Adventure in the Occult?

A friend who was arthritically challenged told me of a personal problem. He said that while reading an old paperback (The Cruel Sea - Nicholas Montsarat) in a local restaurant, the waitress asked if she could borrow the book after he had read it. Although the book belonged to his brother-in-law he loaned it to her anyway. Joy to the world - the book was lost by the receiver. He asked if it would be any trouble to find a replacement since his mobility was limited. Trouble? - I relate to books as a mouse to cheese.

Thus I started making the rounds - Al Gore had not revealed the internet then - one couldn't Google it and get 2,000,000 responses for 'Cruel Sea'. So I hit the main bookstores, flea markets, garage sales, library book sales rooms, etc. I remembered a small sign reading "Books" planted at a street corner. It also had a Halloween witch symbol on a directional arrow. That lead me to a small house in a residential area.

An unkempt male sat in a rocking chair on the porch with a recorder's ear pieces plugged in. Shutting off the device he greeted me with a friendly remark. I told him what I was looking for. "I'm sure we don't have it but go look around." Entering the house I saw several bookcases with books neatly arranged on the shelf. The entire collection pertained to the occult.

Although the Occult is not my field, I could tell that he was to have a cabbage based meal for lunch. Leaving the cabbage aroma adrift from the kitchen I returned to the host on the porch and thanked him for the tour.  He said that he would look for the book at a conclave in Texas the following month. 

A few days later I saw a store front with a rough sign "USED BOOKS HERE". Entering the store I noticed many, many books 'scattered as leaves before a hurricane fall'.
Ulcer bait to a bookworm. I told the proprietor that I was looking for "The Cruel Sea" by Monsarat .

"Yes, Sir!. Had three copies - sold one copy last Tuesday to Mr. X; last Saturday one copy to Mr. Y., that leaves one copy!" He dashed into another room (background noise of shuffled books) and then he returned with the copy of "The Cruel Sea" in his hand. The search for the Holy Grail was over.

Epilogue:

After locating the book I drove to the Occult house to tell the Greeter of my find. Again the Greeter was seated on the front porch and still connected to his recorder.  The Greeter smiled as I got out the car and called out "I'm glad you found your book!"

In retrospect I should have responded with "Did you enjoy the cabbage the other day?"

Hunch Lunch

This is about "Bye" my maternal grandfather. See "The Snow Slide", a prior Blog.

Bye entered the insurance field when he was in his early twenties. Torn by family responsibilities he became discouraged in the insurance field. One noon during this time he wandered about town mulling over his future. While walking in an affluent neighborhood he noticed a carriage in the driveway of a prosperous businessman's home. Walking up to the front door, Bye knocked and the businessman opened the door. He explained to Mr. X that he had tried for many days to see him about an insurance plan to cover his business.
"Are you on your lunch hour?" asked Mr. X.
"Yes I am," was the reply.
"So am I but come join me at table and present your plan. I don't hinder anyone who wants to work on his lunch hour."
The noontime "lunch hunch" became the base for his success in the insurance business.

Within a few years he was promoted to area Superintendent. A few stories about his work came to me from his contemporaries. Every Friday afternoon he set aside time to review the basics of the policies offered by the company. An agent related how he returned to the office with a signed sale. He reviewed the sale with his 'Super'. The agent was told that he was making the insured 'insurance poor' and advised him to go back and sell an affordable policy.

One time 'Bye' was informed by the bank that it was holding several forged checks drawn on his office account. After examining the checks at the bank he said that he had signed them and they weren't forgeries. The bank official showed him the bank's signature card and it was obvious that the signatures didn't match.

"No, I wrote those with my left hand. I got to thinking that I sign a lot of papers and I have been writing recently with my left hand in case I break my right hand or wrist." He was advised not to practice on legal documents.

The same bank at another time suffered a 'run on the bank' with many depositors lining up to withdraw money. Bye stood in line to the teller's window. The bank president saw him and asked if he was withdrawing money too. "No, I came here to open up another account for the office." Those in line heard the conversation and that stopped the 'run on the bank'.
-
In the 1920's sales within a superintendent's area were part of his retirement base. A friend from Headquarters office told him that a forthcoming change in the retirement policy would lower his retirement income if he waited to retire eighteen months later. The preceding year was a banner year for his area so he retired early under the higher paying plan. Today that is known as 'insider trading'.

His retirement days provided an example in the art of grandfathering.

One afternoon as we were leaving the golf course our grandson Chad said "Hey - I had a good time today." Reflecting through the mist of years I thought "Thanks Bye, and I still owe you for your lessons in grandfathering."

Ear Today

Hearing Test:
Picture rooms in straight line, open-door order: kitchen>dining room>living room. In the living room is elderly Will, grandmother's cousin; mother and grandmother are in the kitchen. Mother is saying "Guess I'd better go into the living room to see if Cousin Will(Transitions -Feb 10) wants tea at supper. He's as deaf as an old post."

From the living room comes a male voice: "Yes,I'd like a cup of tea."

Hearing Test:

While on a visit to a retirement center I observed a family in the reception area
who were greeting an inhabitant. The local asked of the visitors:
"Where's Linda?"
"She's gone to the drugstore to get batteries for your hearing aid."
"Oh my! Does she have hearing problems too?"

Hearing Test:

I was stretched out on the examining table as the ear doctor probed for wax in whatever the technical term is for where he was. In the midst of the procedure I heard a cell phone ring coming from the doctor's belt area.

"If it's for me," I said, "say that I am busy."

Things Never Change

23 Jan 1942
US Army Reception Center, FT Niagara, NY

Third day in the army and since 0500 (that's 5 am to civilians) I'm on KP in the mess hall. At 0645 I'm slinging some kind of gruel onto mess trays toted by 'faces white from the office light' - those with seniority as great as mine.

"There's one thing for certain, the army is not particular who serves food around here." I looked up and saw a friend for the first time since college graduation. We both exchanged broad grins and he passed on down the chow line and out of my life.


The Mess Sergeant must have out sized a pro-wrestler Man Mountain Dean. The 'Sarge' was huge. He puffed and waddled when he walked. When the GI's quit coming through the breakfast chow line, the Sarge put the largest skillet I had ever seen on the stove. To the skillet he added an equivalent slab of ham. As the ham sizzled he had a dozen eggs frying, sunny side up, in the bubbling grease.
Skillfully sliding the ham and eggs onto a tray, he placed the tray on a butcher's block; a stool squeaked as Sarge plopped onto it next to the block. We stood around watching the operation expectantly.

Then Sarge bellowed - "Whatcha lookin' at? Can't a guy eat in peace? Get yer
butts trew dat line and get some grub fer yerself."

How did that song go? "This is the army, Mr. Jones-"

Summer 1946
Binghamton, NY -Chenango Valley State Park Golf Course

After four plus years I'm finally out of military service and on the golf course.
On the the eight tee I realized that I had left the pitching wedge near the
last green. As I returned to the seventh green a voice called out:"There's one
thing for certain, they are not particular who plays golf around here either."

It was the college friend I had last seen at the Induction Station in 1942!

VIEWPOINT

This is for the CHAD fans with inquiring minds. Chad spent a weekend with us while he was in college. After a black tie affair at the J-ville Country Club, I sat at the computer and showed him the family genealogy program. It aroused him not a bit that his grandmother had roots back to Scotland and Germany. That my roots were Scotch/English/Irish caused not a stir. "SO?" was the response to an ancestor, a Minute Man who, fortunately for me, was a day late getting to the Battle of Bunker Hill. Nor was he impressed that this was my Patriot for membership in the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR).

To it all Chad's response was: "But that's all about dead people."

I took the hint.

The next morning Chad (with his ears supporting a halo) remarked knightly: "Hey: I read First and Second Kings last night!"

"Really, Chad; that's all about dead people."

Get a Horse

From comments it seems that some anticipate that I will share some nefarious happenings from grandson Chad's background. (A discussion I had with an uncle of Chad's has diverted my ten second attention span: "Guess you thought I was plenty strict when you were growing up," I quizzed quizzenly. "Knowing what I know, you weren't strict enough," he replied knowingly.)

(Back on course.) In this particular situation Chad plays a cameo role, perhaps like the man with the jug of water who was a guide to accommodate the Last Supper; or the carriage driver who brought the distraught sailor to Sherlock Holmes' place of abode.

To set the scene, Chad, a younger cousin, and I were munching on whatever makes Wendy's famous. Chad leaned over to me and excused himself to use the restroom. The cousin finally came up from his plate and realized that Chad was no longer at table.

"Where's Shad?" he asked.
"Gone to see a man about a horse."
"Oh."
Chad returned and we finished the meal.
"Let's head for the hills" I said, or gave some other sign that we were leaving.
"What about Shad's horse?" was the next inquiry.
"Not enough room in the car - let's go!"

Get Organized Month

Received an email stating that January was the National Get Organized Month. How sad it is to look at a desk that is neat and tidy. To see a clean desk gives no challenge to 'clean up this mess'. Secondly it eliminates the body exercise of placing extended hands, fingers thrust downward, upon a mass of papers to divine the location of an errant pen or pencil. And lost too is the mental-physical gymnastics required to mentally sort out and extract that piece of paper needed to meet a deadline. It takes an orderly mind to achieve order from disorder.

To show an attempt to enforce orderliness I return to the college years at the Psi Eta Pi fraternity house. After typing a term paper with several sections (this is before a PC computer filing system), I scattered the various pages in selected places around the room -chair, bookcase, floor, on top of shoes, and any other available spot of convenience. My next step meant collating the material into logical order. A requirement known as 'class attendance' intervened .

Upon returning from class I entered the room and into the middle of chaos. My strewn papers had vanished from around the room. On the desk was a neat stack of papers - the layering in random order. I had received a fringe benefit for living at the Psi Eta Pi fraternity house - the 'house-boy' ran the vacuum in my room on that day. This was his "Get Organized Day".

Mal was the 'house-boy'. In retrospect I do believe that Mal was a test case to support the passage of Murphy's Law.

'House-boy' is the term that the Census notes as his occupation. Today the term is 'house attendant' or 'home technician' or some other status enhancing,ill-defining term. Mal was proud that he was a veteran of WWI. He told me once that he had been shot in the Argonne (a vicious WWI battle site). In a joking way I asked if that were near the appendix. He said :"Just above it." A few days later he showed me his Honorable Discharge from the US Army. The reverse side reads: "Wounds received in service: None."

Too bad my room couldn't say the same thing.

Another Crabby Old Man Story

Had a phone call from old friend Eric in Dallas. We exchanged latest health misgivings and I recited my pre-op interrogation. He topped it. Eric is legally blind. When errands are necessary his yard worker becomes the driver. The yard worker obtained a driver's license via the driver's non-language test. Recently he drove Eric to the eye doctor and led him into the waiting area.

The receptionist placed two papers in Eric's hands.
"What are these papers for?" asked Eric.
"You will have to review them and update them by hand," was the helpful reply.
Eric handed them back and said: "If these are my records there is a statement that I am legally blind. That means I can't see to check them. Just call me when it is my turn for the doctor."

Murphy's Law is still active.

Crabby Old Men

Went to a doctor recently and found that I need 'minor' surgery to correct tear duct drainage. Went through the preliminary paperwork screening. When asked if my health was excellent, good, or poor I blew a gasket.

"Look, I'm in a doctor's office arranging for minor surgery and you ask the condition of my health. I'm using a left hip that isn't mine; go every three months to see if a bladder tumor has returned; have had cataract lens implants, my tonsils are gone, wear a bridge on the upper teeth, wear glasses,have had shingles, and I could give other personal deficiencies but won't. However I'm almost 89 years of age; arrived at this office on my own and on time; have outlived most of my friends who were athletes; and still able to recognize and respond to stupid questions. Buzzards are not circling overhead therefore I determine that my health is excellent."

Glad no one checked my blood pressure at that moment.

I think that I will print out that spiel and the next time some inquiring mind jumps the 'no call list' and starts a telephone conversation with "Hello, how are you today?" I'll reply with: "It's obvious that you don't know me and don't give a tinker's whoop how I feel. However since you have inquired I have the authority to tell you."

After reciting what I have had I will then read a list of ailments that I have not had. After that I will 'thanks for calling' and say that I am hanging up because this is the day that my wife is expecting a call from Publishers' Clearing House telling her that she is now a millionaire. CLICK.

It seems as though there is almost daily warfare with those who Murphy's Law to the ineffective level of incompetence, and are shielded with arrogance. The habitat is in areas requiring contact with crabby oldsters; thus leading to crabbier oldsters.