The London Fog

It was almost twenty five years ago that a son informed me that he was in the group to meet the Vice President's plane returning to the home state on December 26 for the Christmas holidays. The son also arranged for me to be included.

Actually I had met the VP earlier - 1964 to be exact. At that time he was campaigning for the U.S. Senate and was ringing doorbells in our neighborhood. He had rung ours and I told him that he impressed me more than the incumbent. We both lost in that election.

The official address for the visit was a house on the grounds of the hotel in the city. The son and I walked into the hotel about 9:00 A.M. on the morning of the 26th. It was cold outside and I was wearing a London Fog topcoat. It was a good year for London Fog for there must have been twenty others wearing the same in the lobby. For a moment I had the idea that I was at a hearing aid convention. All the other LF topcoats had built-in ear radios and shades. I stood out like a sore ear - my coat was minus the radio attachment and no shades.

After an introduction to the local Administrative Assistant (AA) to the VP, he served as a tour guide around the grounds and into the house where the VP was to stay. Strange feeling to walk through a a gate which had a sign "U.S. Secret Service Command Post - KEEP OUT -". It didn't say " this means you so we entered the house. Outside bushes, trees, and culverts were inspected by hearing aid convention goers with shades. After a quick tour of the downstairs, the AA went outside to check the status of a locked door.

Standing alone in the foyer, I heard footsteps clomping down the stairs.

Talk about paranoia - I was three miles south of it.
How do I explain my presence?
Would I be whisked to an uncharted island for interrogation?
Would they contact my family?
What about my toothbrush?

Footsteps supported a completely equipped London Fog coat.

I went to the attack - defense is better that way -

"Hi - how's it going?" I boomed.

"Hi" replied the complete LF and out the rear door it went. (Never did find how it was going. That told me something about my level of clearance.)

Later told the son about this experience. Said he: "If you are wearing that coat in the house in the middle of July you are grabbed before you know what is happening. They look for something out-of place."

They missed a good one - I sure was out of place.

The plane was due to land at an old Air Force Base which supported government projects. Coming into the base reminded me of the opening scene of the former base air base in the movie "Twelve O'clock High". The scene at the fire station on the flight line resembled a Hell's Angels conclave. There were at least thirty police escort motorcycles parked outside.

Entering the building we pawed our way through nineteen cubic tons of cigarette smoke. (Of course this was before the mega-bucks anti-smoking lawsuits.) After adjusting to the smoke motorcycle police and the group of London Fogs became visible. The aura was one of 'anticipatory tension'. An outsider coming into the building would realize that here was a bunch of professionals - but professional what?

The LF in Charge thanked the police escorts for their services - it is paid volunteer duty performed off-time by the local police. (Forgot to find out if the two German Police dogs were on off-time.)

The police sergeant addressed his group:
*All stalled cars are removed from the freeway;
*Each overhead bridge is guarded and is closed to traffic and pedestrians when
the escort passes;
*Do not reveal your position on the radio.
*Make no reference to the main escort.
*After the escort passes your ramp, leave and take the next assigned position.

A background radio squawked out that Air Force II was approaching the base. Cigarettes went out, helmets on; silently the escort group shuffled to their steeds and mounted them. Nine vehicles lined up along the runway. On the ground and on the top of hangars were sharpshooters with high-powered rifles.

The plane landed and the cars absorbed the occupants of the plane.

"And they are off!"

Police car No. 1 burned rubber and squealed out to a quarter mile lead. The rest of the procession followed with a gap of one car length between. Overhead a chopper weaved up and down the highway. Entering the Freeway it was noticeable that there was no inbound traffic except the escort. The motorcycle crew was effective in blocking the access ramps. It didn't take long to realize the importance of our car (the last). As soon as our car reached the access ramp the mounted police officer would take off for his next assignment up the road, leaving the ramp unguarded. Those guys might be there yet if our car had not passed.

We zoomed into the city and as we passed a local park the morning joggers took it in stride. The motorcycle escort dwindled to two front and two rear as we turned into the hotel grounds. The Administrative Assistant went into the house with the Clan.

The VP was standing on the porch and he called our son by name and said "glad to see you." After I was introduced the VP said "We are mighty proud of the work that --- is doing for us".

'And a dove sat on his shoulder and a voice out heaven said "This is my beloved Son in whom I an well-pleased." '

I looked for the dove. This wasn't dove season.

I reminded the VP of our front porch meeting in 1964. Strange that he didn't remember me - I remembered him. He made a profound statement :"1964 - that was a long time ago." He invited us to come into the house to keep out of the cold. I told him 'no thanks that we are just waiting for the A A to come out.' (Didn't tell him I wasn't cleared for 'how's it going'.)

It isn't everyday that I have the opportunity to turn down a VP invitation. Think of the number of people who had paid $XXXX per plate and were fifty - yea a hundred times further away from him than I.

As we turned away I saw a LF standing on the front porch. For once I was in style - except for the hearing aid. And in spite of the rarefied atmosphere I came away without a nosebleed.

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!

Sound and Fury

The Pasta Shaque
Hot Springs, AR 719xx


This is in reference to our dining at The Pasta Shaque Sunday , February 11, 2007. The food was of the quality we expect at The Pasta Shaque. For some unexplained reason the hot part of the meal was rushed to the table before we had received the salad.

We appreciate that no staff member used 'guys' or 'you guys'. Those trite greetings have infested the restaurant industry . The Pasta Shaque seems to have avoided the malady.

The sound system is operated at too high a level. When mentioned to the wait-person it was shrugged off with 'it just seems so because the tables are not full'. Later an offer was made to 'try' to have it turned down but we declined as we had finished eating and were leaving. We were in error by not mentioning the noise level during ordering as the wait person asked us to repeat the orders because of the loud sound in the background.

Fortunately we do not have hearing problems. However if we were at the stage where we were wearing hearing aids, we could have turned off the hearing aids and dined in comfort.

Perhaps The Pasta Shaque's operating policy is to launch music at high levels so customers will vacate the tables faster and provide a higher rate of table usage. Just as the chef uses the right amount of spices and flavorings to provide palatable meals, the proper level of music provides a pleasant acoustical surrounding for dining.

If the music is still loud at the next visit it's 'addio signora' and we will leave without eating.

Sincerely,

TRANSITION

A grandson recently gave us the Marx Brothers DVD 'Night at the Opera'. That set off a chain reaction of memories. 'Back then' it was a standard expression to extend the right hand and flick the last three fingers like Groucho flicking the ashes from his cigar. Today the motion has degraded to the index finger.

The name 'Marx Brothers' also brought back a family memory. My maternal grandparents saw a Marx Brothers movie one afternoon; my parents the following night. Later on my grandmother asked my mother "Did Harpo play 'Silver Threads among the Gold' when you saw it?" "I'm sure he didn't change a note," my mother replied.

I thought that conversation was the most stupid thing I had ever heard until my mother gave an explanation. She said that before movies stage plays were presented a week at a time by touring companies. When there was music songs were often changed from one presentation to the next.

Incidentally my grandmother had a first cousin who was on the stage with such a 'touring company'. While on stage he used the name of Will Bingham. I Googled him and found that he toured in Ohio in the early 1900's.

I remember going to the "silent" movies with the dialog printed on the screen. One highlight day the curtains closed in front of the screen; the theater went completely dark; lights slowly came up; the curtains parted revealing the screen. An actor was standing there on the screen and he said OUT LOUD: "Hello, I am Conrad Nagle, and soon this the-ay-ter will have motion pictures in talk and sound." I believe history will show that I was constipated for a week.

Those were great times -1927-I was in the fourth grade, Lindy flew the Atlantic, Babe Ruth hit sixty home runs, and movies started to talk.

And to the one who gave us the DVD : Hope you will see as many changes - most for the better - as I have.