trip wasn’t really that lengthy. Perhaps 3 to 4 hours but during that time she succumbed to sea sickness, or something similar, causing her to lose it several times over the edge of the boat. They eventually arrived in Palermo and were met by her friend and fiancé. The rest of the evening was sort of foggy but went something like this. Upon exiting the friends car, the groom caught the ‘borrowed’ suit pocket on the door handle and nearly ripped the pocket off. After pinning it up with safety pins while trying to regain some dignity he tripped on a curb spraining his ankle fairly severe causing him to limp for the rest of the evening. He could not even recall the rest of the trip due to the drinks it took to ease the pain. I’m sure it was not pretty. He labeled that ‘blissful’ two days as the “Honeymoon from Hell”, aptly so! The marriage went downhill from there. Lets just say ‘it takes two to tango’ and neither of them could dance. End of story.
THIS IS A LITTLE STORY I WROTE ABOUT 10 YEARS AGO..
THAT’S ‘FUR’ ENOUGH
By
Billy Peterson
I remember once having said “I wouldn’t want any pets around because they’re too much trouble.” Of course, I was single then. By that, I mean I wasn’t married to Jeanne yet.
Jeanne has a hobby. Many people have some sort of hobby but few collect animals. My wife does! Don’t get me wrong. I love animals. It is for this reason I don’t hunt. It’s only that I never know what’s going to meet me at the door at night.
About three months ago, as I walked in the kitchen from work, I spotted this object hovering in the corner. It was a kitten about three and a half inches long. I turned and saw Jeanne standing by the kitchen sink with pursed lips.
“What’s this”? I asked stupidly.
“It’s a kitten.”
“I know it’s a kitten. What is it doing in our kitchen”?
“I found it out by the car. Shivering!” she added for emphasis.
At that point the cat shivered.
“See?” she said.
I ignored them both.
“Take it back. We’ve already got a dog.”
“But Heidi won’t mind” she pointed out.
Heidi is a good example of my strong ‘will power’. One day, four years ago, my wife suggested we get a puppy.
“No!” I said firmly. “They’re too much trouble”.
“What trouble can they be? You feed them and love them and they love you back.”
“You can feed and love me!”
“Its not the same” she pouted.
“But we live in an apartment. You can’t have pets in apartments!”
“Maybe we could get a house”?
“Get a HOUSE”? I roared! “Get a house ‘cause we got a dog” It was incredible! “Out of the question.”
A week later, she brought home a Beagle puppy. This was dirty pool. No one over two or under 70 could ever reject a Beagle puppy once they had it in their arms and I had it in my arms, compliments of Jeanne and her winning smile. We had our puppy. After all, I’m only human. Right?
“Take the cat back!” I repeated.
“But he’ll get lost!”
“He was already lost when you found him!” I exclaimed.
“It’s cold out side. He’ll freeze!”
“FREEZE?! It’s only 55 out! He won’t freeze ‘till he gets to 30” I reasoned.
“But he’s so cute and helpless. Can’t we keep him for just a little while?”
Now, have you ever heard of anyone keeping a puppy or a kitten for ‘just a little while’? I haven’t. After all, what harm can a little helpless kitten be. Besides, it would give Heidi company. We kept him. That’s the kind of guy I am.
By popular demand from the landlord, me moved.
We were lucky to have found this small farmhouse. It is pretty and rustic and secluded and we fell in love with it! There is a good view of the mountains from the back of the house. Surrounding the house is a fence that keeps Heidi away from the main road. ‘Squirt’ as we named the cat, Still goes wherever he wants which gives Heidi jealous fits. There are a couple of barns on the property and one is directly in back of the house. There are also a multitude of cats in and around the barns.
You guessed it!
I came home from work one night about three weeks ago. Nothing unusual there. I walked in the door and but my bucket down and kissed my wife, in that order, and did what I normally do when I get home at night. After about a half hour, I noticed this grey thing lurking in the shadows. It was a cat of a different color.
“What’s this?” I yelled.
“What’s what?” my wife answered from the kitchen.
“This cat” I explained.
“Oh, that’s the little cat I found limping out by the barn” she said simply.
At that, the little cat rose and ‘limped’ across floor.
“See, like that!” she said coming into the room.
“I think you two rehearsed this” I said accusingly.
“Don’t be silly.”
“It goes back where you found it!” I was going to be firm this time. After all, a man has to put his foot down some time. If I let this keep happening, there wouldn’t be room to put my foot down.
“It’s hurt and won’t be able to fend for itself” she said.
“The cat goes!”
“But it will be company for Squirt” she persisted.
“Squirt’s got Heidi for company.”
“All Heidi does is growl at him” she said sadly.
“Good for her” I murmured.
“You’re cruel” she said as she started to cry.
“Okay,” I relented, knowing what would happen if I continued. “I’ll make a deal with you. You can keep it on the front porch. I’ll make a bed for it and she stays out there!” “Okay?”
“Oh honey, you’re so sweet. I promise I won’t let it in very often”.
That phrase ‘very often’ makes me feel like I won the battle but lost the war. Secretly, I didn’t expect to win but I surely didn’t want her to know that. I wasn’t wrong. Before the week was out the cat was in, permanently. This brought the total up to a dog, two cats and a Gerbil. Oh yes, the Gerbil.
Have you ever owned Gerbils? We do. That was before they owned us. If it hadn’t been for my initiative and entrepreneurship, we would have owned them forever.
Some time ago my wife was working. There was a salesman in her office who often related funny little stories about his family and their Gerbils. His salesmanship was outstanding too as one day my wife came home with a pair. Meaning a boy and a girl. She excitingly ran out and bought an aquarium for them to live in. We also had to get litter and ‘toys’ to play with. We settled down to watching them grow and occasionally played with them on the floor and the table. A couple months later, we watched in awe to the miracle of birth. Six to be exact. We decided to buy a book on Gerbils to learn more about them. That book that we should have bought before that un-named salesman started his cute little stories.
It seems the female will destroy the offspring occasionally so we bought another aquarium and separated them. So now we had eight Gerbils and two aquariums. We also found in the book that Gerbils can have babies every 24 days. They’re also productive for about 8 to 10 months. You can do the math. I did! This could come to about 60 or so offspring from the original two alone. Talk about a population explosion!
Panic set in. In the ensuing months, we gave some to our families and some of our neighbors. We gave some to any Pet Stores that would take them. Anywhere we could find. Somehow, and I don’t know exactly how, we are down to one Gerbil and one aquarium. We had two but one died. We have six little shoe boxes buried in the front yard. These were prepared with tender love and tears by my wife. It was an experience!
I’d like to say that this story ends here but unfortunately, I don’t think it does. The other day while I was in the garage tying some flies and wistfully stealing an occasional glance at my fly-rod hanging on the wall., my wife approached me.
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Nuthin.”
“Whatcha gonna do?”
“Nuthin.”
“Hmm. Ah, how much trouble would it be to build a chicken coop?”
“What in HELL would you want to know THAT for?”
“Well, this friend of my Mother’s, you know, well she has this little banty rooster and she wants to get rid of it. My Mother don’t want it and I’m afraid what will happen to it.” All that in one breath!
“Bring it home” I said expansively.
“ You’re kidding. You really mean it?” She was ecstatic.
“Sure,” I said. “With the price of chicken the way it is these days…”
She left me alone the rest of the day. (and night).
The End
By
Billy Peterson
I remember once having said “I wouldn’t want any pets around because they’re too much trouble.” Of course, I was single then. By that, I mean I wasn’t married to Jeanne yet.
Jeanne has a hobby. Many people have some sort of hobby but few collect animals. My wife does! Don’t get me wrong. I love animals. It is for this reason I don’t hunt. It’s only that I never know what’s going to meet me at the door at night.
About three months ago, as I walked in the kitchen from work, I spotted this object hovering in the corner. It was a kitten about three and a half inches long. I turned and saw Jeanne standing by the kitchen sink with pursed lips.
“What’s this”? I asked stupidly.
“It’s a kitten.”
“I know it’s a kitten. What is it doing in our kitchen”?
“I found it out by the car. Shivering!” she added for emphasis.
At that point the cat shivered.
“See?” she said.
I ignored them both.
“Take it back. We’ve already got a dog.”
“But Heidi won’t mind” she pointed out.
Heidi is a good example of my strong ‘will power’. One day, four years ago, my wife suggested we get a puppy.
“No!” I said firmly. “They’re too much trouble”.
“What trouble can they be? You feed them and love them and they love you back.”
“You can feed and love me!”
“Its not the same” she pouted.
“But we live in an apartment. You can’t have pets in apartments!”
“Maybe we could get a house”?
“Get a HOUSE”? I roared! “Get a house ‘cause we got a dog” It was incredible! “Out of the question.”
A week later, she brought home a Beagle puppy. This was dirty pool. No one over two or under 70 could ever reject a Beagle puppy once they had it in their arms and I had it in my arms, compliments of Jeanne and her winning smile. We had our puppy. After all, I’m only human. Right?
“Take the cat back!” I repeated.
“But he’ll get lost!”
“He was already lost when you found him!” I exclaimed.
“It’s cold out side. He’ll freeze!”
“FREEZE?! It’s only 55 out! He won’t freeze ‘till he gets to 30” I reasoned.
“But he’s so cute and helpless. Can’t we keep him for just a little while?”
Now, have you ever heard of anyone keeping a puppy or a kitten for ‘just a little while’? I haven’t. After all, what harm can a little helpless kitten be. Besides, it would give Heidi company. We kept him. That’s the kind of guy I am.
By popular demand from the landlord, me moved.
We were lucky to have found this small farmhouse. It is pretty and rustic and secluded and we fell in love with it! There is a good view of the mountains from the back of the house. Surrounding the house is a fence that keeps Heidi away from the main road. ‘Squirt’ as we named the cat, Still goes wherever he wants which gives Heidi jealous fits. There are a couple of barns on the property and one is directly in back of the house. There are also a multitude of cats in and around the barns.
You guessed it!
I came home from work one night about three weeks ago. Nothing unusual there. I walked in the door and but my bucket down and kissed my wife, in that order, and did what I normally do when I get home at night. After about a half hour, I noticed this grey thing lurking in the shadows. It was a cat of a different color.
“What’s this?” I yelled.
“What’s what?” my wife answered from the kitchen.
“This cat” I explained.
“Oh, that’s the little cat I found limping out by the barn” she said simply.
At that, the little cat rose and ‘limped’ across floor.
“See, like that!” she said coming into the room.
“I think you two rehearsed this” I said accusingly.
“Don’t be silly.”
“It goes back where you found it!” I was going to be firm this time. After all, a man has to put his foot down some time. If I let this keep happening, there wouldn’t be room to put my foot down.
“It’s hurt and won’t be able to fend for itself” she said.
“The cat goes!”
“But it will be company for Squirt” she persisted.
“Squirt’s got Heidi for company.”
“All Heidi does is growl at him” she said sadly.
“Good for her” I murmured.
“You’re cruel” she said as she started to cry.
“Okay,” I relented, knowing what would happen if I continued. “I’ll make a deal with you. You can keep it on the front porch. I’ll make a bed for it and she stays out there!” “Okay?”
“Oh honey, you’re so sweet. I promise I won’t let it in very often”.
That phrase ‘very often’ makes me feel like I won the battle but lost the war. Secretly, I didn’t expect to win but I surely didn’t want her to know that. I wasn’t wrong. Before the week was out the cat was in, permanently. This brought the total up to a dog, two cats and a Gerbil. Oh yes, the Gerbil.
Have you ever owned Gerbils? We do. That was before they owned us. If it hadn’t been for my initiative and entrepreneurship, we would have owned them forever.
Some time ago my wife was working. There was a salesman in her office who often related funny little stories about his family and their Gerbils. His salesmanship was outstanding too as one day my wife came home with a pair. Meaning a boy and a girl. She excitingly ran out and bought an aquarium for them to live in. We also had to get litter and ‘toys’ to play with. We settled down to watching them grow and occasionally played with them on the floor and the table. A couple months later, we watched in awe to the miracle of birth. Six to be exact. We decided to buy a book on Gerbils to learn more about them. That book that we should have bought before that un-named salesman started his cute little stories.
It seems the female will destroy the offspring occasionally so we bought another aquarium and separated them. So now we had eight Gerbils and two aquariums. We also found in the book that Gerbils can have babies every 24 days. They’re also productive for about 8 to 10 months. You can do the math. I did! This could come to about 60 or so offspring from the original two alone. Talk about a population explosion!
Panic set in. In the ensuing months, we gave some to our families and some of our neighbors. We gave some to any Pet Stores that would take them. Anywhere we could find. Somehow, and I don’t know exactly how, we are down to one Gerbil and one aquarium. We had two but one died. We have six little shoe boxes buried in the front yard. These were prepared with tender love and tears by my wife. It was an experience!
I’d like to say that this story ends here but unfortunately, I don’t think it does. The other day while I was in the garage tying some flies and wistfully stealing an occasional glance at my fly-rod hanging on the wall., my wife approached me.
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Nuthin.”
“Whatcha gonna do?”
“Nuthin.”
“Hmm. Ah, how much trouble would it be to build a chicken coop?”
“What in HELL would you want to know THAT for?”
“Well, this friend of my Mother’s, you know, well she has this little banty rooster and she wants to get rid of it. My Mother don’t want it and I’m afraid what will happen to it.” All that in one breath!
“Bring it home” I said expansively.
“ You’re kidding. You really mean it?” She was ecstatic.
“Sure,” I said. “With the price of chicken the way it is these days…”
She left me alone the rest of the day. (and night).
The End
THE ISLE OF CAPRI and wait! THERE'S MORE..
There is so much in Italy to see and absorb that two years are not even enough. I am ashamed to say that I never appreciated the opportunities that I had while in the Navy in Naples and even when I went back after I got discharged. I did take advantage of living there on my return more than a ‘tourist’ did as I had more time and I knew my way around.
My favorite place in Naples was the ‘Galleria Umberto’. A picture of it is above. It took up a whole city block and had 4 entrances. One from each street. The entire building was covered by a glass domed roof. Sort of a ‘Mall’ as it had shops of all sorts and Gelatto and café bars.
There were tables and chairs all over where one could sit and have a coffee or beer or just read. Quite like here now with the Starbucks and such. But this was in the 1950’s. Down below was a nightclub called ‘Kit Kat Club’. The building was built in 1885 and probably hasn’t changed in all that time. Outside on one street was the San Carlos Opera House which, unfortunately, I never went into.
The walk along the Via Caracciolo which is a long stretch by the sea is always beautiful. It was always filled with boats going back and forth to Capri and Ischia isles. Also, more than an occasional fisherman from the shore and always young lovers sitting on the walls. There were a lot of restaurants down by the water. You can believe the fish on the menu were fresh. The was one called the ‘Zi Teresa’. Actually, it is still there. It was started in 1916.
When I had not been in Naples very long, still in the Navy, some buddies took me there the first time. It was beautiful. Right next to the water and a canopy over the top. One of them told me to order the steamed clams. Now, being from Illinois, I had never eaten clams or can’t even remember seeing any. When they brought them they were steaming and open and alien to me. They told me to squeeze some lemon on them and when I did they suddenly curled up and I thought sure they were still alive. They all had a good time with that one. I did eat them, however. The food was delicious and the violinists were playing old Neapolitan music and the place was full and the wine was, well, what can I say! A memory all by itself.
Posillipo is a section in the hills above the Bay of Naples. The most beautiful view of the Bay is from there. There are Restaurants along there that makes a double treat for a newcomer to Naples. You have the great food and drink and the view to enjoy at the same time. There is the ‘Funicolare’ which you can ride up the hill if you aren’t driving. (And who would, in Naples?) It is a Tram that goes on a track straight up the hill with stops every so often. A must do for newbie!
There are also the Isle of Capri and the Isle of Ischia. Personally, I liked Ischia better as it was less travelled and less crowded and not as ‘rich’ which drew the ‘rich’ crowd to Capri. At least, I felt more relaxed there. Funny thing is, that if you mention Capri, everyone has heard of it. Mention Ischia and chances are they may not have heard of it. The one thing that Capri has is the Blue Grotto or the ‘Grotto Azzuro’. A picture of the outside entrance is above. It is the one thing to do if you go to Naples. I call it one of the 'memorable' sights I have on my list. Getting into it is not easy and is impossible in any choppy water. But on a beautiful sunny day at the right time, it will blow you away. This is a view from inside and it doesn't even do it the justice it deserves.
When I visited Ischia the first time, I and Larry S., a ship mate and a good friend, rented kayaks and paddled out to a rock formation which was farther than we should have gone. We touched it, which was what we decided to do in the first place, and paddled back. The water was beautiful and was not really deep which gave it that greenish blue clear color.
That evening we went to this club that was almost as if it was in the side of a mountain. A cave, if you will. When we got inside it was open at the top. I am pretty sure it was called the “Monkey Bars”. This was in about 1953. I have searched the web and have never found anything about it. We met a couple of girls before we went and they are the ones who took us there. We dined and wined and even danced, sort of. Not my thing. It was a great evening, however.
In all the time I spent in Naples, There are two things I never did. Visit Pompeii and Mount Vesuvius. I don’t know why. It just never was a priority. I should have but I truly enjoyed my time just walking around the cities and watching the people and sitting at outdoor tables with a beer or wine or even a coffee and eating, of course. There is an old saying “See Naples and die”. If there is a way that I wind up alone in life and I am physically able to get there, then that ‘Ole Maxim” could come true.
My favorite place in Naples was the ‘Galleria Umberto’. A picture of it is above. It took up a whole city block and had 4 entrances. One from each street. The entire building was covered by a glass domed roof. Sort of a ‘Mall’ as it had shops of all sorts and Gelatto and café bars.
There were tables and chairs all over where one could sit and have a coffee or beer or just read. Quite like here now with the Starbucks and such. But this was in the 1950’s. Down below was a nightclub called ‘Kit Kat Club’. The building was built in 1885 and probably hasn’t changed in all that time. Outside on one street was the San Carlos Opera House which, unfortunately, I never went into.
The walk along the Via Caracciolo which is a long stretch by the sea is always beautiful. It was always filled with boats going back and forth to Capri and Ischia isles. Also, more than an occasional fisherman from the shore and always young lovers sitting on the walls. There were a lot of restaurants down by the water. You can believe the fish on the menu were fresh. The was one called the ‘Zi Teresa’. Actually, it is still there. It was started in 1916.
When I had not been in Naples very long, still in the Navy, some buddies took me there the first time. It was beautiful. Right next to the water and a canopy over the top. One of them told me to order the steamed clams. Now, being from Illinois, I had never eaten clams or can’t even remember seeing any. When they brought them they were steaming and open and alien to me. They told me to squeeze some lemon on them and when I did they suddenly curled up and I thought sure they were still alive. They all had a good time with that one. I did eat them, however. The food was delicious and the violinists were playing old Neapolitan music and the place was full and the wine was, well, what can I say! A memory all by itself.
Posillipo is a section in the hills above the Bay of Naples. The most beautiful view of the Bay is from there. There are Restaurants along there that makes a double treat for a newcomer to Naples. You have the great food and drink and the view to enjoy at the same time. There is the ‘Funicolare’ which you can ride up the hill if you aren’t driving. (And who would, in Naples?) It is a Tram that goes on a track straight up the hill with stops every so often. A must do for newbie!
There are also the Isle of Capri and the Isle of Ischia. Personally, I liked Ischia better as it was less travelled and less crowded and not as ‘rich’ which drew the ‘rich’ crowd to Capri. At least, I felt more relaxed there. Funny thing is, that if you mention Capri, everyone has heard of it. Mention Ischia and chances are they may not have heard of it. The one thing that Capri has is the Blue Grotto or the ‘Grotto Azzuro’. A picture of the outside entrance is above. It is the one thing to do if you go to Naples. I call it one of the 'memorable' sights I have on my list. Getting into it is not easy and is impossible in any choppy water. But on a beautiful sunny day at the right time, it will blow you away. This is a view from inside and it doesn't even do it the justice it deserves.
When I visited Ischia the first time, I and Larry S., a ship mate and a good friend, rented kayaks and paddled out to a rock formation which was farther than we should have gone. We touched it, which was what we decided to do in the first place, and paddled back. The water was beautiful and was not really deep which gave it that greenish blue clear color.
That evening we went to this club that was almost as if it was in the side of a mountain. A cave, if you will. When we got inside it was open at the top. I am pretty sure it was called the “Monkey Bars”. This was in about 1953. I have searched the web and have never found anything about it. We met a couple of girls before we went and they are the ones who took us there. We dined and wined and even danced, sort of. Not my thing. It was a great evening, however.
In all the time I spent in Naples, There are two things I never did. Visit Pompeii and Mount Vesuvius. I don’t know why. It just never was a priority. I should have but I truly enjoyed my time just walking around the cities and watching the people and sitting at outdoor tables with a beer or wine or even a coffee and eating, of course. There is an old saying “See Naples and die”. If there is a way that I wind up alone in life and I am physically able to get there, then that ‘Ole Maxim” could come true.
TIP-TOEING THROUGH EUROPE and ELSEWHERE..
5 years spent in the Navy was really good for me. However, by being a Medical Corpsman, I only spent the last 7 months aboard a ship. The rest was spent in hospitals in Quantico, Virginia Marine Base and in Naples, Italy where I eventually, after 2 years, was assigned aboard the USS Worcester.
It was hard to leave Italy but it was also exciting being out in the middle of the ocean and visiting those 'faraway places'. In those few months I stepped down on liberty in Nice, France on New Years Eve of 1953. Roamed the beaches of Cannes amongst the 'beautiful people' and drank absinthe in a rowdy bar with a rowdy girl in Toulon, France. Had real fish and chips and stout beer in Portsmouth, England and wandered around the streets of Barcelona, Spain for 2 days and visiting some senoritas, of course. Walked across the bridges of Dublin, Ireland and gave blood, along with 1500 shipmates, to the city of Dublin. Also had a real Irish Stew in a small cafe and listened to a young girl sing some Irish songs while we ate. Docked at San Juan, Puerto Rico but not allowed off the ship. Sat at an outside club along the beautiful waters of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba and drank way too many cuba libres. Worcester Mass. was our Home Port and I spent may great liberties in Boston. (Not all of them at Eddies Western Bar).
Once, the Captain took the whole ship and crew to his birthday party in Bangor, Maine where most of us were met by the ladies and girls of Bangor and hosted us at several clubs in town. Just a nice clean time of dining and eating. Memorable!
All that was enough to wet my palate for traveling. I loved it! I pretty much followed through with adventures in travelling when I got out of the Navy.
It was hard to leave Italy but it was also exciting being out in the middle of the ocean and visiting those 'faraway places'. In those few months I stepped down on liberty in Nice, France on New Years Eve of 1953. Roamed the beaches of Cannes amongst the 'beautiful people' and drank absinthe in a rowdy bar with a rowdy girl in Toulon, France. Had real fish and chips and stout beer in Portsmouth, England and wandered around the streets of Barcelona, Spain for 2 days and visiting some senoritas, of course. Walked across the bridges of Dublin, Ireland and gave blood, along with 1500 shipmates, to the city of Dublin. Also had a real Irish Stew in a small cafe and listened to a young girl sing some Irish songs while we ate. Docked at San Juan, Puerto Rico but not allowed off the ship. Sat at an outside club along the beautiful waters of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba and drank way too many cuba libres. Worcester Mass. was our Home Port and I spent may great liberties in Boston. (Not all of them at Eddies Western Bar).
Once, the Captain took the whole ship and crew to his birthday party in Bangor, Maine where most of us were met by the ladies and girls of Bangor and hosted us at several clubs in town. Just a nice clean time of dining and eating. Memorable!
All that was enough to wet my palate for traveling. I loved it! I pretty much followed through with adventures in travelling when I got out of the Navy.
MY TRAVELIN' TRAVAILS..
I can’t even remember the year but it had to be in the early sixties that I did a lot of hitch-hiking across the country. I know that I lived a short time in or passed through cities from El Paso to Tulsa. I hitched to New York City via Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, Oklahoma, Virginia, Pennsylvania and Ohio and probably skirted other cities and states. I don’t even know why other than I was divorced, angry and looking for something and didn’t know what. In some cities I would work for a bit. Tulsa was one. Davenport, Iowa was another. Kansas City, Kansas. It was a lot less dangerous back then to hitch-hike. At least, I never had any trouble. People were pretty nice.
The one most frustrating time was coming back from New York. I was going through Cincinnati, Ohio or rather I was trying to. Some guy picked me up about 9 or 10 at night outside of Cincinnati and dropped me off toward the center of the city. He mentioned that Cincinnati was built in a circle like Paris and told me to just stay on some, I don’t remember, street or highway and I would go right through Cincinnati. Well, I had several rides until I found that I had passed by the same buildings most of the night. The last ride let me off in what seemed like country. It was 2 in the morning and a Lonely road and very dark. It was an intersection with a very dim street light above it. I heard dogs barking not too far from me but I was afraid to leave the street light and wasn’t even sure which way to go. There was a really long time went by before I finally saw a car coming.
It was still dark so I put out my thumb and they slowed down so I went over to the car and started to open the door. It was an old couple and when I touched the door I could see the absolute fear on the lady passengers face and the driver hit the gas and took off scared to death. Looking back, I didn’t blame them. I probably appeared very scary to them. I felt that they may have been frightened enough to possibly report the situation to the police or someone and possibly try to find me. I walked in the direction that instinct took me. About less than an hour I suspected there Was a God. Lo and behold, another car came and saw me and stopped and I got in.
It was a young guy who was going to work. The radio was blasting and he just started to talk over it. Now, I had not eaten anything for a really long time and when I got in I could smell that he had a big box of donuts between us. I was so thankful for the ride that I didn’t feel like I could ask for a donut even though the urge was overpowering. He said he was going to the west end of the city which would get me going in the right direction. After about ten minutes he asked me if I would care for a donut. I said I would. Nothing has ever tasted better in my life than that donut. I finally told him what I went through and he said I could eat all the donuts I wanted. I ate 6. I wanted 12 but I held back. When we got to where he let me off I thanked him profusely.
I never got his name but at that moment I wanted to put him in my will, which probably would amount to about nothing then. But, it was the thought that counted. And he got me going in the right direction.
The one most frustrating time was coming back from New York. I was going through Cincinnati, Ohio or rather I was trying to. Some guy picked me up about 9 or 10 at night outside of Cincinnati and dropped me off toward the center of the city. He mentioned that Cincinnati was built in a circle like Paris and told me to just stay on some, I don’t remember, street or highway and I would go right through Cincinnati. Well, I had several rides until I found that I had passed by the same buildings most of the night. The last ride let me off in what seemed like country. It was 2 in the morning and a Lonely road and very dark. It was an intersection with a very dim street light above it. I heard dogs barking not too far from me but I was afraid to leave the street light and wasn’t even sure which way to go. There was a really long time went by before I finally saw a car coming.
It was still dark so I put out my thumb and they slowed down so I went over to the car and started to open the door. It was an old couple and when I touched the door I could see the absolute fear on the lady passengers face and the driver hit the gas and took off scared to death. Looking back, I didn’t blame them. I probably appeared very scary to them. I felt that they may have been frightened enough to possibly report the situation to the police or someone and possibly try to find me. I walked in the direction that instinct took me. About less than an hour I suspected there Was a God. Lo and behold, another car came and saw me and stopped and I got in.
It was a young guy who was going to work. The radio was blasting and he just started to talk over it. Now, I had not eaten anything for a really long time and when I got in I could smell that he had a big box of donuts between us. I was so thankful for the ride that I didn’t feel like I could ask for a donut even though the urge was overpowering. He said he was going to the west end of the city which would get me going in the right direction. After about ten minutes he asked me if I would care for a donut. I said I would. Nothing has ever tasted better in my life than that donut. I finally told him what I went through and he said I could eat all the donuts I wanted. I ate 6. I wanted 12 but I held back. When we got to where he let me off I thanked him profusely.
I never got his name but at that moment I wanted to put him in my will, which probably would amount to about nothing then. But, it was the thought that counted. And he got me going in the right direction.
COULDA' BEEN A CONTENDER..
I often wonder what direction my life could have taken if even one factor would have been changed. What if my dad never went in the service or if my mother did not suffer from alcoholism or if I had not gone in the navy. I was in all sports at school. I played left end on the football team in 9th and 10th grade and Fair at basketball and was the fastest in school in the 50 yd and 100 yd dashes. I was in the top two in math class and stood out in art classes. But because of circumstances, I moved across the river to live with my dad because they were getting divorced. I didn’t like the new school in LeClaire, Iowa so I quit after 2 weeks in the 10th grade. No one questioned about me from school. I got a job at the Ucanco Candy Co. in Davenport. I was 15 but told them I was 17. I caught the bus every morning and worked for two weeks before I asked my dad if I could quit school and get a job. His response was “You’re old enough to know what you want to do”. I was 15. Then I told him what I already had done. I remember he used the exact same words when I told I had been smoking for the last year. 15 is not old enough for those decisions. What if I had stayed in school and followed through with math as a career or followed through with track and field. Not my mother or my dad even knew I was in sports or was good at math or actually anything that I was interested in. I wound up working for 2 years at the Candy co. and then joined the Navy at 17 with my dad signing for me. It probably, under the circumstances, was the best thing that happened to me at that point in my life.
TAKE A LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP..
‘Lessons learned’ should have a section all it’s own. There is a long list, for me, at least. Every group of kids can find a way to keep entertained and too often destructive in many, many ways.
At one time when I was about 11 or 12 living on 14 1/2 street in Rock Island we went thru a faze of slingshots and rubber guns. We made them out of scrap wood and rubber bands or inner tubes. Whatever we could find. We used small rocks or marbles and one favorite was hairpins. They would loop over the rubber band which made it easy to use. One day, while standing in the street and aiming at things to shoot at, Donny, one of the kids in our bunch, shot a hairpin from his slingshot randomly across the street toward a girl standing on her porch. Alice E. was her name. The chances of hitting anything on purpose was very small. However, this particular time the hairpin found its way into the left eye of Alice. She went to the ground screaming. Donny was besides himself. Kept saying how sorry he was. We all were. After the dust settled Alice had lost her eye. I don’t remember any of us using our slingshots after that.
One instance in a lifetime. One second in time. For Alice it was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. For Donny it was a moment in life that he would give anything to do over. These lessons in life happen to all of us in some degree.
My friends, Wayne K. and Harold B. and I, were out hunting rabbits one day when we were about 14 or 15. We had shotguns. We were scattered about 20 or 30 feet away from one another. Wayne was on my right and Harold on my left. None of us knew much about hunting or guns. At one point someone yelled “there goes one” and I saw it running through the field to my right. I turned my shotgun to my right at the rabbit and took a shot. At that very instance Wayne screamed. He was right in the way of my shot. Thanks to God or someone, I didn’t hit him but he said he could hear the shot go by him. Not true but it was that close to him. It scared the crap out of me as much as it did Wayne. I, and Wayne were lucky that day. The lesson was obvious. Don’t knee-jerk when you have a gun in your hand. Better yet, don’t have a gun in your hand, period.
While working in a Iron Shop when I was younger, meaning about 35, A few of us were taking a break outside the open door. It had snowed and we were throwing snowballs around. I thought it would be funny to throw one at Benny, our layout man who was about 65 yrs.old and see how close I could come without hitting him. He was standing with his hands on the plate in front of him. It landed right between his hands and it startled him so much that he fell back against the wall. I thought he had had a heart attack or something. He was alright but it was scary enough for me that it made me think when I thought about throwing something or seeing someone else doing it.
‘Horseplay’ is not good and can lead to disaster in the right circumstances. I guess the only thing you can do is not to repeat these mistakes or bad judgements you make in your life.
At one time when I was about 11 or 12 living on 14 1/2 street in Rock Island we went thru a faze of slingshots and rubber guns. We made them out of scrap wood and rubber bands or inner tubes. Whatever we could find. We used small rocks or marbles and one favorite was hairpins. They would loop over the rubber band which made it easy to use. One day, while standing in the street and aiming at things to shoot at, Donny, one of the kids in our bunch, shot a hairpin from his slingshot randomly across the street toward a girl standing on her porch. Alice E. was her name. The chances of hitting anything on purpose was very small. However, this particular time the hairpin found its way into the left eye of Alice. She went to the ground screaming. Donny was besides himself. Kept saying how sorry he was. We all were. After the dust settled Alice had lost her eye. I don’t remember any of us using our slingshots after that.
One instance in a lifetime. One second in time. For Alice it was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. For Donny it was a moment in life that he would give anything to do over. These lessons in life happen to all of us in some degree.
My friends, Wayne K. and Harold B. and I, were out hunting rabbits one day when we were about 14 or 15. We had shotguns. We were scattered about 20 or 30 feet away from one another. Wayne was on my right and Harold on my left. None of us knew much about hunting or guns. At one point someone yelled “there goes one” and I saw it running through the field to my right. I turned my shotgun to my right at the rabbit and took a shot. At that very instance Wayne screamed. He was right in the way of my shot. Thanks to God or someone, I didn’t hit him but he said he could hear the shot go by him. Not true but it was that close to him. It scared the crap out of me as much as it did Wayne. I, and Wayne were lucky that day. The lesson was obvious. Don’t knee-jerk when you have a gun in your hand. Better yet, don’t have a gun in your hand, period.
While working in a Iron Shop when I was younger, meaning about 35, A few of us were taking a break outside the open door. It had snowed and we were throwing snowballs around. I thought it would be funny to throw one at Benny, our layout man who was about 65 yrs.old and see how close I could come without hitting him. He was standing with his hands on the plate in front of him. It landed right between his hands and it startled him so much that he fell back against the wall. I thought he had had a heart attack or something. He was alright but it was scary enough for me that it made me think when I thought about throwing something or seeing someone else doing it.
‘Horseplay’ is not good and can lead to disaster in the right circumstances. I guess the only thing you can do is not to repeat these mistakes or bad judgements you make in your life.
WHEN a DAY at the MOVIES REALLY WAS...
In 1941 or 1942 when I was 9 or 10, I distinctly remember going to the ‘Riviera’ theater in Rock Island and watching “Frankenstein” with Lon Chaney in 3D. They passed out the paper and plastic glasses that had a red lens and a green lens. Whenever I tell somebody this they think I am making it up. Nobody thinks they had 3D back then. (In those medieval days). But I know what I saw. We sat in the front row and thought for sure the cauldron of hot liquid was going to fall right on us.
The ‘Riviera’ theatre was one of 6 theaters in town. There was the Rialto, the Rocket,
which was the easiest to sneak into by the back door. There was also the Spencer, the Ritz and the
Fort which was the classiest. They had live shows like the Ziegfeld Follies.
When we were about 14 we lied about our age and got in to see the ziegfeld and all the bare legged dancers. Wow! But if you watched the aisle at the Riviera during the movie you would occasionally see a mouse running around or even a rat. I saw many, many movies there. It was my favorite theater. ‘Back in those days’ It cost 16 cents under 12 years and 21 cents over 12 years. For that you would see 2 main event movies (Double feature), a cartoon or 2, a ‘short film’ and a serial which showed every Friday like the ‘Lone Ranger’, ‘Captain Marvel’, ‘Flash Gordon’ or some other hero that brought you back every Friday night. On top of that, during World War 2, they showed the RKO news of what was happening on the war front. This may be hard to believe for the young today or even the middle-aged but it was true. Another thing is that you could go in any time as they never had intermission. All the shows run continually so you could stay for as long as you wanted. Even watching the same show over again, if you wanted. That is where I first saw “Gone with the wind”. It really was 4 hours long.
For a little over a dollar one could go to the movie, buy a bag of popcorn, a box of malt balls, a drink and have enough left to go next door after the movie to the ‘Coney Island’ diner and have a bowl of chili (the best I have ever eaten ever) with oyster crackers and maybe even a hot dog.
The ‘Riviera’ theatre was one of 6 theaters in town. There was the Rialto, the Rocket,
which was the easiest to sneak into by the back door. There was also the Spencer, the Ritz and the
Fort which was the classiest. They had live shows like the Ziegfeld Follies.
When we were about 14 we lied about our age and got in to see the ziegfeld and all the bare legged dancers. Wow! But if you watched the aisle at the Riviera during the movie you would occasionally see a mouse running around or even a rat. I saw many, many movies there. It was my favorite theater. ‘Back in those days’ It cost 16 cents under 12 years and 21 cents over 12 years. For that you would see 2 main event movies (Double feature), a cartoon or 2, a ‘short film’ and a serial which showed every Friday like the ‘Lone Ranger’, ‘Captain Marvel’, ‘Flash Gordon’ or some other hero that brought you back every Friday night. On top of that, during World War 2, they showed the RKO news of what was happening on the war front. This may be hard to believe for the young today or even the middle-aged but it was true. Another thing is that you could go in any time as they never had intermission. All the shows run continually so you could stay for as long as you wanted. Even watching the same show over again, if you wanted. That is where I first saw “Gone with the wind”. It really was 4 hours long.
For a little over a dollar one could go to the movie, buy a bag of popcorn, a box of malt balls, a drink and have enough left to go next door after the movie to the ‘Coney Island’ diner and have a bowl of chili (the best I have ever eaten ever) with oyster crackers and maybe even a hot dog.
MEMORABLE PEOPLE and PLACES..
Getting discharged out of the Navy was probably one of the bigger moments of my life. Looking back, I really liked my navy life. Lots of travel and some good buddies and memorable times in my life but the finality of separation was also a memorable moment. I was in Boston, Mass. at the receiving station. I had been there for almost two months, awaiting my discharge. Previously, I was stationed aboard a light cruiser, the USS Worcester. I had been on board for nine months. That was also a good duty and a great experience.
The morning I was officially discharged I received 300.00 mustering out pay. Interesting enough, that was the same amount my dad received when he was discharged from the Army in 1945. This was 1954. Don’t seem right, somehow.
The first thing I did was to go out and buy some civilian clothes. I really do remember a yellow shirt and a gray zip up jacket, for some reason. 300.00 was a lot of money in 1954. Not a fortune but a lot to me. I was going to take a train back to Rock Island but got a hotel room for the night instead. I decided I would get the ticket in the morning. The next thing was to eat and I even went to a movie. I don’t remember in what order.
Boston was the home port for the U.S.S.Worcester so I had been in Boston a lot and my favorite place was Eddies Western Bar. I spent a lot of time there and got to know a lot of people. This also was the hangout for a lot of the crew of the Worcester. I knew Eddie pretty well. He was a typical short, stocky, balding and cigar smoking bartender who owned the place. He was always happy. There were the regular girls or ladies and the few gays but all in all it was almost like the ‘neighborhood bar’ found in most small towns. Everybody knew most everybody.
I remember one night in particular. Our ship was in and most of us were in Eddies that night. At one point, a bunch of bikers walked in which was kind of rare. Their were probably about 8 or 10. I was sitting at a booth with a couple buddies and most of the bikers sat at the bar. Evidently, they were set on starting something evidenced by their demeanor. Sure enough, one of them said something to a girl that was sitting with a sailor and a punch was thrown.
It was like every one was on a string and the puppeteer had jerked the strings. It was like everyone knew this was going to happen. It was the second bar fight I was ever in but this was a classic. Women were throwing beer bottles, guys were throwing punches and bikers were being thrown out the door. No one was exempt, even me and my buddies. It seems it was over in a few minutes but everyone was leaving because we knew the police would be here any minute. Mitch and I, a good buddy, stayed and helped Eddie straighten the place out. It was quite a night.
Getting back to the day I was discharged, I eventually wound up, of course, at Eddies to celebrate and to say goodbye to friends. Everybody was buying me beer and I wound up really wiped out. I only remember bits and pieces of the night but I remember one thing real well. I got up on the bar and danced, at Eddies’ suggestion. I was truly happy. The next that I remember was waking up in the hotel room. My hangover was about an 11 on a scale of 10. That bad! After getting myself sorted out, I found that all my money was gone. There was nothing. I was devastated and with a huge hangover on top of that, I was beside myself. I got dressed and cleaned up and with my little bag I went to Eddies bar. It was already about noon. I walked in and sat down. Eddie came over and he started telling me about last night. Evidently, I had a good time. I finally told Eddie that I didn’t have any money. I thought I had probably been ‘rolled’. Eddie began to tell me how sorry he was. He gave me a beer on the house and kept trying to console me. I told him I didn’t even have money to go home. This went on for about ten minutes and pretty soon Eddie went to the register and came back with an envelope and a big grin. I opened it and there was almost 300.00 dollars. He began to laugh and then told me that he asked me last night to keep my money behind the bar for safekeeping and I had agreed. I just didn’t remember it. That was a memory that one will never forget. He could have kept it and I would never have known. We had a little party again and then I left for Rock Island, my home.
The morning I was officially discharged I received 300.00 mustering out pay. Interesting enough, that was the same amount my dad received when he was discharged from the Army in 1945. This was 1954. Don’t seem right, somehow.
The first thing I did was to go out and buy some civilian clothes. I really do remember a yellow shirt and a gray zip up jacket, for some reason. 300.00 was a lot of money in 1954. Not a fortune but a lot to me. I was going to take a train back to Rock Island but got a hotel room for the night instead. I decided I would get the ticket in the morning. The next thing was to eat and I even went to a movie. I don’t remember in what order.
Boston was the home port for the U.S.S.Worcester so I had been in Boston a lot and my favorite place was Eddies Western Bar. I spent a lot of time there and got to know a lot of people. This also was the hangout for a lot of the crew of the Worcester. I knew Eddie pretty well. He was a typical short, stocky, balding and cigar smoking bartender who owned the place. He was always happy. There were the regular girls or ladies and the few gays but all in all it was almost like the ‘neighborhood bar’ found in most small towns. Everybody knew most everybody.
I remember one night in particular. Our ship was in and most of us were in Eddies that night. At one point, a bunch of bikers walked in which was kind of rare. Their were probably about 8 or 10. I was sitting at a booth with a couple buddies and most of the bikers sat at the bar. Evidently, they were set on starting something evidenced by their demeanor. Sure enough, one of them said something to a girl that was sitting with a sailor and a punch was thrown.
It was like every one was on a string and the puppeteer had jerked the strings. It was like everyone knew this was going to happen. It was the second bar fight I was ever in but this was a classic. Women were throwing beer bottles, guys were throwing punches and bikers were being thrown out the door. No one was exempt, even me and my buddies. It seems it was over in a few minutes but everyone was leaving because we knew the police would be here any minute. Mitch and I, a good buddy, stayed and helped Eddie straighten the place out. It was quite a night.
Getting back to the day I was discharged, I eventually wound up, of course, at Eddies to celebrate and to say goodbye to friends. Everybody was buying me beer and I wound up really wiped out. I only remember bits and pieces of the night but I remember one thing real well. I got up on the bar and danced, at Eddies’ suggestion. I was truly happy. The next that I remember was waking up in the hotel room. My hangover was about an 11 on a scale of 10. That bad! After getting myself sorted out, I found that all my money was gone. There was nothing. I was devastated and with a huge hangover on top of that, I was beside myself. I got dressed and cleaned up and with my little bag I went to Eddies bar. It was already about noon. I walked in and sat down. Eddie came over and he started telling me about last night. Evidently, I had a good time. I finally told Eddie that I didn’t have any money. I thought I had probably been ‘rolled’. Eddie began to tell me how sorry he was. He gave me a beer on the house and kept trying to console me. I told him I didn’t even have money to go home. This went on for about ten minutes and pretty soon Eddie went to the register and came back with an envelope and a big grin. I opened it and there was almost 300.00 dollars. He began to laugh and then told me that he asked me last night to keep my money behind the bar for safekeeping and I had agreed. I just didn’t remember it. That was a memory that one will never forget. He could have kept it and I would never have known. We had a little party again and then I left for Rock Island, my home.
INDUSTRIOUS LITTLE BILLY...
World War 2 lasted from December 1941 until June 1945. My age span then was 9 thru 13. We had rationing on most everything. Gas, oil, meat, sugar, nylons, butter, tires, shoes, cars, bicycles, cheese, canned milk, canned fish, typewriters. So much more. For an interesting site that pretty much tells what the true scope was, go to:
Http://www.ameshistoricalsociety.org/exhibits/events/rationing.htm#items.
There were ration books and red tokens and blue tokens. Each had a value. They were used just like coins. Legally, you couldn’t buy anything without them. However, there was a lot of black marketing that went on. How would it not.
I made a little bit of money in those days. I had the “proverbial” little red wagon that I pulled every where. I used it for my paper routes and to pick up and scavenge for bottles, tin cans, string, newspapers and discarded cigarette packages. In those days they had a lead liner on the inside of the package which peeled off. I would find lots of them in the streets and the alleys and I just made a ball out of them. String was another thing I collected. I would wind any that I found into a ball. Mom would keep her fat from cooking and I would put in cans. With all the bars in the area, bottles were my biggest money makers. I worked at this every chance I had. When I felt like I had a full wagon then I would take it all to the junkyard up by the river. He would buy everything I had. This was about once a week. The junk dealer would buy everything I had. This was about once a week or sooner.
The junk dealer was quite an entrepreneur. I can remember when I was very, very little when he went up and down the streets pushing a two wheeled cart and yelling and touting his wares. Only thing I sort of remember was “Rags for sale!” We all laughed at him as well as a lot of adults. We didn’t know then, nor did many other people that he was slowly buying up properties thru part of the city. Mostly in our neighborhood. When I was around 6 or 7 I can remember my Dad renting this little apartment where we lived in for about 6 months before buying the house on 7th avenue. I found out later that Dad actually rented that apartment from that same dealer.
Because butter was rationed, someone came out with a Plastic bag about six inches by four inches with a white buttery texture inside. There was a ‘button’ in the center with a red liquid dye that would break open and you would keep squeezing the bag all over until it all turned yellow. Something like a forerunner to oleomargarine, probably.
Patriotism was like nothing I can remember seeing to this day. People bought war bonds and war savings bond stamps. You could buy a bond for 18.75 and if you kept it 10 yrs, it would be worth 25.00. I bought quite a few 10 cent stamps and put them in the booklet they supplied. Truthfully, I don’t remember what even happened to it. But it was for the war and you just did it. A lot of men died from our city. When you walked down the street you could tell by the small flags hanging in the windows with stars. A blue star would mean one member of the family was in the service. Two blue stars would mean two were in the service and so on. If the star was gold it meant that the serviceman was killed. We saw a lot of flags in those days.
Most of the young men and husbands were gone to war. I made a lot of money mowing lawns and shoveling snow and doing small jobs for those left behind, even at my young age. I had a roll top desk with pigeon holes. In it I had index cards, one for each day, with an address for each mowing job that particular day.
With all this going on I would jog up to 38th street to the Bowladrome where I would set pins for the evening leagues. It was about a mile. Actually 12 blocks. I got ten cents a game for setting 2 alleys for a league per bowler which was 10 for 2 teams. Plus tips, which were usually pretty good if you did a good job. I could always set two leagues a night plus some open bowling before or after. Usually about 2.50 a night. That was a lot of money back then. Besides that, we got free bowling whenever we wanted and I wanted it a lot. I got good enough that I was asked to fill in for a league bowler 2 times when I was only 14.
I also worked sacking potatoes and bananas at the grocery store next door when I could. I even swept up at night. I also had a paper route and a Sunday paper route.
I was a pretty busy little guy during the War and after.
Seems like I’ve always been busy.
REAL MOUNTAIN MEN and GAS-A-MATS..
Sometimes, funny incidents or situations are the unexpected. They just happen and are perfect. When I lived in Montana between 1976 and 1982, we had a small cottage with I acre in the hills above Hamilton. I had done various jobs to make a living. One of the first was at a Log Home Building Co. I worked in the maintenance area mostly servicing chain saws, welding and repairing other equipment. However, before that I ‘peeled’ logs used for building the log homes. It was a very tough job and all was done outside in any weather. All the logs had a bark of sorts that had to be peeled off down to the bare wood. This was all done with a two handled draw knife. It was good exercise. The men who did this came and went. Occasionally, even a woman worked a while.
There were 2 of the peelers who actually lived in caves up in the hills. The older one, Kurt, about 30 or so, was a real live hermit. A true mountain Man. Never talked to anyone much. Just worked and got his pay and left. Just like a dan’l Boone. He carried a long Bowie knife that could almost whack a 2 x 4 in half. He had contempt and disdain for the other younger “cave man” named Dustin. Justifiably so, I thought. He was a “wannabe” but he was giving it a run for the money, at least. Well, there are other interesting stories there between them and about them, I am sure. However, while working there, I had noticed an old white ford station wagon accumulating a thick coat of dust in the parking lot. Under the dust, it didn’t seem to be in bad condition. It was there every day in the same spot. At the time, we only had a 1961 ford pick-up that we moved here from Colorado with. I asked around wondering who owned it. It looked abandoned. Come to find out, the “wannabe”, Dustin owned it. I asked him if he ever drove it. He said no. I asked if it ran and he said he didn’t know. He said he didn’t need it living in a cave up in the hills. I asked what he would take for it and he thought and said “maybe 75 dollars”. For the sake of bartering, I said “How about 50 dollars”. He said “okay”. And that is how I got my second car. He even had a title to it which was a shock.
It really was not a bad car. It needed cleaning and a lot of work but usable. It even had a heater which my truck barely had. The one irritating thing was that the driver’s door was missing one hinge. I had to get into it through the passenger side. One day, I needed to get gas. This was back when they had those “Gas-a-mat” stations. The pumps were right in front of the window where the lady sat and took your money and gave you a coin, of sorts, and you put it in a slot at the pump and then you pumped the gas. This particular day I pulled up in front of the window and not thinking, I opened the driver side door and it fell off with me standing there holding it by the handle. I looked at the lady and she began laughing so hard “I thought I would pee my pants”. Those were her words. I walked up and put down my money and said “It’s ok, That happens all the time”. One of those moments that could never be duplicated. I eventually got some hinges at a wrecking yard and fixed that problem.
There were 2 of the peelers who actually lived in caves up in the hills. The older one, Kurt, about 30 or so, was a real live hermit. A true mountain Man. Never talked to anyone much. Just worked and got his pay and left. Just like a dan’l Boone. He carried a long Bowie knife that could almost whack a 2 x 4 in half. He had contempt and disdain for the other younger “cave man” named Dustin. Justifiably so, I thought. He was a “wannabe” but he was giving it a run for the money, at least. Well, there are other interesting stories there between them and about them, I am sure. However, while working there, I had noticed an old white ford station wagon accumulating a thick coat of dust in the parking lot. Under the dust, it didn’t seem to be in bad condition. It was there every day in the same spot. At the time, we only had a 1961 ford pick-up that we moved here from Colorado with. I asked around wondering who owned it. It looked abandoned. Come to find out, the “wannabe”, Dustin owned it. I asked him if he ever drove it. He said no. I asked if it ran and he said he didn’t know. He said he didn’t need it living in a cave up in the hills. I asked what he would take for it and he thought and said “maybe 75 dollars”. For the sake of bartering, I said “How about 50 dollars”. He said “okay”. And that is how I got my second car. He even had a title to it which was a shock.
It really was not a bad car. It needed cleaning and a lot of work but usable. It even had a heater which my truck barely had. The one irritating thing was that the driver’s door was missing one hinge. I had to get into it through the passenger side. One day, I needed to get gas. This was back when they had those “Gas-a-mat” stations. The pumps were right in front of the window where the lady sat and took your money and gave you a coin, of sorts, and you put it in a slot at the pump and then you pumped the gas. This particular day I pulled up in front of the window and not thinking, I opened the driver side door and it fell off with me standing there holding it by the handle. I looked at the lady and she began laughing so hard “I thought I would pee my pants”. Those were her words. I walked up and put down my money and said “It’s ok, That happens all the time”. One of those moments that could never be duplicated. I eventually got some hinges at a wrecking yard and fixed that problem.
'HUCKLEBERRY' BILLY and 'TOM' GARY...
One of my forte’s, I like to think was Ping Pong. I spent a lot of time at the YMCA while I was growing up. Besides swimming, running, basketball and all the other activities offered, ping pong was something special for me. We had tournaments quite often and I always done really well in them. My biggest competitor was Gary F. He was a really small kid who loved all sports but was always too little to compete because he was so small. But he worked harder than anyone I knew to prove himself to himself. Two of these sports that he did do really well were long distance running and ping pong. He and I played ping pong most every day at the “Y” and he would beat me probably 3 out 4 games on any given day.
Sadly though, his home life was as bad as mine. Maybe worse. His parents constantly fought and his dad drank a lot. Like me, he tried to stay away from home as much as he could. One time we decided to run away from home. We were 12 or 13 at the time. We packed a lunch each and took off walking across the bridge from Rock Island, Illinois to Davenport, Iowa. We ate our lunch early on the way. This was about 8:00 in the morning. We reached the outskirts of Davenport around 4:00 in the afternoon and got hungry. We sat down and talked it over and decided we would do this another time.
We took the ferry back across the river between Davenport and Rock Island. We had walked enough and It was only a dime. When we each got home about 7:00, nobody even missed us or knew we were running away.
When Gary and I were not running away from home or playing ping pong, we would go up to Augustana College where there was a lot of empty land and trees and a really muddy and rather small pond hidden by a group of trees. We found it one day while walking and running through the woods. Like huckleberry Finn, we claimed it as our pond. We found some old logs of different diameters but pretty much the same length. We got this idea of building a raft so we figured pretty much how to do it but we needed some rope and boards and nails and a hammer. A couple days later we took off to the pond with some equipment and proceeded to build our ‘Getaway’ raft.
With some patience and determination, we had built what looked somewhat like a raft, if you used your imagination. Up to this point, neither of us had the courage to actually go into that filthy pond but after having made a raft, then we couldn’t back down. We pushed and tugged and pulled and we actually got it into the water. Of course we sort of had to go into the water a ways to get it out far enough to float. And float, it did, until we got on it. It floated but with us on it, we were sitting on a partially submerged raft. But we did manage to get it out to the middle of the pond and most of the way back. Almost. Eventually, very close to the bank, we had to jump off and wade to the bank.
We, of course, had taken off our tennis shoes and socks before we had got on the raft so we were barefoot and had our pants legs rolled up. The mud must have been a foot deep under the water. I waded back to the bank first and Gary was alongside of me. All of a sudden Gary screamed like a bloody murder. We had already conjured up visions of monsters and poisonous snakes and everything in between, that lay in that pond. I was certain that Gary was a goner. He limped to the bank and saw that he had a terrible gash on the bottom of his foot and partly up the side. We found a bottom part of a broken milk bottle that he had stepped on. Of course, his mother had told him not to go to the pond almost every day that he came here. He said he couldn’t tell her about the accident but I told him he should see a doctor. He thought about it and said that in a movie he remembered these Indians would pack grass around the wound and wrap it up and it would heal the wound. I told him he was crazy but he had made up his mind. We found some grass and I gave him my socks to wrap it up. My socks alone should have been bad enough. I wrote him off as a friend who was going to die for sure. However, after about a week and about a pound of fresh grass later it was healing. The good thing was that for about a week, I could beat him in ping pong.
We never ever went back to the pond. I visited there many years later but the pond was gone. They had expanded the college grounds so much that I couldn’t even see where the pond was in the first place. Kind of like the ‘Time Machine’ movie scenes. Progress. They can’t change the memory, though. Like all my distant friendships back then, I can’t remember when or how but we sort of went our own ways or moved or found new friends. For a time he was a good friend. And, a good memory and I do cherish that.
Sadly though, his home life was as bad as mine. Maybe worse. His parents constantly fought and his dad drank a lot. Like me, he tried to stay away from home as much as he could. One time we decided to run away from home. We were 12 or 13 at the time. We packed a lunch each and took off walking across the bridge from Rock Island, Illinois to Davenport, Iowa. We ate our lunch early on the way. This was about 8:00 in the morning. We reached the outskirts of Davenport around 4:00 in the afternoon and got hungry. We sat down and talked it over and decided we would do this another time.
We took the ferry back across the river between Davenport and Rock Island. We had walked enough and It was only a dime. When we each got home about 7:00, nobody even missed us or knew we were running away.
When Gary and I were not running away from home or playing ping pong, we would go up to Augustana College where there was a lot of empty land and trees and a really muddy and rather small pond hidden by a group of trees. We found it one day while walking and running through the woods. Like huckleberry Finn, we claimed it as our pond. We found some old logs of different diameters but pretty much the same length. We got this idea of building a raft so we figured pretty much how to do it but we needed some rope and boards and nails and a hammer. A couple days later we took off to the pond with some equipment and proceeded to build our ‘Getaway’ raft.
With some patience and determination, we had built what looked somewhat like a raft, if you used your imagination. Up to this point, neither of us had the courage to actually go into that filthy pond but after having made a raft, then we couldn’t back down. We pushed and tugged and pulled and we actually got it into the water. Of course we sort of had to go into the water a ways to get it out far enough to float. And float, it did, until we got on it. It floated but with us on it, we were sitting on a partially submerged raft. But we did manage to get it out to the middle of the pond and most of the way back. Almost. Eventually, very close to the bank, we had to jump off and wade to the bank.
We, of course, had taken off our tennis shoes and socks before we had got on the raft so we were barefoot and had our pants legs rolled up. The mud must have been a foot deep under the water. I waded back to the bank first and Gary was alongside of me. All of a sudden Gary screamed like a bloody murder. We had already conjured up visions of monsters and poisonous snakes and everything in between, that lay in that pond. I was certain that Gary was a goner. He limped to the bank and saw that he had a terrible gash on the bottom of his foot and partly up the side. We found a bottom part of a broken milk bottle that he had stepped on. Of course, his mother had told him not to go to the pond almost every day that he came here. He said he couldn’t tell her about the accident but I told him he should see a doctor. He thought about it and said that in a movie he remembered these Indians would pack grass around the wound and wrap it up and it would heal the wound. I told him he was crazy but he had made up his mind. We found some grass and I gave him my socks to wrap it up. My socks alone should have been bad enough. I wrote him off as a friend who was going to die for sure. However, after about a week and about a pound of fresh grass later it was healing. The good thing was that for about a week, I could beat him in ping pong.
We never ever went back to the pond. I visited there many years later but the pond was gone. They had expanded the college grounds so much that I couldn’t even see where the pond was in the first place. Kind of like the ‘Time Machine’ movie scenes. Progress. They can’t change the memory, though. Like all my distant friendships back then, I can’t remember when or how but we sort of went our own ways or moved or found new friends. For a time he was a good friend. And, a good memory and I do cherish that.
PING PONG and the LOSER, again..
Speaking of ping pong. Later in life when I was about 35 or so, I was working at Jeffco Steel Fabricators in Commerce City. One of my co-workers was Franz G. He came here from Germany as a young man. One day, we were working on a project and some how got on to the subject of ping pong. Franz always seemed to be full of crap. A nice guy but I never believed much of what he said most of the time. Somewhere in there, I said that I could beat anybody here at ping pong. Franz said that he had been the champion ping pong player of Bavaria. I laughed and I think my words were “bullshit” or something along that order. We agreed to go to the sport center on Federal Blvd in Denver on the coming Saturday. They had bowling, pool tables and ping pong tables that you could rent. Well, we played about sixteen games and I only won one game. I accused him of letting me win that one. He was good. My thoughts from then on were maybe he is not completely full of crap, after all.
PERSPECTIVES on WARS and PEOPLE..
I was, and still am, intensely against the Iraq war. There should have been better reasons to go to that war or, really, any war.
My Dad lived through World War 2 But many didn’t. At least it was a war of principles. Even the Korean War was to a degree. I served 4 years in the navy during that war. I felt good about it. My dad went into the Army in January of 1944 and got out in November of 1945. He was overseas in France and Belgium nearly 2 years and in the ‘Battle of the Bulge’, as they called it. He was 34 years old when he went in.
Bush and Cheney said that Iraq would welcome us into their country. They would rejoice at being liberating. Bush said, aboard an Aircraft carrier decked out in flight gear, that the ‘Mission was accomplished’. Yeah! That was over five years ago. After we went into the Iraq war, I found an article written by Ernie Pyle, A war correspondent during ww2 who was in the thick of battle. One of his final notes of ‘perspective` at the end of the war was:
“Dead men in winter and dead men in summer. Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous. Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them. Those are the things that you at home need not even try to understand. To you at home they are columns of figures, or he is a near one who went away and just didn't come back. You didn't see him lying so grotesque and pasty beside the gravel road in France. We saw him. Saw him by the multiple thousands. That's the difference”.
I cut this out when I found it and put it up on a wall at work as I felt strongly against the war. A fellow employee wrote at the bottom, “Sissy”. It was written by someone who never served in the military. He was all for us going into Iraq. (Note: “us” but not “him”). But I never said anything to him. I simply took it down because the message of what 'could be' was lost on him.
My Dad lived through World War 2 But many didn’t. At least it was a war of principles. Even the Korean War was to a degree. I served 4 years in the navy during that war. I felt good about it. My dad went into the Army in January of 1944 and got out in November of 1945. He was overseas in France and Belgium nearly 2 years and in the ‘Battle of the Bulge’, as they called it. He was 34 years old when he went in.
Bush and Cheney said that Iraq would welcome us into their country. They would rejoice at being liberating. Bush said, aboard an Aircraft carrier decked out in flight gear, that the ‘Mission was accomplished’. Yeah! That was over five years ago. After we went into the Iraq war, I found an article written by Ernie Pyle, A war correspondent during ww2 who was in the thick of battle. One of his final notes of ‘perspective` at the end of the war was:
“Dead men in winter and dead men in summer. Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous. Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them. Those are the things that you at home need not even try to understand. To you at home they are columns of figures, or he is a near one who went away and just didn't come back. You didn't see him lying so grotesque and pasty beside the gravel road in France. We saw him. Saw him by the multiple thousands. That's the difference”.
I cut this out when I found it and put it up on a wall at work as I felt strongly against the war. A fellow employee wrote at the bottom, “Sissy”. It was written by someone who never served in the military. He was all for us going into Iraq. (Note: “us” but not “him”). But I never said anything to him. I simply took it down because the message of what 'could be' was lost on him.
A FREIGHTER THAT NEEDED MORE OARS...
It was in July of 1955 that the money arrived from Robert. Ironically or luckily, it arrived a bit too late to book passage on the S.S. Andrea Doria which was booked up. That was our plan all along. Because of that we resorted to buying tickets on a freighter which was going to Norfolk, Va. Actually it was my kind of travel. We were the only passengers so dress was optional. I opted for trunks every day. Angelina was very contented also, as she was the only woman aboard. She spent her days visiting with the crew and I spent my days drinking Greek beer and sunning myself or playing chess with the crusty old captain. This was not a quick trip. We were at sea without a stop for almost two weeks. If there was a bridge to Norfolk, I could have walked it quicker. But all in all it was rather adventurous in its own way.
When we arrived in dirty old Norfolk and debarked and went through customs and finally got in to the city I hailed a cab to get to the train station. The driver was a female which blew Angelina’s mind. She had never seen that before.
The trip to Michigan was rather vague. Meaning non-eventful. I was wondering if her traveling thru America made her as excited as I had been traveling thru Italy and Europe. It didn’t seem to be. Of course, I love to travel, obviously. Every new place was exciting. I’ve always been that way.
We finally arrived and the re-union between Angelina and Donna was almost worth the trip. Robert still had the diner and time was spent for a while at the diner while I was looking for a job. Calumet was a copper mining town, all the way. Eventually It boiled down to working as a miner.
When we arrived in dirty old Norfolk and debarked and went through customs and finally got in to the city I hailed a cab to get to the train station. The driver was a female which blew Angelina’s mind. She had never seen that before.
The trip to Michigan was rather vague. Meaning non-eventful. I was wondering if her traveling thru America made her as excited as I had been traveling thru Italy and Europe. It didn’t seem to be. Of course, I love to travel, obviously. Every new place was exciting. I’ve always been that way.
We finally arrived and the re-union between Angelina and Donna was almost worth the trip. Robert still had the diner and time was spent for a while at the diner while I was looking for a job. Calumet was a copper mining town, all the way. Eventually It boiled down to working as a miner.
I'M a MINER 49er for a YEAR...
One of the hardest and dirtiest jobs I ever had was up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. About the only work there was in the copper mines. It was probably the most interesting work, also. I found it interesting going 2000 ft below the ground with only a light on my helmet and a lunch bucket. The battery for the light weighs about 3 lbs. It is about the size of a book and we carry it on a belt and hanging in the back. The wire cable from the battery goes up the back to the light on the helmet. Try wearing all that and climb up and around a hill.
I started out on the “scraper”. This is actually a winch that has a half inch cable wrapped around the drum. It has a seat where the operator sits and two levers which one is for forward and the other is reverse. Attached to the long cable was a scraper, much like a snow plow except it is larger and heavier.
To explain this operation easier we should start at the beginning. The drillers would come in and drill a horizontal series of 1” holes to a depth of about 3 to 4 ft at about 30 degree angle in the wall at the top of this “stope” (hill). At the end of their shift, they would then pack sticks of dynamite in those holes (carefully). A fuse and a cap would be inserted in the last stick in each hole. The fuses would be from long to longer so that they would blow in sequence. This is pre-planned pattern. It would take a shift of about 8 hours to complete this. When all the drillers were ready they would light the fuses and waste no time descending down the stope and leave the area. About a half hour after they blow. the next shift comes in. One would be the scraper operator. Trying to explain the cable set up would be difficult so use your imagination. The scraper operator would use the levers to move the scraper up the stope and then pull it down the stope bringing with it the rock and ore down to the bottom level. This would be a continuous operation for an 8 hour shift while the drillers were working at the top of the stope.
There are tracks winding through the mine shaft which are there for the mining cars to carry the ore. There is an air operated front end loader on rail wheels that is operated from the side with 2 levers. There is a step for the operator to stand on and to operate the shovel to drive into the ore, filling the shovel and dump the ore into the mining car which is attached behind the air shovel. When the car is full the mining car is then taken back to the ore elevator and dumped on the conveyor belt that takes it up to ground level. That is as good as I can do to explain the procedure.
At any rate, I worked there for a year. Actually, sometimes, the worst part was coming up after the shift and often facing a blizzard, or bitter cold. The mine stayed right at 55 degrees constantly. Another thing I remember is how everyone got along together so well. When you work that close to each other you tend to watch out for one another. Only one time was there a moment of slight panic. About the end of the shift one night the electricity went out. That meant the elevator would not operate. We were there for about 2 hours and not knowing what was going on up above. Eventually we were able to go up and found that, of course, there was a blizzard and it had shut the power down all over.
I was usually the youngest one down there and took a lot of ribbing and a few practical jokes. I always took 4 to 5 egg sandwiches every night. Sometimes they would nail my bucket to the bench or hide all but one of the sandwiches. And of course, send me to the tool room for the proverbial left-handed pipe wrench. All things considered, I really did enjoy that time in my life. But.. I would never do it again.
I started out on the “scraper”. This is actually a winch that has a half inch cable wrapped around the drum. It has a seat where the operator sits and two levers which one is for forward and the other is reverse. Attached to the long cable was a scraper, much like a snow plow except it is larger and heavier.
To explain this operation easier we should start at the beginning. The drillers would come in and drill a horizontal series of 1” holes to a depth of about 3 to 4 ft at about 30 degree angle in the wall at the top of this “stope” (hill). At the end of their shift, they would then pack sticks of dynamite in those holes (carefully). A fuse and a cap would be inserted in the last stick in each hole. The fuses would be from long to longer so that they would blow in sequence. This is pre-planned pattern. It would take a shift of about 8 hours to complete this. When all the drillers were ready they would light the fuses and waste no time descending down the stope and leave the area. About a half hour after they blow. the next shift comes in. One would be the scraper operator. Trying to explain the cable set up would be difficult so use your imagination. The scraper operator would use the levers to move the scraper up the stope and then pull it down the stope bringing with it the rock and ore down to the bottom level. This would be a continuous operation for an 8 hour shift while the drillers were working at the top of the stope.
There are tracks winding through the mine shaft which are there for the mining cars to carry the ore. There is an air operated front end loader on rail wheels that is operated from the side with 2 levers. There is a step for the operator to stand on and to operate the shovel to drive into the ore, filling the shovel and dump the ore into the mining car which is attached behind the air shovel. When the car is full the mining car is then taken back to the ore elevator and dumped on the conveyor belt that takes it up to ground level. That is as good as I can do to explain the procedure.
At any rate, I worked there for a year. Actually, sometimes, the worst part was coming up after the shift and often facing a blizzard, or bitter cold. The mine stayed right at 55 degrees constantly. Another thing I remember is how everyone got along together so well. When you work that close to each other you tend to watch out for one another. Only one time was there a moment of slight panic. About the end of the shift one night the electricity went out. That meant the elevator would not operate. We were there for about 2 hours and not knowing what was going on up above. Eventually we were able to go up and found that, of course, there was a blizzard and it had shut the power down all over.
I was usually the youngest one down there and took a lot of ribbing and a few practical jokes. I always took 4 to 5 egg sandwiches every night. Sometimes they would nail my bucket to the bench or hide all but one of the sandwiches. And of course, send me to the tool room for the proverbial left-handed pipe wrench. All things considered, I really did enjoy that time in my life. But.. I would never do it again.
LIVING in the DARK it seems FOREVER..
The downside of my growing up in the house at 1430 7th Avenue in Rock Island were many but the basement was the worst. The basement was dark, especially at night. I had been afraid of the dark through my entire childhood. My dad went in the army in 1944. One of the duties I had was to put coal in the furnace two times a day, morning and night, every day through the whole winter months. I was 10 going on 11 and the oldest. The basement stairs went down 5 steps to a small landing and turned to the right and then down about 8 more steps. The furnace was at the other end of the basement about 20 feet away. One dim light was hanging in the middle. Along the entire left side was a crawl space that I had to walk by. It was absolutely dark and I was convinced it harbored monsters and ogres and everything bad and was just waiting for me to come closer. I never did. Never once in all the years I lived there. When I finally would make it to the furnace I turned to the left and faced the furnace. When I opened the furnace door I had to stoke the furnace to release the ashes to the bottom. The coal bin was to the right and it had a door but no light. Opening the door was the hardest. What if someone or something was in there. I would hurry very fast to fill the furnace and to remove the ashes. Each and every time I went down there I was waiting to be grabbed at any minute. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I had to do it. It was my job. There was no one else. This was probably the most traumatic time of my life. I had dreams about that house and the basement for many years off and on. Too many bad things were connected to that house.
50 years later I went back to Rock Island and all the business’s and homes were gone along that block except for that house (above) and one bar that was boarded up. Someone was still living there and a guy was in the yard on the porch. I talked to him and told him that I grew up in that house. He invited me in but I turned him down. I really couldn’t get myself to go in there. Now I wish I would have. Maybe it would have been a closure of sorts. I took some pictures of it on the outside, though. It actually looked better then that when I lived in it.
50 years later I went back to Rock Island and all the business’s and homes were gone along that block except for that house (above) and one bar that was boarded up. Someone was still living there and a guy was in the yard on the porch. I talked to him and told him that I grew up in that house. He invited me in but I turned him down. I really couldn’t get myself to go in there. Now I wish I would have. Maybe it would have been a closure of sorts. I took some pictures of it on the outside, though. It actually looked better then that when I lived in it.
STARS, ECLIPSE and KID GOATS
My good memories of our life in Montana are many but I think there were three that really stick out as exceptional. The first was one night in particular. There were many nights like this but for some reason, it seems everything came together to make it more spectacular. We were outside at about 11:00 at night. Everyone knows that the skies are more spectacular when you are away from the city lights and our one acre was up the sleeping child road and about 14 miles from Hamilton which certainly was not full of city lights. One of us looked up and gasped. The stars were so bright and seemed to nearly touch each other. One could have read a book it was so bright. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. It was as if the clouds and debris and all matter between us and the stars were parted for that night. Perhaps we just happened to notice it more that night because there were surely other nights that were clear but we savored that night for a very long time lying on a picnic table.
The second was during the day. We raised chickens and turkeys and goats and they pretty much had free range. Not the goats, as they would just go if we didn’t have them penned a little. We knew we were going to have a total solar eclipse. I believe it was in February 26 of 1979 about 2:00 in the afternoon. Normally the chickens and turkeys would be clucking and feeding and roaming and at dusk they would slowly head towards the hen house. When the eclipse started it surprised me. I knew it would start to get a little darker and then after a while it would pass. I had never been around animals when watching an eclipse of any kind. We watched as the chickens and the turkeys and even the goats quieted down when it started. As it got darker, there was a complete quiet and calm. They just began to hunker down to roost as they would in the hen house at night. It lasted for about a minute or two and as the light came back then they shook themselves and went about their business. It was a moment to remember.
Another moment was the birthing of our first kid goats. We had a doe named Ruffian (shown above) that we took to a goat farm to be bred. Keeping a male goat could be very tricky and we weren’t that much into goat ranching. At any rate, when she was beginning to show that it could happen any time, we watched her rather regularly. Of course, when the event began to happen it was about midnight on a frosty night. We had a shed where we kept her and watched in awe at our first experience of watching a birth. She had one kid and she licked and prodded her and shortly thereafter she began having another. We didn’t know they had more than one as we were pretty green at this sort of thing. After the second one came out, she began to clean that one too. Then, to our surprise, she started to act up once again. We thought no way would she have another but all indications told us that yes, it looked like it. However, she was having a lot of trouble and began to make noises. We waited for a while and determined that she was in a lot of trouble. We had read a little about breech births but never gave it much thought at the time. My wife looked at me and said she probably needs help and after this soaked into my head, I thought, oh crap. I’m going to have to go in there. I took off my jacket and slowly put my hand up inside and sure enough, the feet were crossed and I had to literally turn it around and help pull it out. It took quite a while but I finally pulled it out. unfortunately, it was stillborn. It was an experience I would never want to go thru again but all things considered, I felt pretty good about myself. We know that it never would have come out on its own and we surely saved her life. The two kids did fine and the mother got them standing up and kicking before long. The next night was really cold and my wife insisted we take the two kids in the house for the night. Below is a couple pictures of Gloria's mother with the 2 kids while on a visit from Colorado. I think she was enjoying herself as were they.
Trust me when I say that kid goats are worse than cats or dogs in the house. They get into anything and everything. This went on for three nights and we finally left them with their mother after that. We named them Nip and Tuck.
The second was during the day. We raised chickens and turkeys and goats and they pretty much had free range. Not the goats, as they would just go if we didn’t have them penned a little. We knew we were going to have a total solar eclipse. I believe it was in February 26 of 1979 about 2:00 in the afternoon. Normally the chickens and turkeys would be clucking and feeding and roaming and at dusk they would slowly head towards the hen house. When the eclipse started it surprised me. I knew it would start to get a little darker and then after a while it would pass. I had never been around animals when watching an eclipse of any kind. We watched as the chickens and the turkeys and even the goats quieted down when it started. As it got darker, there was a complete quiet and calm. They just began to hunker down to roost as they would in the hen house at night. It lasted for about a minute or two and as the light came back then they shook themselves and went about their business. It was a moment to remember.
Another moment was the birthing of our first kid goats. We had a doe named Ruffian (shown above) that we took to a goat farm to be bred. Keeping a male goat could be very tricky and we weren’t that much into goat ranching. At any rate, when she was beginning to show that it could happen any time, we watched her rather regularly. Of course, when the event began to happen it was about midnight on a frosty night. We had a shed where we kept her and watched in awe at our first experience of watching a birth. She had one kid and she licked and prodded her and shortly thereafter she began having another. We didn’t know they had more than one as we were pretty green at this sort of thing. After the second one came out, she began to clean that one too. Then, to our surprise, she started to act up once again. We thought no way would she have another but all indications told us that yes, it looked like it. However, she was having a lot of trouble and began to make noises. We waited for a while and determined that she was in a lot of trouble. We had read a little about breech births but never gave it much thought at the time. My wife looked at me and said she probably needs help and after this soaked into my head, I thought, oh crap. I’m going to have to go in there. I took off my jacket and slowly put my hand up inside and sure enough, the feet were crossed and I had to literally turn it around and help pull it out. It took quite a while but I finally pulled it out. unfortunately, it was stillborn. It was an experience I would never want to go thru again but all things considered, I felt pretty good about myself. We know that it never would have come out on its own and we surely saved her life. The two kids did fine and the mother got them standing up and kicking before long. The next night was really cold and my wife insisted we take the two kids in the house for the night. Below is a couple pictures of Gloria's mother with the 2 kids while on a visit from Colorado. I think she was enjoying herself as were they.
Trust me when I say that kid goats are worse than cats or dogs in the house. They get into anything and everything. This went on for three nights and we finally left them with their mother after that. We named them Nip and Tuck.
ITALY, PIZZA'S, WINE and BABIES...
In 1952 I was in the Navy and stationed in Afragola, Italy at an Infirmary. It was actually there for about three years and was de-commissioned in about 1955. We were the ones who moved everything in. It was a 50 bed hospital, which qualified it as an infirmary. It was a fairly small three floor building that sat in a piazza. No, it didn’t even have a fountain in this piazza. It had 4 dirt streets leading out of it. It was perfect. Afragola was a small town outside of Naples. I hate to say village but it leaps to mind. There was a fire escape stairway in the back with a landing on each floor. A building to the right was the dormitory where we slept. Behind the infirmary just beyond the fire escape was an apartment building. We should call it a villa, I suppose. Their 2nd floor was on the same level as ours and had a balcony which started only about 6 or 7 feet from our fire escape.
I was wide-eyed and young and eager and excited. I worked on the 3rd floor which was the obstetrics ward and the nursery. Yeah, I don’t know how I got stuck with that, but I grew to enjoy it. I worked with Edwards and Larry most of the time. I felt like we were the 3 amigos. We took care of the pregnant navy wives from Naples, mostly. I was in on most of the deliveries during the day shift and night shift. We switched every once in a while for training purposes. Every experience of birth was the experience of a lifetime, each time. There was, of course, a Doctor and a nurse and me. I took the baby after it was delivered and used the suction machine to suck the mucous out of the nose and mouth and then put silver nitrate drops in their eyes and then cleaned them up with baby oil and cotton balls and put them in the incubator. I watched them closely for a while until the nurse OK’d putting him/her in the nursery. Before putting them in the nursery I weighed them and put the bracelet name tag and took ‘foot prints’. I was always amazed when I was handed the baby by the doctor. They truly did not all look alike.
Of course, my job was also to clean up the delivery room after each use and get it ready for the next use. Another job was making rounds in the nursery every half hour and check each baby. Also, to take the baby to the mother if she breast fed them during the night. Otherwise I or Edwards would bottle feed them at the right times. Yes, we also had to change their diapers as needed which was more than we liked. And yes, I had been hit by that proverbial ‘pee-spray’ at the wrong time more than once.
On one round of my shift in particular, in the middle of the night, I noticed one baby was not breathing and was flailing around and turning blue. I grabbed him by his two legs and ran to the delivery room and used the suction machine to clean out his mouth and nose. He immediately began to gasp and cry and his color returned to normal. He was okay! After I watched him for a while I took him back to the nursery. When I told the night nurse what had happened she simply said “OK”. No one knows that I probably saved a baby’s life except me, but That’s alright. I had a good educational and satisfying job while I was there. I look back on it with mostly fine memories.
Now Edwards was a different matter. He hated the nursery. He wanted a transfer to a different ward. Everyone knew this. Almost anywhere but in the nursery. After a few months he told me that he had a plan to get out. I couldn’t imagine what it would be.
It was mostly routine duty through the days and nights. Occasionally in the evenings, when we didn’t go on liberty into town or Naples, We would ‘order in’, so to speak. These were my best times. In the apartment behind us were several families. One of the ‘ragazzi’ (young boys) of one of the families would hear us calling from our balcony. He had attached a basket on the end of a long pole and would extend it over to our balcony. We would put, usually, way too much money in it and tell him “Dieci oppure dodice pizza e due bottigli di vino” which was '10 or 12 pizza's and 2 bottles of wine'. He had done this enough times that he pretty much knew what we wanted. We had to do it this way as we weren’t supposed to drink on the hospital property.
Out on the balcony, (shown above with me) we reasoned, wasn’t too illegal. After about an hour or less the ragazzo would return with about twelve margherita pizzas’ and a couple bottles of wine. He was always paid well for the trip. Now this pizza was like nothing I have found today or any time since. I have tried. They were about 8 or 9 inches and had tomato and basil and mozzarella and olive oil. You could not eat them like you do anywhere else. We would fold it over and eat it like a sandwich and it was so fresh and soft it would almost melt in your mouth. It dripped while you ate it. I usually ate about three of them and wash it down with the really good wine. We really would not have fit into a classy restaurant the way we ate but it was unbelievably delicious. Again, one of those memories that one never forgets and the buddies you shared it all with.
Meanwhile, getting back to Edwards. We were on the night shift on a Saturday night. Now if you can picture a nurse at a desk and in front of the desk was the corridor that went all the way to the other end of the building. Off of this corridor were doors to the delivery room and two ward rooms where the patients slept and various closets and rest rooms. The nursery was half way down the corridor. Except for the lamp on the nurses’ desk and one light at the end of the corridor and the light coming out of the nursery door windows, it was rather dark at night. No one was wandering around at night anyway, except us. I was up at the desk writing in a chart near the nurse while Edwards was bundling the babies in a blanket and taking them to their mothers one at a time for breast feeding time. It is a very quiet time except for the swinging doors from the nursery. All of a sudden, at one point, Edwards come out of the nursery and had a bundled blanket in his arms which he suddenly threw up into the air and yelled “I can’t take this any more”. The nurse and I looked up and saw this bundle bounce on the floor and I was sure that Edwards had finally lost it. The nurse turned white and run down to the bundle, as did I. Edwards was leaning against the wall with a grin. The bundle, it turned out, was a bundle of blankets. No baby inside. The humor was lost on the nurse, which I understood. Edwards was put on report and yes, he was taken off the ward and replaced by Larry the next night. Edwards was switched to being a driver for the Commander. It fit him well. No one really ever talked about that incident for fear of what some of the women patients would think if they knew of it. Of course, Edwards knew that.
I was wide-eyed and young and eager and excited. I worked on the 3rd floor which was the obstetrics ward and the nursery. Yeah, I don’t know how I got stuck with that, but I grew to enjoy it. I worked with Edwards and Larry most of the time. I felt like we were the 3 amigos. We took care of the pregnant navy wives from Naples, mostly. I was in on most of the deliveries during the day shift and night shift. We switched every once in a while for training purposes. Every experience of birth was the experience of a lifetime, each time. There was, of course, a Doctor and a nurse and me. I took the baby after it was delivered and used the suction machine to suck the mucous out of the nose and mouth and then put silver nitrate drops in their eyes and then cleaned them up with baby oil and cotton balls and put them in the incubator. I watched them closely for a while until the nurse OK’d putting him/her in the nursery. Before putting them in the nursery I weighed them and put the bracelet name tag and took ‘foot prints’. I was always amazed when I was handed the baby by the doctor. They truly did not all look alike.
Of course, my job was also to clean up the delivery room after each use and get it ready for the next use. Another job was making rounds in the nursery every half hour and check each baby. Also, to take the baby to the mother if she breast fed them during the night. Otherwise I or Edwards would bottle feed them at the right times. Yes, we also had to change their diapers as needed which was more than we liked. And yes, I had been hit by that proverbial ‘pee-spray’ at the wrong time more than once.
On one round of my shift in particular, in the middle of the night, I noticed one baby was not breathing and was flailing around and turning blue. I grabbed him by his two legs and ran to the delivery room and used the suction machine to clean out his mouth and nose. He immediately began to gasp and cry and his color returned to normal. He was okay! After I watched him for a while I took him back to the nursery. When I told the night nurse what had happened she simply said “OK”. No one knows that I probably saved a baby’s life except me, but That’s alright. I had a good educational and satisfying job while I was there. I look back on it with mostly fine memories.
Now Edwards was a different matter. He hated the nursery. He wanted a transfer to a different ward. Everyone knew this. Almost anywhere but in the nursery. After a few months he told me that he had a plan to get out. I couldn’t imagine what it would be.
It was mostly routine duty through the days and nights. Occasionally in the evenings, when we didn’t go on liberty into town or Naples, We would ‘order in’, so to speak. These were my best times. In the apartment behind us were several families. One of the ‘ragazzi’ (young boys) of one of the families would hear us calling from our balcony. He had attached a basket on the end of a long pole and would extend it over to our balcony. We would put, usually, way too much money in it and tell him “Dieci oppure dodice pizza e due bottigli di vino” which was '10 or 12 pizza's and 2 bottles of wine'. He had done this enough times that he pretty much knew what we wanted. We had to do it this way as we weren’t supposed to drink on the hospital property.
Out on the balcony, (shown above with me) we reasoned, wasn’t too illegal. After about an hour or less the ragazzo would return with about twelve margherita pizzas’ and a couple bottles of wine. He was always paid well for the trip. Now this pizza was like nothing I have found today or any time since. I have tried. They were about 8 or 9 inches and had tomato and basil and mozzarella and olive oil. You could not eat them like you do anywhere else. We would fold it over and eat it like a sandwich and it was so fresh and soft it would almost melt in your mouth. It dripped while you ate it. I usually ate about three of them and wash it down with the really good wine. We really would not have fit into a classy restaurant the way we ate but it was unbelievably delicious. Again, one of those memories that one never forgets and the buddies you shared it all with.
Meanwhile, getting back to Edwards. We were on the night shift on a Saturday night. Now if you can picture a nurse at a desk and in front of the desk was the corridor that went all the way to the other end of the building. Off of this corridor were doors to the delivery room and two ward rooms where the patients slept and various closets and rest rooms. The nursery was half way down the corridor. Except for the lamp on the nurses’ desk and one light at the end of the corridor and the light coming out of the nursery door windows, it was rather dark at night. No one was wandering around at night anyway, except us. I was up at the desk writing in a chart near the nurse while Edwards was bundling the babies in a blanket and taking them to their mothers one at a time for breast feeding time. It is a very quiet time except for the swinging doors from the nursery. All of a sudden, at one point, Edwards come out of the nursery and had a bundled blanket in his arms which he suddenly threw up into the air and yelled “I can’t take this any more”. The nurse and I looked up and saw this bundle bounce on the floor and I was sure that Edwards had finally lost it. The nurse turned white and run down to the bundle, as did I. Edwards was leaning against the wall with a grin. The bundle, it turned out, was a bundle of blankets. No baby inside. The humor was lost on the nurse, which I understood. Edwards was put on report and yes, he was taken off the ward and replaced by Larry the next night. Edwards was switched to being a driver for the Commander. It fit him well. No one really ever talked about that incident for fear of what some of the women patients would think if they knew of it. Of course, Edwards knew that.
MY LATE FRIEND, the MOUSE...
When I wound up in Bonner Springs, Kansas in one of my travels, I stayed at my mom and dads. They had an upstairs apartment that I rented. I have a feeling for animals that has progressed to the point that I would rather catch a spider or fly or any living thing and release it outside as opposed to killing it. It has been an ongoing and escalating problem. My thought is always that “they are just trying to make living like the rest of us”.
What brings this to mind is a recollection of the time that I was watching TV one evening alone in that apartment and happened to see a small mouse out of the corner of my eye. I just watched and didn’t try to scare him or her.(Never figured that out). After that, most every evening he would come out of somewhere and sit nervously at a distance. One night I got some cheese and put it down. Very cautiously, he/she sidled over and ate the cheese. This went on for some time and became a ritual most evenings.
One night my mom asked me down to eat with them. This happened occasionally. In the course of the conversation I mentioned about my friend the mouse. Mom proceeded to inform me that they have been having a mouse problem for some time and she did NOT want me feeding one of them. She was very enthusiastic about the point. I agreed. I went to work the next morning and when I arrived home and while fixing supper, I heard a loud snap from the other room. When I went to see what it was I saw my little friend caught in a mousetrap. Dead. Fortunately, I never saw any more mice to feed while living there. No acknowledgement of this was ever made between mom and I.
What brings this to mind is a recollection of the time that I was watching TV one evening alone in that apartment and happened to see a small mouse out of the corner of my eye. I just watched and didn’t try to scare him or her.(Never figured that out). After that, most every evening he would come out of somewhere and sit nervously at a distance. One night I got some cheese and put it down. Very cautiously, he/she sidled over and ate the cheese. This went on for some time and became a ritual most evenings.
One night my mom asked me down to eat with them. This happened occasionally. In the course of the conversation I mentioned about my friend the mouse. Mom proceeded to inform me that they have been having a mouse problem for some time and she did NOT want me feeding one of them. She was very enthusiastic about the point. I agreed. I went to work the next morning and when I arrived home and while fixing supper, I heard a loud snap from the other room. When I went to see what it was I saw my little friend caught in a mousetrap. Dead. Fortunately, I never saw any more mice to feed while living there. No acknowledgement of this was ever made between mom and I.
AT 76, LIFE IS STILL TOO SHORT..
I’m not going to say “Time flies by”. But it does. We can’t do much to stop it but we could make use of the time given us. My question is, why am I still here? I don’t really believe in a God but I do believe in what God stands for and what he has created in our lives for that very thing that keeps us going. I could not have just been born and existed and then arrived at (eventually) the end. It can’t be that simple. There are so many times in my 76 years that should have been the end.
My best friend, when I was only 12, made deliveries of small radios in a small Radio Shop his adoptive parents owned. His name was Andrew Wooley and he was 15. He had a bike that he made deliveries with about every other day for his father. I almost always went with him, riding on the handlebars. It was a fairly small town in those days. He was like an older brother, sort of. One day he had a delivery up near Blackhawk Park. He said it would be too difficult for me to go that time because there were a lot of hills in that area. I was disappointed but I told him I would be home when he got back. This was about 10 in the morning. I went home and never thought about it until around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. About 5 there was a report on the radio that said that there had been an accident involving a car and an unidentified boy on a bicycle. The boy had been crushed by the car. After the shock and realization that he would never be there again to be my friend, I realized that I would have normally gone with him on a trip. Why wasn’t I with him? I don’t know. It could have been both of us laying there.
In reference to the previous incident in Imperia, Italy while hitch-hiking. What if I left the bar that night and I had not been aware of what had been transpiring. I would have not took off running. I probably would have been walking down the road. If those men were as serious, as I truly felt, they could have simply hit me with the car or all jumped out and attacked me. Or killed me. No one was around to see and it was night and I was just passing through town. I have no doubt they were planning to do me harm. It could have been over then.
My wife and I were going to leave Italy, finally, in July of 1956. We were just waiting on some money from the States which was late coming. When it finally arrived we tried to book passage on the Andrea Doria from Genoa. We were too late as it was all booked. We wound up taking passage on a freighter, who’s name I don’t even remember. This is a true story. If you remember, the Andrea Doria sank after colliding with the Swedish ship Stockholm.
Figure in the car accident on that wet dirty road in Kansas or the 2 possible drowning incidents or, if I was not so inept, at those 3 suicide tries. What powers kept me alive through all those circumstances and the bigger question is why? Is there a grand plan for all of us or some of us that we hadn’t quite completed yet? Sometimes I feel that is it. I (we) have been put here to accomplish or complete something and it just hasn’t come up yet. It doesn’t have to be earth shattering or memorable but just the completion of a plan. I feel so lucky to still be here and considerably healthy (minus one lung, of course) at the age of 76. I have always said I would never live past 63 because of my family history and my smoking and my, at times, unhealthy lifestyle. But here I am and I still buy green bananas and hard avocados.
So my point, somewhere in this micro-autobiography, is that I feel we should act on those wishes and desires so they don’t become a 'could’ve been' or a 'should’ve done'. This is the only time you will be here unless there is something I don’t yet know about. Use it!
My best friend, when I was only 12, made deliveries of small radios in a small Radio Shop his adoptive parents owned. His name was Andrew Wooley and he was 15. He had a bike that he made deliveries with about every other day for his father. I almost always went with him, riding on the handlebars. It was a fairly small town in those days. He was like an older brother, sort of. One day he had a delivery up near Blackhawk Park. He said it would be too difficult for me to go that time because there were a lot of hills in that area. I was disappointed but I told him I would be home when he got back. This was about 10 in the morning. I went home and never thought about it until around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. About 5 there was a report on the radio that said that there had been an accident involving a car and an unidentified boy on a bicycle. The boy had been crushed by the car. After the shock and realization that he would never be there again to be my friend, I realized that I would have normally gone with him on a trip. Why wasn’t I with him? I don’t know. It could have been both of us laying there.
In reference to the previous incident in Imperia, Italy while hitch-hiking. What if I left the bar that night and I had not been aware of what had been transpiring. I would have not took off running. I probably would have been walking down the road. If those men were as serious, as I truly felt, they could have simply hit me with the car or all jumped out and attacked me. Or killed me. No one was around to see and it was night and I was just passing through town. I have no doubt they were planning to do me harm. It could have been over then.
My wife and I were going to leave Italy, finally, in July of 1956. We were just waiting on some money from the States which was late coming. When it finally arrived we tried to book passage on the Andrea Doria from Genoa. We were too late as it was all booked. We wound up taking passage on a freighter, who’s name I don’t even remember. This is a true story. If you remember, the Andrea Doria sank after colliding with the Swedish ship Stockholm.
Figure in the car accident on that wet dirty road in Kansas or the 2 possible drowning incidents or, if I was not so inept, at those 3 suicide tries. What powers kept me alive through all those circumstances and the bigger question is why? Is there a grand plan for all of us or some of us that we hadn’t quite completed yet? Sometimes I feel that is it. I (we) have been put here to accomplish or complete something and it just hasn’t come up yet. It doesn’t have to be earth shattering or memorable but just the completion of a plan. I feel so lucky to still be here and considerably healthy (minus one lung, of course) at the age of 76. I have always said I would never live past 63 because of my family history and my smoking and my, at times, unhealthy lifestyle. But here I am and I still buy green bananas and hard avocados.
So my point, somewhere in this micro-autobiography, is that I feel we should act on those wishes and desires so they don’t become a 'could’ve been' or a 'should’ve done'. This is the only time you will be here unless there is something I don’t yet know about. Use it!
SYNOPSIS OF THE BAD DAYS...
Okay! When I said earlier about the good with the bad. This is some of the bad. I will call this another lesson in life. God,I am tired of them.
About 1962 in L.A., sometime after my divorce, I was arrested on a DUI charge. It was over a disagreement with 2 police officers as to where to park my car on a street. They didn’t like my spot and I did. They won. Yeah, I had been drinking. Pleaded guilty and paid a fine. However, I spent the night in a drunk tank and trust me, you never want to wake up in one of them. At the time, you think that is probably the bottom of the barrel. Trust me again, that is not the bottom. I was arrested on 4 more occasions over the next 2 or so years. Every time for drinking connected offenses. The next time was in L.A. again, once in Rock Island, Ill., once in Davenport, Iowa and again in Tulsa, OK.
The one in Davenport was the only one that involved someone else directly and is the one I regret the most. I had just started working at a steel shop in Davenport and found that often on Fridays after work the boss would break out the booze and beer for everybody. It was a ritual. Bad one, albeit. They would sit around and play cards or checkers and party up and this was Friday. I could never pass up a party so I stayed and, of course, drank way too much. So much that the next morning I woke up in another drunk tank. I didn’t even remember leaving the shop. The accident I caused involving another car with a mother and daughter. I was told I went up the wrong way on a one-way street. Before I go any further it was not that bad an accident and no one was hurt, fortunately. Just the autos but all the horrible possibilities were there. When I look back I wonder why they let me get into my car in my condition and what about the other workers. They surely were too drunk to drive, also. In today’s world this would not happen. Companies are acutely aware of the liabilities. But back then it was not uncommon to break out the booze on a Friday night after work. My wages were garnisheed after I had returned to work which made me angry at the time. They were laughing about it all at work. I wound up quitting on the spot. I don’t think anyone really cared. Looking back, I deserved what I got at the very least. I could have killed someone as drunk as I was. I just left town for another beginning, again.
This drinking problem never started with my divorce, though it didn’t help. I think it started when I was in my teens. You really can’t blame a drinking problem on any one thing or person or circumstance. It really came down to me to look at myself and to listen to others trying to tell me that something is not right. Perhaps it could be the environment while growing up and in your teens and you are living in a drinking family situation but when you are grown it becomes your problem. In my case it was something that started like that and grew over 20 or 30 years. Just a little at a time. Ever so slowly. The Navy was good for me in so many ways but it was so easy to party when you are 17 to 21 years old and away from home. When I got out it should have stopped but it didn’t. I was still at the party.
In Rock Island, one night, I had been drinking at several clubs by myself. I had a hotel room in Davenport across the river but it was late and I was very sleepy and decided to crawl into a car’s back seat and sleep a little. Just an unlocked car I found on the main street. The next thing I remember was waking up in jail, again. This time for 2 weeks. Again, I left town.
This went on and off for a couple years until I wound up in Denver, Colorado by bus from Tulsa. I found a hotel on the corner of Broadway Blvd and 13th street. called the Howard Hotel. I’ve written earlier about the stint at the hotel so I won’t repeat except to say I worked there at the desk for free room and 1 dollar an hour. It was a good deal for me. A few months of that and I decided to find some work which I did in Edgewater, Colorado at a Iron Shop. Mostly building and installing Ornamental Iron fencing and stairways. I liked it a lot but the old Friday night routine was still there. Drinking and eating at the Edgewater Inn which usually extended into the week-ends and other bars.
After about 7 months I saw a help wanted ad in the paper for welders and fitters in Grand Junction, Colorado which sounded good. I called them and was told I had a job if I showed up so I gave notice and left on a bus within a week.
I found an apartment with a girl that I met on the bus which worked out good for a couple weeks. The job was a good opportunity for me and the pay was great. However, this was the beginning of the spiral to the bottom for me. There was this neighborhood bar just across the alley from my apartment. I began spending most every evening in there. After a while I branched out to other bars. Grand Junction back then was a lot smaller town. For the sake of brevity I will move along. I really began to acknowledge that I couldn’t go on like this. I was going nowhere.
I found a small building that was the meeting room for Alcoholics Anonymous about five blocks away which was about halfway to a bar I had been hanging out at. I started going to the meetings and found new friends to be around. We would spend evenings going to coffee shops and just talking about our problems. I was still working and making money. Things were looking up. A few weeks had gone by and, as the old saying goes, I went out to celebrate. I started to drink more and more often. I would still try to go to meetings occasionally but it wasn’t helping.
I finally found out what my ‘bottom’ was. I found myself going to a bar at six in the morning ‘when it opened instead of work. I had a friend that would pick me up every morning but towards the end he would pound on the door and the last time he did I answered and said I couldn’t make it. He never came back and I never went to work again. I remember one night when I was to drunk to make it home and I fell asleep in a business’s doorway. I woke up at daylight and made it back to my room. I stayed home without leaving for about four days and then one afternoon I went to the AA building. I told some one there that I was afraid to leave. And I didn’t. I ate there and slept there on a couch and that was against all the rules. But they let me stay and about the 3rd or 4th day we had a meeting and they all decided to give me a bus ticket to Denver and made an appointment for me at Fort Logan Alcoholics Section. I thanked them all and the next morning boarded the bus. I was to go to Fort Logan the next morning and report at 9:00 AM. It was the one of the longest nights of my life. There was a bar right below the hotel room I had found. But I made it thru that night by not leaving the room.
The next morning I found a bus to Fort Logan. I spent 3 weeks in treatment there. I met an Artist who helped me an awful lot. He got me re-interested in painting which I continue to this day. Among the others who helped me was a self imposed ‘hermit’ who would abandon himself and his wife to a cabin in the mountains and drink until the ambulance would bring him to Fort Logan. I met a gay who wasn’t sure he was gay but everyone else knew he was. Really a pleasant person to talk to. There were group meetings and one-on-one meetings most every day. It was singularly the best thing that ever could happen to me at that time in my life. I was allowed to stay the 3rd week which was not in the treatment plan but I needed to have a place to live. One of the female staff was really the one who helped me back on my feet. She drove me to an interview for an ad I saw in the paper at a place called Jeffco Steel Fabricators. I got the job and started 2 days later. She also helped me find a trailer to rent in a trailer park on a hill above the shop. I was there for 3 years as a welder then a fitter and eventually become the Shop Inspector. I think that was the beginning of my future. There were still a few tough times but I could handle them a lot differently. I don’t have enough words to express what Fort Logan and the people there did for me. It was truly a turning point in my life.
About 1962 in L.A., sometime after my divorce, I was arrested on a DUI charge. It was over a disagreement with 2 police officers as to where to park my car on a street. They didn’t like my spot and I did. They won. Yeah, I had been drinking. Pleaded guilty and paid a fine. However, I spent the night in a drunk tank and trust me, you never want to wake up in one of them. At the time, you think that is probably the bottom of the barrel. Trust me again, that is not the bottom. I was arrested on 4 more occasions over the next 2 or so years. Every time for drinking connected offenses. The next time was in L.A. again, once in Rock Island, Ill., once in Davenport, Iowa and again in Tulsa, OK.
The one in Davenport was the only one that involved someone else directly and is the one I regret the most. I had just started working at a steel shop in Davenport and found that often on Fridays after work the boss would break out the booze and beer for everybody. It was a ritual. Bad one, albeit. They would sit around and play cards or checkers and party up and this was Friday. I could never pass up a party so I stayed and, of course, drank way too much. So much that the next morning I woke up in another drunk tank. I didn’t even remember leaving the shop. The accident I caused involving another car with a mother and daughter. I was told I went up the wrong way on a one-way street. Before I go any further it was not that bad an accident and no one was hurt, fortunately. Just the autos but all the horrible possibilities were there. When I look back I wonder why they let me get into my car in my condition and what about the other workers. They surely were too drunk to drive, also. In today’s world this would not happen. Companies are acutely aware of the liabilities. But back then it was not uncommon to break out the booze on a Friday night after work. My wages were garnisheed after I had returned to work which made me angry at the time. They were laughing about it all at work. I wound up quitting on the spot. I don’t think anyone really cared. Looking back, I deserved what I got at the very least. I could have killed someone as drunk as I was. I just left town for another beginning, again.
This drinking problem never started with my divorce, though it didn’t help. I think it started when I was in my teens. You really can’t blame a drinking problem on any one thing or person or circumstance. It really came down to me to look at myself and to listen to others trying to tell me that something is not right. Perhaps it could be the environment while growing up and in your teens and you are living in a drinking family situation but when you are grown it becomes your problem. In my case it was something that started like that and grew over 20 or 30 years. Just a little at a time. Ever so slowly. The Navy was good for me in so many ways but it was so easy to party when you are 17 to 21 years old and away from home. When I got out it should have stopped but it didn’t. I was still at the party.
In Rock Island, one night, I had been drinking at several clubs by myself. I had a hotel room in Davenport across the river but it was late and I was very sleepy and decided to crawl into a car’s back seat and sleep a little. Just an unlocked car I found on the main street. The next thing I remember was waking up in jail, again. This time for 2 weeks. Again, I left town.
This went on and off for a couple years until I wound up in Denver, Colorado by bus from Tulsa. I found a hotel on the corner of Broadway Blvd and 13th street. called the Howard Hotel. I’ve written earlier about the stint at the hotel so I won’t repeat except to say I worked there at the desk for free room and 1 dollar an hour. It was a good deal for me. A few months of that and I decided to find some work which I did in Edgewater, Colorado at a Iron Shop. Mostly building and installing Ornamental Iron fencing and stairways. I liked it a lot but the old Friday night routine was still there. Drinking and eating at the Edgewater Inn which usually extended into the week-ends and other bars.
After about 7 months I saw a help wanted ad in the paper for welders and fitters in Grand Junction, Colorado which sounded good. I called them and was told I had a job if I showed up so I gave notice and left on a bus within a week.
I found an apartment with a girl that I met on the bus which worked out good for a couple weeks. The job was a good opportunity for me and the pay was great. However, this was the beginning of the spiral to the bottom for me. There was this neighborhood bar just across the alley from my apartment. I began spending most every evening in there. After a while I branched out to other bars. Grand Junction back then was a lot smaller town. For the sake of brevity I will move along. I really began to acknowledge that I couldn’t go on like this. I was going nowhere.
I found a small building that was the meeting room for Alcoholics Anonymous about five blocks away which was about halfway to a bar I had been hanging out at. I started going to the meetings and found new friends to be around. We would spend evenings going to coffee shops and just talking about our problems. I was still working and making money. Things were looking up. A few weeks had gone by and, as the old saying goes, I went out to celebrate. I started to drink more and more often. I would still try to go to meetings occasionally but it wasn’t helping.
I finally found out what my ‘bottom’ was. I found myself going to a bar at six in the morning ‘when it opened instead of work. I had a friend that would pick me up every morning but towards the end he would pound on the door and the last time he did I answered and said I couldn’t make it. He never came back and I never went to work again. I remember one night when I was to drunk to make it home and I fell asleep in a business’s doorway. I woke up at daylight and made it back to my room. I stayed home without leaving for about four days and then one afternoon I went to the AA building. I told some one there that I was afraid to leave. And I didn’t. I ate there and slept there on a couch and that was against all the rules. But they let me stay and about the 3rd or 4th day we had a meeting and they all decided to give me a bus ticket to Denver and made an appointment for me at Fort Logan Alcoholics Section. I thanked them all and the next morning boarded the bus. I was to go to Fort Logan the next morning and report at 9:00 AM. It was the one of the longest nights of my life. There was a bar right below the hotel room I had found. But I made it thru that night by not leaving the room.
The next morning I found a bus to Fort Logan. I spent 3 weeks in treatment there. I met an Artist who helped me an awful lot. He got me re-interested in painting which I continue to this day. Among the others who helped me was a self imposed ‘hermit’ who would abandon himself and his wife to a cabin in the mountains and drink until the ambulance would bring him to Fort Logan. I met a gay who wasn’t sure he was gay but everyone else knew he was. Really a pleasant person to talk to. There were group meetings and one-on-one meetings most every day. It was singularly the best thing that ever could happen to me at that time in my life. I was allowed to stay the 3rd week which was not in the treatment plan but I needed to have a place to live. One of the female staff was really the one who helped me back on my feet. She drove me to an interview for an ad I saw in the paper at a place called Jeffco Steel Fabricators. I got the job and started 2 days later. She also helped me find a trailer to rent in a trailer park on a hill above the shop. I was there for 3 years as a welder then a fitter and eventually become the Shop Inspector. I think that was the beginning of my future. There were still a few tough times but I could handle them a lot differently. I don’t have enough words to express what Fort Logan and the people there did for me. It was truly a turning point in my life.
MY EXPERIENCE at MEALS on WHEELS.,,
After I had my cancerous lung removed in 1993 I went back to work at Cleasby Mfg for a short time until I turned 62. I quit and went on Social Security. The steel work was just a little too much physically. I got a job at Volunteers of America delivering meals on wheels which is the point of this part of my story.
It really makes you take notice in a world where one sees, in the course of a day, a people who are living from day to day with often this one meal we bring. It was very difficult at first as I was not prepared for what I saw. My route began downtown Denver and quickly took me to north Denver to a housing development. I went into homes and apartments where mostly older women and men and some with disabilities or diabetic or handicapped or where they had difficulties managing there life physically. Some were bed-ridden and some had someone to come in periodically to care for them. I am not talking about wealthy people. Most had very little and were reliant on disability and programs like meals on wheels and varied health care programs through the city or county and other such programs.
I had some good moments and some heartbreaking moments. There was, for example, Edith and Edna. Edna lived on a street I don’t remember and right across the ally from Edith. My first stop was Edna who was 84 and almost spry for her age. Her family were all gone or at least not close enough to be helpful, which was quite often in these cases. She would talk from the moment I went in continued on for a good fair of time until I could pry myself away. One day she told me that Edith was 100 years old. Evidently they talked across the alley once in a while. I was surprised that Edith could be 100. I always stopped at Edith’s as my next stop on the route and that day after talking for a while I mentioned that Edna told me she was 100. She, in an angry voice, informed very emphatically the she “was NOT 100! She was only 99” and she wished that Edna would quit saying that. Anyway, Edith did not have any family either and had a girl come in once a day to help her with various duties. Every day when I did go to Edith, I would talk a bit with her. I did with most of the clients as sometimes I was the only one they would see in a day.
Whenever I arrived Edith always had a cat on her lap and one on the tp of the back of her chair. She admitted to having 4 cats but I suspect there were more. One of them I always saw sliding under the bed as I walked in. The problem was feeding them and the one on her lap was very sick. I asked about her and she said she couldn’t afford a vet for her and I didn’t think she would survive for long. I told her that if she wanted, I could take it to the humane society for her. After a while she agreed. My wife came with me on that saturday and we took her down to a shelter on a Saturday. They told us after a brief that she was too far gone to last long so we made a donation and had her put to sleep. Edith never found out and just as well. The next time I went there she had another cat on her lap and life went on. She was still there watching TV with a cat on her lap as usual when I quit the route nearly a year later. She was a good woman.
Another woman, probably 50 was not so lucky. She was bed-ridden and had one leg amputated do to diabetes some time ago. Her other leg was not far off. She had a son who visited occasionally when he needed money or something else. She claimed he brought her the paper and occasionally cigarettes and sometimes videos. She was on oxygen all the time, even while she smoked and her bed was always somewhat dirty but she seemed to always be in good spirits. She had a stack of videos which she watched every day, all day. Her home smelled as she only had someone come in once a week and didn’t seem to do much for her pay.
Then there was the new client at an apartment that I stopped every day and knocked. When the door opened a young man answered and I asked if, I gave a name, lived here and he looked sort of surprised but said “Si” so I handed him the meal and left. I did this for a week until I looked at the address given me a little better and realized this wasn’t the right apartment. It was on the next street. Why this guy didn’t tell me I was at the wrong place really pissed me off. Mostly because the bed-ridden lady it belonged to never got a meal for a week. There was another one whom I never did see. She just opened the door a crack and took the meal and said thanks.
There were many stories but I will end with this one. Once again, probably in her late eighties, there was this lady who always said just come in when a I rang the bell. When I walked in from the doorway to the living room and through the whole house, there were plastic bags, mostly filled with newspapers but other items too. Probably some trash, also. I asked her about it and she just said someday she would be getting rid of it but she might need some of it sometime. It never moved and was still there when I quit the job. But the sadness was that the filth and conditions lived in and the inability of them to physically change anything and no relatives or friends or any one to help those who couldn’t help themselves.
And I have to say that I quit mostly because of not being to cope with all that I saw ever day. But I feel I did make their day once in awhile and helped a little once in a while. I don’t regret the job but it got to be too much. Meals on Wheels does so much good that a lot of people couldn’t understand or know about. There are a lot of wonderful people in that Organization who really do care.
It really makes you take notice in a world where one sees, in the course of a day, a people who are living from day to day with often this one meal we bring. It was very difficult at first as I was not prepared for what I saw. My route began downtown Denver and quickly took me to north Denver to a housing development. I went into homes and apartments where mostly older women and men and some with disabilities or diabetic or handicapped or where they had difficulties managing there life physically. Some were bed-ridden and some had someone to come in periodically to care for them. I am not talking about wealthy people. Most had very little and were reliant on disability and programs like meals on wheels and varied health care programs through the city or county and other such programs.
I had some good moments and some heartbreaking moments. There was, for example, Edith and Edna. Edna lived on a street I don’t remember and right across the ally from Edith. My first stop was Edna who was 84 and almost spry for her age. Her family were all gone or at least not close enough to be helpful, which was quite often in these cases. She would talk from the moment I went in continued on for a good fair of time until I could pry myself away. One day she told me that Edith was 100 years old. Evidently they talked across the alley once in a while. I was surprised that Edith could be 100. I always stopped at Edith’s as my next stop on the route and that day after talking for a while I mentioned that Edna told me she was 100. She, in an angry voice, informed very emphatically the she “was NOT 100! She was only 99” and she wished that Edna would quit saying that. Anyway, Edith did not have any family either and had a girl come in once a day to help her with various duties. Every day when I did go to Edith, I would talk a bit with her. I did with most of the clients as sometimes I was the only one they would see in a day.
Whenever I arrived Edith always had a cat on her lap and one on the tp of the back of her chair. She admitted to having 4 cats but I suspect there were more. One of them I always saw sliding under the bed as I walked in. The problem was feeding them and the one on her lap was very sick. I asked about her and she said she couldn’t afford a vet for her and I didn’t think she would survive for long. I told her that if she wanted, I could take it to the humane society for her. After a while she agreed. My wife came with me on that saturday and we took her down to a shelter on a Saturday. They told us after a brief that she was too far gone to last long so we made a donation and had her put to sleep. Edith never found out and just as well. The next time I went there she had another cat on her lap and life went on. She was still there watching TV with a cat on her lap as usual when I quit the route nearly a year later. She was a good woman.
Another woman, probably 50 was not so lucky. She was bed-ridden and had one leg amputated do to diabetes some time ago. Her other leg was not far off. She had a son who visited occasionally when he needed money or something else. She claimed he brought her the paper and occasionally cigarettes and sometimes videos. She was on oxygen all the time, even while she smoked and her bed was always somewhat dirty but she seemed to always be in good spirits. She had a stack of videos which she watched every day, all day. Her home smelled as she only had someone come in once a week and didn’t seem to do much for her pay.
Then there was the new client at an apartment that I stopped every day and knocked. When the door opened a young man answered and I asked if, I gave a name, lived here and he looked sort of surprised but said “Si” so I handed him the meal and left. I did this for a week until I looked at the address given me a little better and realized this wasn’t the right apartment. It was on the next street. Why this guy didn’t tell me I was at the wrong place really pissed me off. Mostly because the bed-ridden lady it belonged to never got a meal for a week. There was another one whom I never did see. She just opened the door a crack and took the meal and said thanks.
There were many stories but I will end with this one. Once again, probably in her late eighties, there was this lady who always said just come in when a I rang the bell. When I walked in from the doorway to the living room and through the whole house, there were plastic bags, mostly filled with newspapers but other items too. Probably some trash, also. I asked her about it and she just said someday she would be getting rid of it but she might need some of it sometime. It never moved and was still there when I quit the job. But the sadness was that the filth and conditions lived in and the inability of them to physically change anything and no relatives or friends or any one to help those who couldn’t help themselves.
And I have to say that I quit mostly because of not being to cope with all that I saw ever day. But I feel I did make their day once in awhile and helped a little once in a while. I don’t regret the job but it got to be too much. Meals on Wheels does so much good that a lot of people couldn’t understand or know about. There are a lot of wonderful people in that Organization who really do care.
CHARLES ATLAS Revisited..
Is there anyone out there who can remember the ‘Charles Atlas’ body building courses of the 30’s and 40’s?
It was a body building course that needed no equipment except perhaps a chair or two. A man from Italy named Angelo Siciliano started using this system in the 1920’s and changed his name to Charles Atlas in 1922. He actually formed the company in 1929. I was 12 when I sent off for it around 1944. it think it cost 25.00 and I paid it in 3 different payments. (I could be wrong about the price). The reason I did is because there was a older kid up the street that sent off for it about 6 months before and it really did work for him. It didn’t make big bulging muscles but just bigger smoother arms and legs and stomach abs. It was a regimen called ‘Dynamic Tension’. You can look it up online but it really worked. I did see a difference myself after a few weeks.
One exercise was putting a chair on each side of you and putting one hand on each chair and doing push-ups just like on the floor except using the chairs. Another was putting your arms out in front of you with one fist on top of the other. Then pretend you were climbing a rope but exerting by pushing down the bottom fist with the one on top. Alternate the left fist with the right fist every other pull. Picture yourself actually pulling yourself up a rope. Another was pushing your fists together in front of you really hard. If you try it you can see feel all the muscles you are using. I know it sounds weird trying to explain it but it really had effects. Think ‘Dynamic Tension’ and you will get it. Another part of the course, which sounds weird also, was to do this while in front of a mirror with no shirt. You can actually see your muscles being used which has a positive mental effect. I went online and found that it is still in business under ‘Charles Atlas Bodybuilding’. It did work but like anything, it takes perseverance.
One exercise was putting a chair on each side of you and putting one hand on each chair and doing push-ups just like on the floor except using the chairs. Another was putting your arms out in front of you with one fist on top of the other. Then pretend you were climbing a rope but exerting by pushing down the bottom fist with the one on top. Alternate the left fist with the right fist every other pull. Picture yourself actually pulling yourself up a rope. Another was pushing your fists together in front of you really hard. If you try it you can see feel all the muscles you are using. I know it sounds weird trying to explain it but it really had effects. Think ‘Dynamic Tension’ and you will get it. Another part of the course, which sounds weird also, was to do this while in front of a mirror with no shirt. You can actually see your muscles being used which has a positive mental effect. I went online and found that it is still in business under ‘Charles Atlas Bodybuilding’. It did work but like anything, it takes perseverance.
I WAS in LOVE with KAY STARR..
I went through Navy Boot Camp at Great Lakes, Illinois. When I graduated from there, I went to Hospital Corps School just across the street, so to speak. You find your buddies by natural selection or some thing like that. I never remember how Buddy and Tim and I ever got together originally. I don’t even remember their last names and that’s okay. (chapters, remember?). Milwaukee was the closest liberty town. Just a short trip on the El. This was in 1950. There was this bar that sit on the corner about a block from the train station. I don’t remember the name of it, either. This was a Navy town. Shore Patrol (S.P.’s) were frequent in the streets to keep the military personnel from getting out of hand and help to keep the local police from getting involved. All three of us were underage. The bars weren’t allowed to serve anyone under 21. Go figure. We were in the military during the Korean War and were too young to drink? We, of course, found a way around this like good sailors would. The bar waitress’ never ever bothered asking for ID’s in the bar so we were served OK. We would always sit in a booth by the front window to watch for the SP’s as they frequently would come in the bars and randomly ask for ID’s from the military. When we saw them coming or someone saw them, we would just go in the women’s restroom until they left. Needless to say, we were regulars there. Every one knew us.
There was a Juke box just across from us. We would put nickel after nickel in it and listen to all the, what we now call, golden oldies. Theresa Brewer, Kay Starr, Patti Page, Frankie Laine, Mario Lanza, Johnny Ray and on.
A nickel a song, all day long. Any one remember Goodnight Irene, Be my Love, Tennessee Waltz, Cry or Wheel of Fortune. After 58 years, I can still see us sitting in there listening to that music and laughing and being with friends and girls and enjoying growing up. And I was only 17. We would sometimes stay there all night and into the morning when we had week-end liberty. They were only required to close from 5:30 AM until 6:00 AM so we would go outside and stand around for a while. OK, this only happened a couple time but I remember it well. Yeah, that was real music where you could actually understand the words. That’s why they call them the Golden Oldies. Memories were invented because there are no do-overs.
There was a Juke box just across from us. We would put nickel after nickel in it and listen to all the, what we now call, golden oldies. Theresa Brewer, Kay Starr, Patti Page, Frankie Laine, Mario Lanza, Johnny Ray and on.
A nickel a song, all day long. Any one remember Goodnight Irene, Be my Love, Tennessee Waltz, Cry or Wheel of Fortune. After 58 years, I can still see us sitting in there listening to that music and laughing and being with friends and girls and enjoying growing up. And I was only 17. We would sometimes stay there all night and into the morning when we had week-end liberty. They were only required to close from 5:30 AM until 6:00 AM so we would go outside and stand around for a while. OK, this only happened a couple time but I remember it well. Yeah, that was real music where you could actually understand the words. That’s why they call them the Golden Oldies. Memories were invented because there are no do-overs.
WARS without a purpose SUCK..
I think I must have slept through the Vietnam War. Between working and moving around and of course, partying, I never really paid attention too much. I could never understand why we were fighting over there in the first place. No more than why we are fighting in Iraq. A lot of good men were killed in Vietnam and wounded both physically and mentally and the ‘lucky’ ones got pissed on when they returned. I never really knew many that had been there. Some would not admit it and some dropped out. I only knew or met a few. But one I will always remember. His name was just Joe for this writing. It was when I was living up in Montana. We were sort of neighbors up in the hills. He had a small ranch with a wife and two little girls. If ever there was the proverbial ‘man who never talked much’, it was him. He kept to himself and avoided, the best he could, any conversation with anyone except for the obligatory hellos’. He was having trouble trying to make it financially, as a lot of people were. I was working at a steel Corporation in Stevensville at that time. They were having a little trouble finding loaders for the trucks and general work around the yard. I thought about Joe and asked one evening if he would want to work for a while. He said that would help him get through the tough time he was having at the moment. It was 20 mile each way to work so I told him that I could drive each day. Every morning we left and he barely spoke and only if spoken to. It was the same on the way home. I found out that the guys he worked with said the same thing but that he was one hell of a worker. I did get him to tell me that he was over in Vietnam but never could I get him to talk about it. One morning, after about 1 month, he just said he didn’t want to go any more and that was that. Through the neighbors I found that he was that way at home around his wife and kids. It was so sad to see him totally isolating himself from everyone and nothing you could about it. I eventually moved back to Denver and never knew how he wound up. We were not friends, really. It just wasn’t possible.
I reluctantly must say that for a long time I didn’t much respect for some of the men that run around in khakis and used dope and smoked pot or let themselves go. I just went with crowd and formed that opinion. Gradually, as time went on, I realized that had I went through what they did, had seen what they did over in that war and come back to the insults and disregard and disrespect they were given, I would have been in the same condition. I can’t imagine this sort of reception for those that serve our country today will ever have to, go through that again. I would like to believe, once this Iraq and Afghanistan fiasco is over, that the only reason we will use our military will be for aid to countries where hunger or disaster are present or if our very shores are actually being invaded.
I reluctantly must say that for a long time I didn’t much respect for some of the men that run around in khakis and used dope and smoked pot or let themselves go. I just went with crowd and formed that opinion. Gradually, as time went on, I realized that had I went through what they did, had seen what they did over in that war and come back to the insults and disregard and disrespect they were given, I would have been in the same condition. I can’t imagine this sort of reception for those that serve our country today will ever have to, go through that again. I would like to believe, once this Iraq and Afghanistan fiasco is over, that the only reason we will use our military will be for aid to countries where hunger or disaster are present or if our very shores are actually being invaded.
MY ARRIVAL AT AFRAGOLA, EVENTUALLY...BEAR WITH ME..
In 1952 I was stationed at the Naval Hospital in Quantico, Virginia. Actually, I had been there since around August of 1950 after finishing Boot Camp and Hospital Corps School. It was a good training ground and learning experience.
I spent most of my duty on the S.O.Q ward. That was the Senior Officers Quarters. It was where I saw my first person die. He was a retired Marine Colonel. His wife was standing there, also. A sobering experience for a young man.
There were some good memories there in the 2 years I spent on that duty. One is about a very wiry, crusty old retired Chief Warrant Officer. He was 91 years old. He probably only weighed about 90 lbs. but as tough as nails. I had to give an injection in the arm every day and it was like trying to stick a piece if leather. Sometimes it took a couple of tries but he never complained. He had tattoo’s of all his battles that he served up and down his arms. This was back when tattoo’s were not that much in fashion and adorned mostly by sailors and marines. Most were faded. He could tell some good stories although he got tired pretty easy.
Some good liberties in Washington DC, Fredericksburg, MD and Baltimore, MD. Even the small town of Quantico was okay and really close. Right off the base. My favorite liberty town was Fredericksburg. It was a nice sized town then. I met a girl there named Trudy. Actually met her in a park. We could set for a long time and just talk. Went to the movies a couple times but not much more. She warned me one day to not get serious as she was Jewish and her parents would not like her getting serious with a non Jew. That sort of threw me a little. She eventually took me home to have dinner with her parents but I soon realized it was just that. Dinner. We really got along good and we enjoyed the evening. I saw her a few times after that but eventually we drifted away and later I left Quantico anyway. She was just a nice girl that I liked very much and it is so long ago now that I don’t really even remember what she looked like.
In 1952 some orders come in for a few of us. There was a choice of 2 duties. One was for Korea (during the Korean War) and the other was for Naples, Italy. For the duty in Naples it required extending my enlistment for a year. If I had to go to Korea I would have, without hesitation, but I’m no fool. I made the choice to go to Naples. It was good news for a guy who loves new adventures and Italy would be a better adventure than Korea, I was sure. There were four of us that hung together that made that choice. Larry, Mitch, Kirby and me. Picture shown to the right.
The trip there was an experience all by itself. We went by a Navy cargo plane. It was small, loud, cold and only bucket seats that lined each side. I think it was only had 2 engines but I’m not sure. Sleeping was sporadic to none whatsoever. I have been in jeeps in the mountains that were a smoother ride than that flight. We fortunately made 4 stops on the way over the big Atlantic. The first was in Gander, Newfoundland that was raining hard the whole time we were there which was overnight. I talked to someone stationed there about the rain. He said it rained most of the time in Gander except when it was foggy. Some duty! We ate and slept and the next morning took off for the Azore Islands where we stopped for fuel and whatever else they always need. It was short and non eventful but it was where all the fog in the world started from. The next stop was Port Lyautey, Morocco in North Africa. We did have a day there and found a couple sand covered bars that sold warm beer and had a fan that did practically nothing except burn electricity. Still, I was in Morocco! Wow! I don’t remember eating anything there but that was a long time ago. (actually 57 years ago). If I did I must have got over it.
The next stop was finally in Naples, Italy. This was where my second stage of life began. Instant love. I couldn’t wait to get out there and walk amongst the people and the stores and the food and the music. And the girls.
We were put on a berthing ship named the U.S.S. Mercer APB 39 docked in the Bay of Naples Port. It was an almost stationery ship used for just the purpose of berthing the Navy personnel temporarily before going to their permanent duties.
We lived on it for about a month. It had only hammocks for beds, upper and lower and a locker each. I had a top berth. It was pretty good as we were hardly ever in them except to sleep. We got liberty most every night. When you hear the term ‘living close’, this was what they meant. Taking daily showers was practically an accepted (unspoken) requirement by all.
Playing cards was almost mandatory. I learned to play Pinochle, poker and hearts aboard the Mercer. I learned quick as it was expensive. Pinochle was usually a penny a point and 50 cents a game. I received my Navy base pay of 75.00 every 2 weeks and between the pinochle and poker and the liberties with beer, Pizza and the girls, I learned fast how to play pinochle. I had a partner who I played with most of the time. After a while you get to know how you each play and do pretty good without having to cheat. Some partners used subtle signals to cheat but eventually got caught and chastised. We made some good money to help with our liberty times.
After a month they moved us to a hotel. It was the hotel Grilli right in the center of Naples. It was about 6 stories and I was on the top floor in a large room with 3 others. Like a dorm.`At last I had a real bed. Actually it was pretty plush living. We had maids who cleaned up and made beds every morning and a bar and lounge downstairs in the lobby.
According to our standards, everything in Naples and Italy were really cheap. A beer then was like 16 cents. For a 1,000 lire you could spend a big night on the town. A big meal with all the trimmings would only run about 6 or 7 hundred lire. Barely over a dollar. That 1,000 lira was 1.60 in our money. I smoked at that time and we bought cigarettes for 90 cents a carton at the ship stores but we could sell them for 3,000 lira (4.80 American) or more on the black market. We were allowed 2 cartons a payday. Usually we kept one and sold one. We all knew someone that didn’t smoke, however, but liked money. There were other ways to make money but that was as illegal as I wanted to get. For the first and last time in my life I was rich. Only because the economy in Italy was so bad.
The Infirmary was located in Afragola, Italy. About 20 miles outside of Naples. A really small town and we were located right in a piazza that had 4 dirt roads leading out of it. When the infirmary was built and ready to be moved into we were taken out there each day and brought back to the hotel in the evening. We were moving in the beds and setting up the equipment and just generally getting it ready for use. If you’ve ever seen an Italian movie circa about 1950 set in a little Italian village then you would have seen where we were. Just perfect. It took about 3 weeks to set things up for business, so to speak. There were 2 Dormitories in the back. One for us and one for the Nurses. ‘Neither the twain shall meet’. Eventually we moved out of the hotel and into the dorms and the world was right.
Afragola was a really small town. I hesitate calling it a village as that sounds like it was in Africa or something but it would fit. There was a Pharmacia, a barber shop, Several wine shops, a couple alimentary (grocery stores) and a couple places to eat. By no definition was it a swinging city. I know there were other places of business but I can’t remember them at the moment. After I had been there a while I tried the barber shop out one day. The barbers name was Alberto and I could get a real haircut (scissors only) a shampoo, a shoe shine by a ragazzo named Vito, a shave and a couple beers all for 500 lira. Under a dollar. I even got a little language lesson as I went on. It was right across from the Hospital. It was down the street a couple blocks that I found the original pizza shop. I had never found a pizza quite like that outside of Afragola or possibly Naples.
I spent most of my duty on the S.O.Q ward. That was the Senior Officers Quarters. It was where I saw my first person die. He was a retired Marine Colonel. His wife was standing there, also. A sobering experience for a young man.
There were some good memories there in the 2 years I spent on that duty. One is about a very wiry, crusty old retired Chief Warrant Officer. He was 91 years old. He probably only weighed about 90 lbs. but as tough as nails. I had to give an injection in the arm every day and it was like trying to stick a piece if leather. Sometimes it took a couple of tries but he never complained. He had tattoo’s of all his battles that he served up and down his arms. This was back when tattoo’s were not that much in fashion and adorned mostly by sailors and marines. Most were faded. He could tell some good stories although he got tired pretty easy.
Some good liberties in Washington DC, Fredericksburg, MD and Baltimore, MD. Even the small town of Quantico was okay and really close. Right off the base. My favorite liberty town was Fredericksburg. It was a nice sized town then. I met a girl there named Trudy. Actually met her in a park. We could set for a long time and just talk. Went to the movies a couple times but not much more. She warned me one day to not get serious as she was Jewish and her parents would not like her getting serious with a non Jew. That sort of threw me a little. She eventually took me home to have dinner with her parents but I soon realized it was just that. Dinner. We really got along good and we enjoyed the evening. I saw her a few times after that but eventually we drifted away and later I left Quantico anyway. She was just a nice girl that I liked very much and it is so long ago now that I don’t really even remember what she looked like.
In 1952 some orders come in for a few of us. There was a choice of 2 duties. One was for Korea (during the Korean War) and the other was for Naples, Italy. For the duty in Naples it required extending my enlistment for a year. If I had to go to Korea I would have, without hesitation, but I’m no fool. I made the choice to go to Naples. It was good news for a guy who loves new adventures and Italy would be a better adventure than Korea, I was sure. There were four of us that hung together that made that choice. Larry, Mitch, Kirby and me. Picture shown to the right.
The trip there was an experience all by itself. We went by a Navy cargo plane. It was small, loud, cold and only bucket seats that lined each side. I think it was only had 2 engines but I’m not sure. Sleeping was sporadic to none whatsoever. I have been in jeeps in the mountains that were a smoother ride than that flight. We fortunately made 4 stops on the way over the big Atlantic. The first was in Gander, Newfoundland that was raining hard the whole time we were there which was overnight. I talked to someone stationed there about the rain. He said it rained most of the time in Gander except when it was foggy. Some duty! We ate and slept and the next morning took off for the Azore Islands where we stopped for fuel and whatever else they always need. It was short and non eventful but it was where all the fog in the world started from. The next stop was Port Lyautey, Morocco in North Africa. We did have a day there and found a couple sand covered bars that sold warm beer and had a fan that did practically nothing except burn electricity. Still, I was in Morocco! Wow! I don’t remember eating anything there but that was a long time ago. (actually 57 years ago). If I did I must have got over it.
The next stop was finally in Naples, Italy. This was where my second stage of life began. Instant love. I couldn’t wait to get out there and walk amongst the people and the stores and the food and the music. And the girls.
We were put on a berthing ship named the U.S.S. Mercer APB 39 docked in the Bay of Naples Port. It was an almost stationery ship used for just the purpose of berthing the Navy personnel temporarily before going to their permanent duties.
We lived on it for about a month. It had only hammocks for beds, upper and lower and a locker each. I had a top berth. It was pretty good as we were hardly ever in them except to sleep. We got liberty most every night. When you hear the term ‘living close’, this was what they meant. Taking daily showers was practically an accepted (unspoken) requirement by all.
Playing cards was almost mandatory. I learned to play Pinochle, poker and hearts aboard the Mercer. I learned quick as it was expensive. Pinochle was usually a penny a point and 50 cents a game. I received my Navy base pay of 75.00 every 2 weeks and between the pinochle and poker and the liberties with beer, Pizza and the girls, I learned fast how to play pinochle. I had a partner who I played with most of the time. After a while you get to know how you each play and do pretty good without having to cheat. Some partners used subtle signals to cheat but eventually got caught and chastised. We made some good money to help with our liberty times.
After a month they moved us to a hotel. It was the hotel Grilli right in the center of Naples. It was about 6 stories and I was on the top floor in a large room with 3 others. Like a dorm.`At last I had a real bed. Actually it was pretty plush living. We had maids who cleaned up and made beds every morning and a bar and lounge downstairs in the lobby.
According to our standards, everything in Naples and Italy were really cheap. A beer then was like 16 cents. For a 1,000 lire you could spend a big night on the town. A big meal with all the trimmings would only run about 6 or 7 hundred lire. Barely over a dollar. That 1,000 lira was 1.60 in our money. I smoked at that time and we bought cigarettes for 90 cents a carton at the ship stores but we could sell them for 3,000 lira (4.80 American) or more on the black market. We were allowed 2 cartons a payday. Usually we kept one and sold one. We all knew someone that didn’t smoke, however, but liked money. There were other ways to make money but that was as illegal as I wanted to get. For the first and last time in my life I was rich. Only because the economy in Italy was so bad.
The Infirmary was located in Afragola, Italy. About 20 miles outside of Naples. A really small town and we were located right in a piazza that had 4 dirt roads leading out of it. When the infirmary was built and ready to be moved into we were taken out there each day and brought back to the hotel in the evening. We were moving in the beds and setting up the equipment and just generally getting it ready for use. If you’ve ever seen an Italian movie circa about 1950 set in a little Italian village then you would have seen where we were. Just perfect. It took about 3 weeks to set things up for business, so to speak. There were 2 Dormitories in the back. One for us and one for the Nurses. ‘Neither the twain shall meet’. Eventually we moved out of the hotel and into the dorms and the world was right.
Afragola was a really small town. I hesitate calling it a village as that sounds like it was in Africa or something but it would fit. There was a Pharmacia, a barber shop, Several wine shops, a couple alimentary (grocery stores) and a couple places to eat. By no definition was it a swinging city. I know there were other places of business but I can’t remember them at the moment. After I had been there a while I tried the barber shop out one day. The barbers name was Alberto and I could get a real haircut (scissors only) a shampoo, a shoe shine by a ragazzo named Vito, a shave and a couple beers all for 500 lira. Under a dollar. I even got a little language lesson as I went on. It was right across from the Hospital. It was down the street a couple blocks that I found the original pizza shop. I had never found a pizza quite like that outside of Afragola or possibly Naples.
You could fold it and eat like a sandwich being careful not to let it drip or you could tear it apart and eat it piece by piece. And you had to have a glass or so of red table wine with it to complete it all.
At night the people would stroll through the streets to enjoy the cool night air. There would be gelato shops open and always someone roasting chestnuts along the street. Sounds like I am making it up but I know it was true because I was there and I was part of it.
I learned how to play Scopa with some of the locals.
It is a card game much like canasta but with different cards. Much different.! We played for wine generally and I supported a few of their habits until I learned how to win. Life was certainly slower there compared to Naples. That was a good thing, however.
Eventually I found an apartment about 2 blocks from the hospital. I had met a really beautiful girl named Angelina from Caserta and we decided to share the apartment. Living off the compound was not illegal as far as the Navy was concerned but was discouraged. I would just climb the fence on the nights I had the duty and go back before daybreak and no one ever new the difference except a couple buddies. There were a couple others who were doing it also but it was done discreetly by all of us. Week-ends were all mine except one a month where I had the duty. Quite often, a few of us would climb the fence at night and keep a wine shop open most of the night. The owners never complained as they were making some good money off of the rich americanos. We really never caused any problems was the other reason they tolerated this. The girls we lived with were sort of shunned by the locals as the girls were deemed to be ladies of the night (Puttana) but it wasn’t exactly true however they were not from Afragola, for sure.
The apartment we had was on the 2nd floor and had a small balcony in the front and a long walkway balcony in the back that accommodated other apartments on that floor. It overlooked a courtyard that also served as a garden. It also had an outhouse that served everyone. Yes, we had no toilet upstairs but I lived with that okay. There was a ‘thunder mug’ we used during the night occasionally. The neighbor people were really friendly to us both and really helped me with my learning Italian. I was getting pretty good because no one spoke English except Angelina and she was limited so I was determined to learn out of necessity.
One day when I arrived at the apartment the old women were in the garden thrashing (my term) the bean plants to loosen the beans from the pods. There was a 3 foot long round stick like a broom handle that was attached on one end to another 3 foot stick by a piece of leather. The bean plants were spread on the ground over an area. They would then swing one end of the stick and beat the plants with the other end in a continuous motion and did this for hours. They would then remove all the plants and sweep up the beans. There were about 6 or 7 women doing this. After talking to them they asked if I could do this. I said sure and after about 3 minutes I stopped as I was pooped. They all laughed and continued on like it was nothing. These were all farming women that grew up working hard. The men were actually out in the farms. Either their own or working for someone else. They would leave before day break in a horse drawn cart and not come back till before dark. Usually they have almost a loaf of bread filled with cheeses and salami type meats along with a jug of wine and they take a couple hour ‘siesta’ from about 2 till 4 during the day. Probably ‘under a tree’ to make the scene complete?
THE PLOT THICKENS…
My buddy Edwards decided to take an apartment in the same building as I was in. Of course, he found a girl to share it with. Her name was Lorena. Just a couple doors down. When I moved in there were certain things we had to obtain. Like sheets, blankets, dishes, pots and well, you get the idea. Some things we bought but working at a hospital gave us access, albeit illegal, to some things like sheets, blankets, dishes, pots and well, you get the idea. That is how it started. A couple sheets here and a few dishes there and pretty soon we were sitting comfortable.
When Edwards moved in it become a different animal. He was giving some items to the neighbors above what he needed himself. He had a big heart but needed guidance when it came to common sense. There was a large storage area for the food supplies for the kitchen and also a store room for extra beds and equipment for the hospital. Eventually we were going in there at night and taking a little ‘stuff’ for our homes away from home. Nothing too serious or expensive but I could see the writing on the wall. Edwards was thinking big. When he started talking about taking a bed out, piece by piece, I lowered the boom. No Way was I going to be part of that or even let him get involved. I think it was more of the challenge than the end result of actually wanting a bed. Kind of like the soldier during WWII that shipped an entire Jeep home before getting caught. Anyway, it never went any further. Except for a 5 lb cheese or a gallon of milk once in a while, we tapered off with the pilferage.
We had a Personnel Officer at the Hospital. His name was Lt. Harwood. Not a pleasant man but a stickler on the rules and regs. There was also a Chief Petty Officer who was in charge of all of us. His last name was Shirley. Unknown to Lt. Harwood, Chief Shirley had an apartment in Afragola also with a live in girl friend. Not too far from us, actually. It eventually came to Harwood’s attention that some items were beginning to be missing from the Hospital stores area. They did have some local Italians working in the Hospital. Mostly as janitorial and kitchen help. At first glance that would be where the guilt would be but after it became no secret that Edwards and I each had our own apartments in town, among others, the suspicions were expanded somewhat. When we were approached about this we of course denied everything. When one of the wheelchairs came up missing it kind of helped Lt. Harwood go over the edge. The missing wheelchair was not our doing. We knew something would have to be done to stop all this thievery and we were right. They put locks on the doors to the storage areas which should have been done sometime ago.
But it wasn’t over as we found out shortly after the locks were installed. A few days later Chief Shirley came to me and said “I told you guys not to get carried away with taking things from the hospital”. He told me that Lt. Harwood has found out where Edwards and I were living and was planning to have a surprise inspection in hopes of finding some of the missing items. When I asked when he said “this afternoon about 1:00. You two are in trouble”. It was 11:00 A.M. already and I had no way to leave or warn Angelina and Lorena to get rid of everything. I had a thought about the roof overlooking the street where the Barbershop was. I told the Chief not to worry. “We would do something”. I went up and looked over the edge and saw Alfredo the barber dozing in the chair. Vito, the shoe shine boy was sitting outside the shop. I ‘yelled at him quietly’ (try doing that) to get his attention. I finally had to resort to throwing small pebbles at him. He finally looked up and quietly as possible I said to him “Vai a casa mia and ditta Angelina che la Dottore gonna have inspezione at casa mia and Eduardo too” Fortunately, between my Italian and vito’s English, I think he got the message and took off. I could only hope he understood. I went downstairs and found Edwards and told him everything. He should have been shook but Edwards never got shook often. He said that Angelina and his girl would take care of it.
It was 12:30 when we were summoned by Chief Shirley to our ‘surprise’ to go down to the foyer and accompany him and Lt. Harwood to our apartments. No words were exchanged on the short ride but Lt. Harwood looked pretty smug sitting in the front seat. I was sweating it a little and Edwards was just there. When we arrived the local women were trying their best to look nonchalant and busy. I could tell they all knew about the inspection. We went up the stairs and walked down the balcony to my room and I opened the door just as Angelina was coming out. I couldn’t believe the transformation in the room. They had replaced the navy sheets with the Italian muslin sheets and replaced the pillow cases and blanket and everything else in the room that I could see. Old pots and pans and dishes, etc. were all gone. There was not even an American smell in the room. Nothing was there with the hint of being navy property. Not even the roll of toilet paper on the dresser. I sighed a long sigh, silently. Edwards room was the same way. We were in the clear. The lt. was Pissed and the Chief was visibly relieved. All was well. Within an hour everything was back to normal but that ended the thievery.
TRIG...WHO NEEDS IT.
One of the reasons, among many, that I quit school was because when I started Rock Island High School in the 10th grade I was really uncomfortable at a new school. I was very shy and self-conscious in that period of my life and I just didn’t feel like I fit in. I didn’t go back but right about that time my Step-mom decided she didn’t want me around so she sent me to live with my Dad and (my next and last) Step-Mother in Pleasant Valley, Iowa. Just across the river and up past Bettendorf. They accepted me fairly well. After settling in, I started school at LeClaire, Iowa. I had to catch a bus every morning and I didn’t know anybody at all. It was worse than in Rock Island. I went for two weeks and hated it. I never made friends very easily nor did I really try to. Another reason I hated it was because I started Geometry classes and I could not see what possible use I would ever have for knowing about squares, triangles and circles in my life. Well, as I wrote somewhere previously, I quit school. I was late leaving one afternoon from my last class and was afraid I would miss my bus. I started to run down the stairs when a teacher yelled telling me not to run down the stairs. She told me to come back up. Reluctantly, I did and I told her, not very nicely, to get this over with because I had to hurry to catch my bus. For some reason, at that point, she slapped me. I just left, running down the stairs while she was yelling at me. I never went back to school again. The whole point of this story, after all this, was that I eventually spent 30 plus years in the steel fabrication business where I used Geometry and Trigonometry, yeah, squares, triangles and circles, every day of my career and I loved it.
BAD THING about BULLIES..
Bullies..! I hated bullies. When I was in 8th grade at Central junior high school I was very self conscious and suffered from a low sense of confidence and esteem. Mostly, in retrospect, due to my home life or lack of. I was easy around my buddies and good in sports but even then I was very self conscious. There was a kid named Donald M. who was a bully to a lot of the kids during recess, mostly. He was a little bigger than me and most of the other kids but mostly just mean looking. I pretty much stayed away from him as did most of the others. This went on for a couple years or so. One day during recess, he got pissed at me, for what I don’t remember now. He started shoving me around and yelling at me. For some reason, I guess I lost it. I swung at him and hit him in the face and knocked him down. When he got up he started to threaten me and said he was going to “kick my ass”. For the first time I really looked at him and realized I was looking down at him. I actually knew I had no reason to be afraid of him. Somewhere there, the bell rang ending recess. There was a school carnival coming up that along with all kinds of activities, one of which was a couple boxing matches. I turned and, in front of everyone, I told him we could settle this at the carnival in the boxing ring. He agreed. The evening of the carnival, I wiped the floor with him. It wasn’t even that hard. His hold on everyone was purely mental. I was a very popular guy at school for a while after that. Donald and I were actually friends after the fight as is usually the case. It’s a guy thing. But it was a big hurdle in my childhood.
DOG BITES, NAILS AND OLD DOCTORS..
I had never been very fortunate when it came to medical treatments or doctors while I was very young. I always seemed to go through unnecessary pain when something happened to me. And a lot happened to me because I was always very active and for the most part, fearless.
At the back of Schaums Tavern, on a sort of open porch, there was a dog, a water spaniel, that was tied up all the time. It was on my way to school. I was in about 4th grade at Irving Grade School. Every day I would walk by the tavern and feeling sorry for the dog, I would go over and pet him. It was sort of a ritual. One day, not doing anything different, I started to pet him and he suddenly lunged at me and clawed and bit me on my right side by my rib cage. It would have been worse but his chain held him back. It was still pretty bad as I needed stitches. I still have the scars to this day. When I went home my mom and dad looked at it and dad wound up taking me to the doctor. The Doctor thought that the dog could have been rabid and said I should have rabies shots. He didn’t even see the dog. This was in the very early forties. Treatment consisted of, to my vivid memory, several injections with seemingly very long needles in to my side and in my stomach. I probably weighed 80 or 90 pounds but it took my dad, a nurse and a policeman to hold me down. The pain was unbearable. I will remember that day forever. They put the dog to sleep and tested it afterwards and found out it was not rabid. I cried because they put it to sleep. It was the only time he ever hurt anyone. I probably caused it as he may just have been eating at the time. So sad.
Along those lines, there was another incident concerning that same “quack” doctor. A couple years later, I was playing tag with the other kids up the alley. (Our playground) In the course of the playing I stepped on a 2 x 4 that had a long nail in it. Sticking up, of course. It went through my shoe and into my foot clear to the bone. I went to the ground and pulled my shoe and sock off and blood was coming out in spurts. Obviously it hit an artery or something. We were laughing as I pointed it at anyone near me and made them jump. I must have suddenly realized I was losing quite a bit of blood so I took my sock and padded it and tied the other sock around my foot and hobbled back down the alley to home. My dad took me back to the same old Doctor and he muttered something about possible blood poisoning from an obviously, must-have-been, “rusty nail”. He told my dad and the nurse to hold my leg and proceeded to cut an “X” where the nail had entered. Now, he used no anesthesia. Nothing. Just started to carve. I remember screaming really loud. Then he put something on it and bandaged it. He was a very old Doctor and obviously not very good at it or not very humane. I made it a point then, that no matter what happens to me, I would not be taken to him ever again, no matter how young I was.
At the back of Schaums Tavern, on a sort of open porch, there was a dog, a water spaniel, that was tied up all the time. It was on my way to school. I was in about 4th grade at Irving Grade School. Every day I would walk by the tavern and feeling sorry for the dog, I would go over and pet him. It was sort of a ritual. One day, not doing anything different, I started to pet him and he suddenly lunged at me and clawed and bit me on my right side by my rib cage. It would have been worse but his chain held him back. It was still pretty bad as I needed stitches. I still have the scars to this day. When I went home my mom and dad looked at it and dad wound up taking me to the doctor. The Doctor thought that the dog could have been rabid and said I should have rabies shots. He didn’t even see the dog. This was in the very early forties. Treatment consisted of, to my vivid memory, several injections with seemingly very long needles in to my side and in my stomach. I probably weighed 80 or 90 pounds but it took my dad, a nurse and a policeman to hold me down. The pain was unbearable. I will remember that day forever. They put the dog to sleep and tested it afterwards and found out it was not rabid. I cried because they put it to sleep. It was the only time he ever hurt anyone. I probably caused it as he may just have been eating at the time. So sad.
Along those lines, there was another incident concerning that same “quack” doctor. A couple years later, I was playing tag with the other kids up the alley. (Our playground) In the course of the playing I stepped on a 2 x 4 that had a long nail in it. Sticking up, of course. It went through my shoe and into my foot clear to the bone. I went to the ground and pulled my shoe and sock off and blood was coming out in spurts. Obviously it hit an artery or something. We were laughing as I pointed it at anyone near me and made them jump. I must have suddenly realized I was losing quite a bit of blood so I took my sock and padded it and tied the other sock around my foot and hobbled back down the alley to home. My dad took me back to the same old Doctor and he muttered something about possible blood poisoning from an obviously, must-have-been, “rusty nail”. He told my dad and the nurse to hold my leg and proceeded to cut an “X” where the nail had entered. Now, he used no anesthesia. Nothing. Just started to carve. I remember screaming really loud. Then he put something on it and bandaged it. He was a very old Doctor and obviously not very good at it or not very humane. I made it a point then, that no matter what happens to me, I would not be taken to him ever again, no matter how young I was.
BACK to ITALY at 72..
When I was 72, ( 4 years ago at this writing) I went back to Naples, Italy. It was exactly 50 years since I was there before. So many things, of course, were different. The music, the sounds of the city, the pace of the city and the appearance of the modern dress of the young, in particular. Of course, it was so much cheaper then, also. The smells of pizza and sauce in the air is almost the same. I still am moved by the city I fell in love with 50 years ago. I visited the Galleria Umberto and had a café and a roll. Just walking along the Via Caracciolo by the waterfront where a lot of the restaurants and clubs are is atmosphere enough for most. I awoke in the morning and after a while I decided to go up to Rome. I actually never spent much time there before and I knew there was much to see. I really believe if one visits another country that they should try to learn a little about it. That is what I believe now but I didn’t even think about it on my previous visits. I did this time so I will expound on what I saw this visit.
I had reserved a room at the Picadilly Hotel right close to the center of town. It had to be the smallest room in Rome but it did have a shower and closet and a bed. And a small window that looked out at the rooftops of Rome. I didn’t plan to spend much time in it so it was acceptable.
The next morning I woke eagerly and dressed and hit the street with a map and a shoulder bag and a digital camera. People were bustling around like any city. I mapped out a route to the Colosseo (Colosseum) and began walking. It was quite a walk but I had all day and there is more to see than just the colosseo. I like being around people in the sense of ‘people-watching’. Just to sit and watch the world go by is sometimes a good thing and I am good at it. Besides, I didn’t understand the trains, buses or subway enough to use them. And like I said, I was in no hurry. I was passing under an archway which part of a wall that went on for as far as I could see.
Later I found that it was the Aurelian wall built between 271 AD and 280 AD and stretched 12.5 miles around the inner city of Rome. It was 60 foot high and has towers about every 15 yards. Even more amazing was that there was an older wall built around 400 BC which still has fragments scattered about. It was surrounding the inner city at that time. It was the Servian (or Republican wall).
“On the way to the Colosseum”, as the saying almost goes, There was a really long grassy area that appeared as nothing significant at first but after research and questions I found I was wrong.
It was once a stadium called the ‘Circo Massimo’ or in Latin, the Circus Maximus. It was once the largest stadium in Rome with a seating capacity of 350,000. Here is where they had all the chariot races and horse races. There is nothing there now except the bowl turned into a field but I have a picture
I downloaded to show the immensity of it all. See at the bottom of this picture to the right.It was 656 yards long and 219 yards wide. Like 6 and a half football fields long (for you Jocks). There are buildings up on the hill behind it still there that are shown in the other picture above.
I kept walking and wound up at the Fiume Tevere (Tiber river). I finally realized I had not one picture of myself so I found a group of women at the river and with sign language and many gyrations and probable embarrassments, one of them finally understood and took a picture showing here.
There are several small but beautiful bridges along the river but time prevented me to do only so much exploring. Farther on the other side of the river, if I had kept going, I would have been near the Vatican City.
Eventually I could see the
Colosseo and it was more impressive than I imagined. Did I mention that it had been raining lightly most of the day? Well, it was. One of my favorite things was sitting at the outside café’s and restaurants and having a coffee or beer or a meal and watching the people and the view. There had been none of that today. However, before going down to the Colosseo, I found an outside covered café and an empty table so I sat directly across from the Colosseo and had a Café Latte.
Just like the Starbucks but I really was in Italy. The Colosseo was started in 72 AD by Emperor Vespianno. It is 164 feet high and really is elliptical. It could hold 55,000 people. Somewhere else I read it was 87,000. The southern side was felled by an earthquake in 847 AD.
One thing not widely known which I found in my research is that, unbelievably, there was a large awning type cover that was used for cover from the sun. It took about 1,000 men to install it. There was also a manual elevator, or lift, to raise the lions and such up to the surface in the arena for the battles or massacres.
You can see the subterranean structure below as the floor above was destroyed in a fire at one point.
You can buy tickets to enter and explore the arena or go on a tour. It was raining, as I said, so I didn’t go any further this day. Having seen it and walking around was enough for this weary man.
I began walking back in the direction of my hotel area and even that was exciting. I took my time taking pictures as I walked and stopped a couple times to have a beer or a coffee and watch the sporadic crowds. I’m a good sitter. But I've said that before. Eventually, I got back and found a restaurant to eat. The hotel recommended it and they were right. I found out one thing the hard way. The locals and even the seasoned tourists seem to look down on you when you choose to dine out in the open. On display, if you will. For a drink or a roll, it seemed alright but you are an inexperienced tourist if you choose this. Also, they look down on you if you wear shorts in most of the attractions and for sure in the churches or religious sites. In most case, they won’t let you in at all or they supply you with a cover of sorts. You are, after all, in Italy. Anyway, my meal was a great salad and a plate of Gnocchi (my favorite) with a marinara sauce and a glass of wine and a latte afterwards. Spent way to much. One more thing is that it is not necessary to leave a tip as it is already figured in. However, I am known to be a good tipper so I left a little anyway. Can’t help myself.
I had reserved a room at the Picadilly Hotel right close to the center of town. It had to be the smallest room in Rome but it did have a shower and closet and a bed. And a small window that looked out at the rooftops of Rome. I didn’t plan to spend much time in it so it was acceptable.
The next morning I woke eagerly and dressed and hit the street with a map and a shoulder bag and a digital camera. People were bustling around like any city. I mapped out a route to the Colosseo (Colosseum) and began walking. It was quite a walk but I had all day and there is more to see than just the colosseo. I like being around people in the sense of ‘people-watching’. Just to sit and watch the world go by is sometimes a good thing and I am good at it. Besides, I didn’t understand the trains, buses or subway enough to use them. And like I said, I was in no hurry. I was passing under an archway which part of a wall that went on for as far as I could see.
Later I found that it was the Aurelian wall built between 271 AD and 280 AD and stretched 12.5 miles around the inner city of Rome. It was 60 foot high and has towers about every 15 yards. Even more amazing was that there was an older wall built around 400 BC which still has fragments scattered about. It was surrounding the inner city at that time. It was the Servian (or Republican wall).
“On the way to the Colosseum”, as the saying almost goes, There was a really long grassy area that appeared as nothing significant at first but after research and questions I found I was wrong.
It was once a stadium called the ‘Circo Massimo’ or in Latin, the Circus Maximus. It was once the largest stadium in Rome with a seating capacity of 350,000. Here is where they had all the chariot races and horse races. There is nothing there now except the bowl turned into a field but I have a picture
I downloaded to show the immensity of it all. See at the bottom of this picture to the right.It was 656 yards long and 219 yards wide. Like 6 and a half football fields long (for you Jocks). There are buildings up on the hill behind it still there that are shown in the other picture above.
I kept walking and wound up at the Fiume Tevere (Tiber river). I finally realized I had not one picture of myself so I found a group of women at the river and with sign language and many gyrations and probable embarrassments, one of them finally understood and took a picture showing here.
There are several small but beautiful bridges along the river but time prevented me to do only so much exploring. Farther on the other side of the river, if I had kept going, I would have been near the Vatican City.
Eventually I could see the
Colosseo and it was more impressive than I imagined. Did I mention that it had been raining lightly most of the day? Well, it was. One of my favorite things was sitting at the outside café’s and restaurants and having a coffee or beer or a meal and watching the people and the view. There had been none of that today. However, before going down to the Colosseo, I found an outside covered café and an empty table so I sat directly across from the Colosseo and had a Café Latte.
Just like the Starbucks but I really was in Italy. The Colosseo was started in 72 AD by Emperor Vespianno. It is 164 feet high and really is elliptical. It could hold 55,000 people. Somewhere else I read it was 87,000. The southern side was felled by an earthquake in 847 AD.
One thing not widely known which I found in my research is that, unbelievably, there was a large awning type cover that was used for cover from the sun. It took about 1,000 men to install it. There was also a manual elevator, or lift, to raise the lions and such up to the surface in the arena for the battles or massacres.
You can see the subterranean structure below as the floor above was destroyed in a fire at one point.
You can buy tickets to enter and explore the arena or go on a tour. It was raining, as I said, so I didn’t go any further this day. Having seen it and walking around was enough for this weary man. I began walking back in the direction of my hotel area and even that was exciting. I took my time taking pictures as I walked and stopped a couple times to have a beer or a coffee and watch the sporadic crowds. I’m a good sitter. But I've said that before. Eventually, I got back and found a restaurant to eat. The hotel recommended it and they were right. I found out one thing the hard way. The locals and even the seasoned tourists seem to look down on you when you choose to dine out in the open. On display, if you will. For a drink or a roll, it seemed alright but you are an inexperienced tourist if you choose this. Also, they look down on you if you wear shorts in most of the attractions and for sure in the churches or religious sites. In most case, they won’t let you in at all or they supply you with a cover of sorts. You are, after all, in Italy. Anyway, my meal was a great salad and a plate of Gnocchi (my favorite) with a marinara sauce and a glass of wine and a latte afterwards. Spent way to much. One more thing is that it is not necessary to leave a tip as it is already figured in. However, I am known to be a good tipper so I left a little anyway. Can’t help myself.
STILL ROME..DIFFERENT DIRECTION
The next morning I took off in a different direction. I wanted to see the Palazzo di Venezia and the Fontana di Trevi and a few things in between so I started where the map told me to go. Walking, of course. The altitude is almost zero and it makes it a lot easier for me to walk. Even with one lung and no oxygen it was fairly easy, with frequent rest stops, of course. I could never have done this back in Denver. There is a lot to be seen even on the way to somewhere but I can’t write about all of it. There are Churches and fountains and columns galore everywhere. I will only mention them and post a picture here and there.
Most notably, The San Giovanni in Laterano (Church) built in the 4th century. Picture to the right.
The Column of Peace (colonna di Triana) and The Basilica di Santa Marie Maggiore (below)
This column was actually moved here in 1614 from the (Basilica Massenzio ?). These are pictures on the way to the Trevi Fountain.Picture is below.
I was amazed by the crowd at the Fountain when I arrived. It was nearly impassable to go from one side to the other. But the statuary in the fountain is so intricate and beautiful and the aqua blue water fits the color of the marble just right.
The fountain was built between 1732 and 1762. The name of “Fontana di Trevi” comes about for the three roads (tre vie) that converge here. It is said to be a very large fountain in a rather small piazza but considered to be the most beautiful fountain In Rome.
People seem to use this as a rest stop. Indeed, it is a quieting place and seems to incorporate much that Italy stands for. The fountain with the statuary, of course but also the colors of the buildings surrounding the fountain that seem to represent the landscape of Italy and the water to represent the sea. Sort of peacefully crowded. When you take a picture of a crowd, such as this, it is interesting to look at the individual people and try to figure out where they are from and who they are with and catch them in “that” minute.
These pictures are street scenes leaving the fountain. You can see the infusion of tourists, which I am one of, but with my liking to be in crowds and being a people watcher, there is always the problem of finding an empty table to have a drink and watch the crowds. Those that do find an empty table, much to the chagrin of the waiters, tend not to give them up very soon. It is what I call the “Seinfeld Syndrome” where George finds a good parking spot and don’t want to move the car because someone else will take the spot.
With map in hand I headed towards the Piazza Venezia which was a fair distance off. Along the way I detoured to visit the Pantheon, briefly. Picture is above. This huge building was built in 27 – 25 B.C. but was restored and rebuilt in 115 – 125 A.D. Each column is 39 ft high and 5 ft in diameter.
Here, above, is a picture from the Pantheon looking out.
I left, as the day is wearing on and so am I, for the Palazzo di Venezia. Many sights along the way give you many reasons to take your time. The people and the buildings. If you ever go, don’t follow the crowds completely. Take some side streets and get lost, even. You probably have a map and if not, anyone can get you on the right track right away. I eventually found the street that led to the Piazza di Venezia. A trip in itself worthy of the time it takes to arrive. Plenty places to sit and watch and rest.
When you arrive at the piazza you will know where the rest of the people were. They were here. The piazza is really large and the palazzo even larger. Very impressive. To make it seem even larger, the Monument to Vittorio Emanuelle stands in front of the Palazzo. Beautiful in it’s own right. They seem to go together.
I found a place nearby to eat that was very busy but had a table open. The problem with going alone is the dining alone. To me it is awkward and the waiters really prefer full tables as the tips are obviously better. This was a place inside which was good because the sun was hitting the tables outside. I believe I just had a pasta and sauce and a small eggplant (melanzana parmigiano) and of course a glass of wine. I sat for some time as I was getting tired. I decided to start back towards the hotel.
Along the way were several areas of the ruins and in particular the Mercati Traianei. This was a long continuous bldg that was once, to make it simple, what we would have called a mall.
Probably the first mall ever. It once had 150 shops and offices and a place where they could find most everything they needed while shopping. Sounds familiar? Not enough information to know whether people got upset after driving all the way there in their chariots only to find the store was out of what they needed. That sounds familiar! I made it back to the hotel and relaxed the rest of the evening.
Most notably, The San Giovanni in Laterano (Church) built in the 4th century. Picture to the right.
The Column of Peace (colonna di Triana) and The Basilica di Santa Marie Maggiore (below)
This column was actually moved here in 1614 from the (Basilica Massenzio ?). These are pictures on the way to the Trevi Fountain.Picture is below.
I was amazed by the crowd at the Fountain when I arrived. It was nearly impassable to go from one side to the other. But the statuary in the fountain is so intricate and beautiful and the aqua blue water fits the color of the marble just right.
The fountain was built between 1732 and 1762. The name of “Fontana di Trevi” comes about for the three roads (tre vie) that converge here. It is said to be a very large fountain in a rather small piazza but considered to be the most beautiful fountain In Rome.
People seem to use this as a rest stop. Indeed, it is a quieting place and seems to incorporate much that Italy stands for. The fountain with the statuary, of course but also the colors of the buildings surrounding the fountain that seem to represent the landscape of Italy and the water to represent the sea. Sort of peacefully crowded. When you take a picture of a crowd, such as this, it is interesting to look at the individual people and try to figure out where they are from and who they are with and catch them in “that” minute.
These pictures are street scenes leaving the fountain. You can see the infusion of tourists, which I am one of, but with my liking to be in crowds and being a people watcher, there is always the problem of finding an empty table to have a drink and watch the crowds. Those that do find an empty table, much to the chagrin of the waiters, tend not to give them up very soon. It is what I call the “Seinfeld Syndrome” where George finds a good parking spot and don’t want to move the car because someone else will take the spot.
With map in hand I headed towards the Piazza Venezia which was a fair distance off. Along the way I detoured to visit the Pantheon, briefly. Picture is above. This huge building was built in 27 – 25 B.C. but was restored and rebuilt in 115 – 125 A.D. Each column is 39 ft high and 5 ft in diameter.
Here, above, is a picture from the Pantheon looking out.
I left, as the day is wearing on and so am I, for the Palazzo di Venezia. Many sights along the way give you many reasons to take your time. The people and the buildings. If you ever go, don’t follow the crowds completely. Take some side streets and get lost, even. You probably have a map and if not, anyone can get you on the right track right away. I eventually found the street that led to the Piazza di Venezia. A trip in itself worthy of the time it takes to arrive. Plenty places to sit and watch and rest.
When you arrive at the piazza you will know where the rest of the people were. They were here. The piazza is really large and the palazzo even larger. Very impressive. To make it seem even larger, the Monument to Vittorio Emanuelle stands in front of the Palazzo. Beautiful in it’s own right. They seem to go together.
I found a place nearby to eat that was very busy but had a table open. The problem with going alone is the dining alone. To me it is awkward and the waiters really prefer full tables as the tips are obviously better. This was a place inside which was good because the sun was hitting the tables outside. I believe I just had a pasta and sauce and a small eggplant (melanzana parmigiano) and of course a glass of wine. I sat for some time as I was getting tired. I decided to start back towards the hotel.
Along the way were several areas of the ruins and in particular the Mercati Traianei. This was a long continuous bldg that was once, to make it simple, what we would have called a mall.
Probably the first mall ever. It once had 150 shops and offices and a place where they could find most everything they needed while shopping. Sounds familiar? Not enough information to know whether people got upset after driving all the way there in their chariots only to find the store was out of what they needed. That sounds familiar! I made it back to the hotel and relaxed the rest of the evening.
A NEEDED NEW BEGINNING
On Tuesday, the 4th of November 2008, I watched the election returns like so many million others. If you are in your 20’s or 30’s you are surely excited about the outcome announced at 9:00 PM Denver time. If you are in your 40’s or 50’s, you are surely amazed but I am 75 and I am now a believer. I am a believer in this country and what we can overcome. We have elected a Black Man as President of this United States and done it overwhelmingly.
I grew up in a city that was segregated and full of ‘bigoted’ people. Not all ‘mean’ people but just a way of life that everyone accepted. Blacks didn’t move up past 11th street and weren’t accepted in some of the business’s. This was in Rock Island, Illinois. We were moderates. The farther south you went, the worse it got. I have seen the slow, rather steady, progress through all these years for the rights of the minorities, just in my lifetime. I must say I never expected to see what has transpired this night. I watched Barack Obama speak at the 2004 Democratic Convention and honestly thought then that here was a black man who could possibly go far. I never thought, at the time, of the Presidency but he had a great presence on the podium. Two years ago, or so, when he declared his candidacy for President, I was truly glad but had real doubts that the country would vote for him in numbers. As the months went on I saw he showed a steadiness that grew confidence in a lot of people. I was one. Even in the face of everything they threw at him, he grew stronger and calmer and more confident and the people reacted much in the same way. It became a fact that he would win towards the waning months, despite the dirty politics. In fact, I think it made him stronger but he never lowered himself to those depths. For once, ‘swift-boating’ and dirty politicking never worked, as in the past. They tried.
Obama won and he won honorably and overwhelmingly. He accomplished what I thought could never be. He won as a person. Not as a black or a white but as a person that people wanted as their President. It was a very proud moment for me. I cannot wait for the day he moves into the White House. For many years, particularly the last 3 or 4, I could not listen to our present leader without being angry and disillusioned. But I will finally be able to watch and listen with anticipation of what will be going on. Obviously, I am confident in the future and our next President Barack Obama. However, he has a long tough road ahead of him with all the turmoil here and abroad.
I grew up in a city that was segregated and full of ‘bigoted’ people. Not all ‘mean’ people but just a way of life that everyone accepted. Blacks didn’t move up past 11th street and weren’t accepted in some of the business’s. This was in Rock Island, Illinois. We were moderates. The farther south you went, the worse it got. I have seen the slow, rather steady, progress through all these years for the rights of the minorities, just in my lifetime. I must say I never expected to see what has transpired this night. I watched Barack Obama speak at the 2004 Democratic Convention and honestly thought then that here was a black man who could possibly go far. I never thought, at the time, of the Presidency but he had a great presence on the podium. Two years ago, or so, when he declared his candidacy for President, I was truly glad but had real doubts that the country would vote for him in numbers. As the months went on I saw he showed a steadiness that grew confidence in a lot of people. I was one. Even in the face of everything they threw at him, he grew stronger and calmer and more confident and the people reacted much in the same way. It became a fact that he would win towards the waning months, despite the dirty politics. In fact, I think it made him stronger but he never lowered himself to those depths. For once, ‘swift-boating’ and dirty politicking never worked, as in the past. They tried.
Obama won and he won honorably and overwhelmingly. He accomplished what I thought could never be. He won as a person. Not as a black or a white but as a person that people wanted as their President. It was a very proud moment for me. I cannot wait for the day he moves into the White House. For many years, particularly the last 3 or 4, I could not listen to our present leader without being angry and disillusioned. But I will finally be able to watch and listen with anticipation of what will be going on. Obviously, I am confident in the future and our next President Barack Obama. However, he has a long tough road ahead of him with all the turmoil here and abroad.
BASEBALL CAPS and RUDE PEOPLE...
I remember through my whole childhood and even through my Navy days and somewhere beyond, that it was an ingrained habit that men removed their hat when entering a room. Certainly a restaurant or in the presence of a lady. The baseball cap has ended all that. Now they wear them everywhere. In restaurants, theaters, in their own house and anyone else’s house. Even at the dining table. I am suspect that even while having sex and/or taking a shower. However, I haven’t really seen that happen, thankfully. And I swear that once, in a church in Arvada, a teenager was sitting in a pew with his hat on without a thought until his mother pulled it off him. He was even irritated when she did. What is it with those caps? Is it possible that men or boys (or even women and girls today) really believe that a single word or two on a cap can define who they are or what they stand for? Are they all that angry or proud or narrow in self-definition that it comes down to a cap to say what they believe in or where they’ve been?
We all try to be individuals and by trying we begin to look like everyone else. Hence, the baggy pants for guys and the skin tight jeans for the girls, the tattoo’s, the baseball caps, the caps for girls with the little ponytail sticking out the back through the hole in the cap. Original? The bra straps for the girls that must be seen, bless them! The more we try to be different, the more we all look alike. Today, for the guys, it’s the unshaven look. Every guy looks like they last shaved exactly 2 ½ days ago, every day. How do they do that? And that horrible consistent sound of that word, ‘like’! Teenagers, mostly girls but even some adults I’ve heard, can actually use the word ‘like’ as many as 6 or 8 times in one sentence. The really experienced ones with a little effort can even do better than that.
I won’t even go into cell phones, texting or ear phones. Just not enough room here. We see movie stars or rock stars (or wannabe’s) in jeans with so many rips and tears that they seem to have been through a war and a generation of wear. Or they stole them from my closet. I have seen jeans like that in Target and K-Mart and they sell for 40 to 50 dollars each. I have probably 400 to 600 hundred dollars worth of jeans in my closet and a couple hundred dollars in a stack in my basement. I remember way back when I worked in steel shops that I used to put iron-on patches over the holes. These guys should see them. I probably still have some in that stack downstairs. Must be worth a fortune now.
And last (maybe), but not least, These people who wear these t-shirts with plainly rude words of contempt on them. Like "back off dog breath", "get f**ked", "I'm with stupid->, "->Stupid" or my all-time un-favorite "What the hell are you looking at".
Do they really feel that way toward other people or do they, by some stretch of the imagination, really think that is funny. Hard to believe.
We all try to be individuals and by trying we begin to look like everyone else. Hence, the baggy pants for guys and the skin tight jeans for the girls, the tattoo’s, the baseball caps, the caps for girls with the little ponytail sticking out the back through the hole in the cap. Original? The bra straps for the girls that must be seen, bless them! The more we try to be different, the more we all look alike. Today, for the guys, it’s the unshaven look. Every guy looks like they last shaved exactly 2 ½ days ago, every day. How do they do that? And that horrible consistent sound of that word, ‘like’! Teenagers, mostly girls but even some adults I’ve heard, can actually use the word ‘like’ as many as 6 or 8 times in one sentence. The really experienced ones with a little effort can even do better than that.
I won’t even go into cell phones, texting or ear phones. Just not enough room here. We see movie stars or rock stars (or wannabe’s) in jeans with so many rips and tears that they seem to have been through a war and a generation of wear. Or they stole them from my closet. I have seen jeans like that in Target and K-Mart and they sell for 40 to 50 dollars each. I have probably 400 to 600 hundred dollars worth of jeans in my closet and a couple hundred dollars in a stack in my basement. I remember way back when I worked in steel shops that I used to put iron-on patches over the holes. These guys should see them. I probably still have some in that stack downstairs. Must be worth a fortune now.
And last (maybe), but not least, These people who wear these t-shirts with plainly rude words of contempt on them. Like "back off dog breath", "get f**ked", "I'm with stupid->, "->Stupid" or my all-time un-favorite "What the hell are you looking at".
Do they really feel that way toward other people or do they, by some stretch of the imagination, really think that is funny. Hard to believe.
THOSE THINGS LURKING UNDER THE SURFACE..
I don’t know if this is just my problem or if other people develop fears as they get older. Perhaps it has nothing to do with getting older. Well, here it is. I have almost drowned twice in my life. Once while swimming in a canal in Milan, Illinois when I was about 12 and once in a small pond in Bonner Springs, Kansas while swimming across with someone else. I have swam in the Pacific Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea and the Mississippi River. I spent nine months in the navy aboard a light cruiser and as a civilian on a freighter from Naples, Italy to Norfolk. I’ve flown back and forth over the Atlantic Ocean 5 times. I have loved every experience. I wouldn’t trade any moment for anything. But here is the thing. I have Really developed a fear of being in water. No, not a tub or a shower or even a pool but a lake or sea and certainly an ocean. It has been a slowly developing fear. For some time now, I have felt that I would die in water somewhere. I don’t know when or why it began. I had a hard time watching the movie “ Cast away” during the time he was in the water. But the movie I couldn’t stay with was “Open water”. My fear is not knowing what is below me in a vast ocean or sea. What is near me or beside me or just be waiting to be pulled below or worse, bitten or eaten or all the above. If I can’t stand on the bottom or see the bottom then I won’t ever be there ever again ever. I had a dream once while in Italy. I was dreaming that I was drowning in a murky but light green water and I was sinking farther and farther down and I suddenly woke up gasping for air and sweating. It was so real it took me a few minutes to realize it wasn’t real. Very vivid. It actually keeps me from taking a cruise or flying overseas again even if I were thinking about it. A lot of things change as you grow older, I am sure. I am not afraid of dying, only of how I go about doing it.
WINDING UP IN DENVER..
After working in Tulsa for a few months, I decided to move on. I bought a bus ticket for Pueblo, Colorado for no particular reason. I simply had never been in Colorado before. This was about 1963. I got off the bus and walked around for a while and got something to eat. It was about 3 in the afternoon so I bought a paper and found a room for rent. I unpacked my little handbag and I was at home. Two days later I found a job at a Feed and Supply store. It wasn’t much but it would keep me going for a while.
There were only two of us and a foreman. The guy I worked with was pretty amiable. His name was Paul. He had been going through a really sad divorce and was pretty depressed about it. She was trying to get everything out of him that she could even though he didn’t have much. I believed him. We got along pretty good and would go out for lunch about every other day. I found out he was living in his pick-up which had a small slide in camper. He was educated enough to get a lot better job but he took this job because the more he made, the more she would get. It was that bitter. We went out a couple nights to a bar. He didn’t drink but would have a soda while I had a beer. He was about as hard to really open up to as I was so we always kept it rather impersonal.
Once in a while at work, if we were visiting, the foreman would come over and ask what we were talking about. We would just say nothing particular. It got to a point that I finally just said ‘it was none of his business. He just exploded and said that we ‘were talking about him’. I guess that was what he had been thinking all along. The more we tried to explain, the more he thought we were lying. I talked with Paul that night and we knew it would not get any better so I decided to quit the next morning. Paul needed the job more than I did and mine was a temporary job anyway. Two days later I bought another bus ticket but this time to Denver. Maybe I could take roots there.
When I arrived in downtown Denver I was beginning to realize that I was getting tired of kicking around and from what I saw walking through the downtown area, I thought I would like it here. I wound up at an ‘All you can eat’ for 1.25 buffet and I did just that. I was on Broadway and 13th. On the northeast corner there was a building with a large sign that said Howard Hotel. It didn’t look like it could be too expensive so I went over with my little handbag and walked in. At the desk was a young guy and I asked him if he had any rooms. He said he did and we settled on a room. There were three floors and I was given one on the second. The guy saw my bag and asked if I had any luggage. I said no, I just got in town off the bus. He asked how long I was going to be there and I said I didn’t know for sure. After some more talking he said that the owner lived upstairs and he has been wanting someone to run the desk at night. I said I was interested as I didn’t have a job yet, obviously. He said that the owner would get hold of me soon.
Turned out that the owner was a pretty nice guy and we hit it off well. The job would be the night shift from about 9 or 10 PM till about 6 in the AM and paid 1.00 an hour and a free room. I jumped at it. It couldn’t have been better. It turned out to be about a six month situation. The guy I first met at the desk was from Iowa and had been there for 4 months. His name was Robert West. We got along pretty good. He was not a big guy and rather plain looking but seemed to be attractive to the girls. I’m a guy so don’t ask me why. He just was. About three doors down there was a ‘go-go’ dance club. He seemed to know a lot of the girls that worked there and about every other afternoon we would go in before the evening traffic hit and unbelievably he could get one of them to buy us a beer. No romancing, dating or anything like that. He just had that way about him.
We would eat at the ‘all you can eat’ as often as we could afford it. Sometimes, when our money was low, we would go up to the grocery store on Colfax and chip in to buy a loaf of bread and lunch meat and go back to our room and eat sandwiches. Only once, did we do anything like, illegal. We were both pretty low on funds and Robert said that maybe we could just go and buy some lunchmeat. When we got to the store Robert told me to just buy a loaf of bread and he would get the lunchmeat. I didn’t question him but I kind of figured it out. He had taken a package of bologna and put it in his boot. We never got caught but we never did that again. Twice, when we were really desperate, we walked up to a place on Colfax and gave blood for 25.00 each.
I saw a lot of different types of people in that hotel in the 6 months I spent there. On the desk at night, many times a couple would come in and rent a room for the night and leave a few hours later. We didn’t rent rooms by the hour but it looked like it. Occasionally, the owner would call me from his room and ask me to go buy a pint of whiskey for him and to knock real quietly. His wife had another room on the same floor and he obviously didn’t want her to know. I was certain she knew but we never discussed it. He would always tip me a couple of dollars for doing this.
During our time at the hotel, Robert met a girl who was staying there also. After about 3 months, they had left for a couple days and when they showed back, he told me that they had gotten married. A few days later, Robert told me that they were leaving and going back to Iowa to live. I found out later that his family were pretty well off but had disowned him for some reason. I guess getting married broke the bad feelings that were there and they wanted him to come home. I never saw him again. I was actually glad for him. This was no life and had no future.
The Employment Office was down the street on 14th street. After a month or so I decided to try and get a job. I had done some welding and worked in steel enough to put it on an application. They had a couple places that I could try out so I did. Had to take the bus all the way out to Sheridan Blvd and then walk five blocks to a welding and iron works shop called ‘ Roy Glazier Iron Works'. I guess I impressed him and he hired me on the spot. I had to scurry and find a room and found one at the ‘Elms Motel’ on west Colfax only four blocks from work. All this in one day, of course, I didn’t have much to move. Just my little hand bag, and I had another home. I started the next day and rather enjoyed being employed again. I was with Roy’s four almost a year. I worked mostly on ornamental iron railings and fencing. Made pretty good money but spent a fair amount it on beer and pizza at the Edgewater Inn. At least I was out of the Hotel on Broadway.
Actually I really enjoyed the time at the hotel. I met a lot of good people and unsavory people and also one in particular stands out in my mind. He was a really young kid who never said much but he carried a rather thick notebook with him everywhere and was constantly writing in it. He was one that you never struck up conversation with as he was like I said, not a talker but he was a nice kid. Some years later, I picked up a book, as I read a lot back then, and I thought for sure his picture was on the back cover as the Writer. I don’t even know the name of the book or his name. I’m really bad for names. But this was just another chapter in my life. That is what Chapters are. Like a fleeting moment, never to be regained.
There were only two of us and a foreman. The guy I worked with was pretty amiable. His name was Paul. He had been going through a really sad divorce and was pretty depressed about it. She was trying to get everything out of him that she could even though he didn’t have much. I believed him. We got along pretty good and would go out for lunch about every other day. I found out he was living in his pick-up which had a small slide in camper. He was educated enough to get a lot better job but he took this job because the more he made, the more she would get. It was that bitter. We went out a couple nights to a bar. He didn’t drink but would have a soda while I had a beer. He was about as hard to really open up to as I was so we always kept it rather impersonal.
Once in a while at work, if we were visiting, the foreman would come over and ask what we were talking about. We would just say nothing particular. It got to a point that I finally just said ‘it was none of his business. He just exploded and said that we ‘were talking about him’. I guess that was what he had been thinking all along. The more we tried to explain, the more he thought we were lying. I talked with Paul that night and we knew it would not get any better so I decided to quit the next morning. Paul needed the job more than I did and mine was a temporary job anyway. Two days later I bought another bus ticket but this time to Denver. Maybe I could take roots there.
When I arrived in downtown Denver I was beginning to realize that I was getting tired of kicking around and from what I saw walking through the downtown area, I thought I would like it here. I wound up at an ‘All you can eat’ for 1.25 buffet and I did just that. I was on Broadway and 13th. On the northeast corner there was a building with a large sign that said Howard Hotel. It didn’t look like it could be too expensive so I went over with my little handbag and walked in. At the desk was a young guy and I asked him if he had any rooms. He said he did and we settled on a room. There were three floors and I was given one on the second. The guy saw my bag and asked if I had any luggage. I said no, I just got in town off the bus. He asked how long I was going to be there and I said I didn’t know for sure. After some more talking he said that the owner lived upstairs and he has been wanting someone to run the desk at night. I said I was interested as I didn’t have a job yet, obviously. He said that the owner would get hold of me soon.
Turned out that the owner was a pretty nice guy and we hit it off well. The job would be the night shift from about 9 or 10 PM till about 6 in the AM and paid 1.00 an hour and a free room. I jumped at it. It couldn’t have been better. It turned out to be about a six month situation. The guy I first met at the desk was from Iowa and had been there for 4 months. His name was Robert West. We got along pretty good. He was not a big guy and rather plain looking but seemed to be attractive to the girls. I’m a guy so don’t ask me why. He just was. About three doors down there was a ‘go-go’ dance club. He seemed to know a lot of the girls that worked there and about every other afternoon we would go in before the evening traffic hit and unbelievably he could get one of them to buy us a beer. No romancing, dating or anything like that. He just had that way about him.
We would eat at the ‘all you can eat’ as often as we could afford it. Sometimes, when our money was low, we would go up to the grocery store on Colfax and chip in to buy a loaf of bread and lunch meat and go back to our room and eat sandwiches. Only once, did we do anything like, illegal. We were both pretty low on funds and Robert said that maybe we could just go and buy some lunchmeat. When we got to the store Robert told me to just buy a loaf of bread and he would get the lunchmeat. I didn’t question him but I kind of figured it out. He had taken a package of bologna and put it in his boot. We never got caught but we never did that again. Twice, when we were really desperate, we walked up to a place on Colfax and gave blood for 25.00 each.
I saw a lot of different types of people in that hotel in the 6 months I spent there. On the desk at night, many times a couple would come in and rent a room for the night and leave a few hours later. We didn’t rent rooms by the hour but it looked like it. Occasionally, the owner would call me from his room and ask me to go buy a pint of whiskey for him and to knock real quietly. His wife had another room on the same floor and he obviously didn’t want her to know. I was certain she knew but we never discussed it. He would always tip me a couple of dollars for doing this.
During our time at the hotel, Robert met a girl who was staying there also. After about 3 months, they had left for a couple days and when they showed back, he told me that they had gotten married. A few days later, Robert told me that they were leaving and going back to Iowa to live. I found out later that his family were pretty well off but had disowned him for some reason. I guess getting married broke the bad feelings that were there and they wanted him to come home. I never saw him again. I was actually glad for him. This was no life and had no future.
The Employment Office was down the street on 14th street. After a month or so I decided to try and get a job. I had done some welding and worked in steel enough to put it on an application. They had a couple places that I could try out so I did. Had to take the bus all the way out to Sheridan Blvd and then walk five blocks to a welding and iron works shop called ‘ Roy Glazier Iron Works'. I guess I impressed him and he hired me on the spot. I had to scurry and find a room and found one at the ‘Elms Motel’ on west Colfax only four blocks from work. All this in one day, of course, I didn’t have much to move. Just my little hand bag, and I had another home. I started the next day and rather enjoyed being employed again. I was with Roy’s four almost a year. I worked mostly on ornamental iron railings and fencing. Made pretty good money but spent a fair amount it on beer and pizza at the Edgewater Inn. At least I was out of the Hotel on Broadway.
Actually I really enjoyed the time at the hotel. I met a lot of good people and unsavory people and also one in particular stands out in my mind. He was a really young kid who never said much but he carried a rather thick notebook with him everywhere and was constantly writing in it. He was one that you never struck up conversation with as he was like I said, not a talker but he was a nice kid. Some years later, I picked up a book, as I read a lot back then, and I thought for sure his picture was on the back cover as the Writer. I don’t even know the name of the book or his name. I’m really bad for names. But this was just another chapter in my life. That is what Chapters are. Like a fleeting moment, never to be regained.
IN SUMMATION, I made it to here...
There was a period in my life that truly tried my courage and my sanity. This was somewhere between 1961 and 1964. Memories of that period in my life are vague and some are gone forever. Probably not a bad thing. After the predictable divorce came the drinking and moving from state to state and city to city and job to job. Actually, the drinking was always there but I don’t think that was what caused the divorce. That was our joint infidelities as neither of us were ready to settle down in a marriage. However, this is not about that marriage.
During that time, and I don’t know in what order for sure, I lived in or blew through California, Arizona, Oklahoma, Texas, Iowa, Illinois, New York and landed in Kansas and eventually settled in Colorado. Those 3 years, more or less, were filled with many, many jobs and relationships and promises. Promises made not only to others but to myself. All broken promises. Drinking played a large part of all that but I am not sure I was an alcoholic. Most of my feelings in those days were of despair, loneliness and fear and of my failure at getting my life together. I really tried but a little success just brought on more failure. Like a merry go-round.
During those days I did a lot of writing trying to put down my feelings. I kept them with me for some reason. Some are angry and others are sad but occasionally, a little hope came through. Here are some I found just recently. Some don’t make sense and are probably droll but at the time I was trying to say something.
I cry for those who were affected or hurt by my weakness and pity for those that don’t understand. No one can know, who are not affected, what a day to day of existence of an alcoholic can wear on the mental facilities of one so affected.
Patience is the password by which the alcoholic lives. Worry and haste are the enemies toward the sobriety of the life they do not need or want. I find my want or need of alcohol through idleness or loneliness. Not so much the drinking as it is the companionship that accompanies me in the bars.
To some, the world is an eggshell. To be tread upon lightly, observed cautiously and ignored, if possible. One cannot firm or alter the eggshell, certainly, so one must adapt themselves to these conditions.
The daring to live is sometimes an act of bravery. The submission to death is welcomed by the very weak. Through life, I find, lies the fear of man overwhelming.
All mankind is living in fear. I find it constantly, searchingly and in course, fearfully. Fear seems to lie in the uncertainty of the world or in every day life to the most minute detail and all the way through. The factor (even with fear I say) in all this is that I cannot go on forever or even too long as it will ruin all who cry for peace within and, also, without.
It is not that which he leaves behind but only that he does. To tread the earth and leave naught a print was a life of non-existence. A man must leave some proof, somewhere, that he has lived, not died. A fitting epitaph to such a man would be recognition from his community.
I wrote this poem to my wife in 1968 when we met and just before we were married in 1969.
Chin up, my love,
and hold on to me.
I’m not strong like
I want to be
but with time and strength
and perhaps believing,
we can someday walk
side by side unfaltering.
Life is full of holes, I know.
Some are big, some small
and some only seem to be
but together we’ll never fall.
Until the day we must decide
where our paths must go,
together or separately, I fear
only God can know.
It has been 40 years this year of 2009, thanks to her. No matter how unwittingly I tried to corrupt her and be corrupted she has remained the kind, loving beautiful person today that she was when I met her. That's why I'm still here and a better person.
During that time, and I don’t know in what order for sure, I lived in or blew through California, Arizona, Oklahoma, Texas, Iowa, Illinois, New York and landed in Kansas and eventually settled in Colorado. Those 3 years, more or less, were filled with many, many jobs and relationships and promises. Promises made not only to others but to myself. All broken promises. Drinking played a large part of all that but I am not sure I was an alcoholic. Most of my feelings in those days were of despair, loneliness and fear and of my failure at getting my life together. I really tried but a little success just brought on more failure. Like a merry go-round.
During those days I did a lot of writing trying to put down my feelings. I kept them with me for some reason. Some are angry and others are sad but occasionally, a little hope came through. Here are some I found just recently. Some don’t make sense and are probably droll but at the time I was trying to say something.
I cry for those who were affected or hurt by my weakness and pity for those that don’t understand. No one can know, who are not affected, what a day to day of existence of an alcoholic can wear on the mental facilities of one so affected.
Patience is the password by which the alcoholic lives. Worry and haste are the enemies toward the sobriety of the life they do not need or want. I find my want or need of alcohol through idleness or loneliness. Not so much the drinking as it is the companionship that accompanies me in the bars.
To some, the world is an eggshell. To be tread upon lightly, observed cautiously and ignored, if possible. One cannot firm or alter the eggshell, certainly, so one must adapt themselves to these conditions.
The daring to live is sometimes an act of bravery. The submission to death is welcomed by the very weak. Through life, I find, lies the fear of man overwhelming.
All mankind is living in fear. I find it constantly, searchingly and in course, fearfully. Fear seems to lie in the uncertainty of the world or in every day life to the most minute detail and all the way through. The factor (even with fear I say) in all this is that I cannot go on forever or even too long as it will ruin all who cry for peace within and, also, without.
It is not that which he leaves behind but only that he does. To tread the earth and leave naught a print was a life of non-existence. A man must leave some proof, somewhere, that he has lived, not died. A fitting epitaph to such a man would be recognition from his community.
I wrote this poem to my wife in 1968 when we met and just before we were married in 1969.
Chin up, my love,
and hold on to me.
I’m not strong like
I want to be
but with time and strength
and perhaps believing,
we can someday walk
side by side unfaltering.
Life is full of holes, I know.
Some are big, some small
and some only seem to be
but together we’ll never fall.
Until the day we must decide
where our paths must go,
together or separately, I fear
only God can know.
It has been 40 years this year of 2009, thanks to her. No matter how unwittingly I tried to corrupt her and be corrupted she has remained the kind, loving beautiful person today that she was when I met her. That's why I'm still here and a better person.
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