Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Tooth and Consequences
Have often heard dentists referred to as 'Plumbers'. Today I discovered a reasonable comparison between the profession and trade.
While reclining in the dentist chair for a 'resin composite-1s, posterior' - I thought I was getting a filling - the dentist
said "Please close your eyes."
While my eyes were shut my memory tuned in on a hot, humid, Texas Fourth of July when the plumbing went on a vacation. A call to a plumber was imperative. Upon arrival with his satchel of tools he acknowledged that his price was high on holidays. Looking at me he continued: 'The husband is at home and he sees how easy it is to make plumbing repairs so we don't get to come back again.'
What I didn't tell him was that he was called because the husband with a plus 10 in Mechanical Ineptitude was at home and thought the repair was going to be easy.
When the dentist finished his repair work I told him the story about the plumber. Then I added "And that is the same reason you wanted me to close my eyes during the procedure."
While reclining in the dentist chair for a 'resin composite-1s, posterior' - I thought I was getting a filling - the dentist
said "Please close your eyes."
While my eyes were shut my memory tuned in on a hot, humid, Texas Fourth of July when the plumbing went on a vacation. A call to a plumber was imperative. Upon arrival with his satchel of tools he acknowledged that his price was high on holidays. Looking at me he continued: 'The husband is at home and he sees how easy it is to make plumbing repairs so we don't get to come back again.'
What I didn't tell him was that he was called because the husband with a plus 10 in Mechanical Ineptitude was at home and thought the repair was going to be easy.
When the dentist finished his repair work I told him the story about the plumber. Then I added "And that is the same reason you wanted me to close my eyes during the procedure."
Friday, February 1, 2008
Last of the Big Spenders
As I started to pull out of the restaurant parking space, a senior citizen driving an older Buick crept to a halt and stopped almost behind me.
The driver s l o w l y left his vehicle. Continuing the same gait, ambled to the middle of the vacant parking spot next to us. With great effort the gentleman
s
t
o
o
p
e
d
down
and picked up
a dime!
g s l o w l y he reversed the process and drove away.
n
i
s
i
r
A
He probably recovered his tip money he had left in the restaurant.
The driver s l o w l y left his vehicle. Continuing the same gait, ambled to the middle of the vacant parking spot next to us. With great effort the gentleman
s
t
o
o
p
e
d
down
and picked up
a dime!
g s l o w l y he reversed the process and drove away.
n
i
s
i
r
A
He probably recovered his tip money he had left in the restaurant.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Promises, Promises
Been thinking about the jittery year of Pearl Harbor. Not only were there wars and rumors of wars, but there were under-currents of counter intelligence and leftist political forces of European origins. My neighbor was a detective on the local police force. He was often involved in such investigative assignments within the community.
Early one evening as I walked by his home he was standing on his driveway. "Tec" spoke up and asked if I were interested in a political science observation. When I replied in the affirmative he told me get some older clothes on and return very shortly. I complied with both orders; we left in his personal car.
Of course I was curious and Tec explained that we were going to a "Radical" meeting at a lodge hall across town. An organizer was coming in from New York to address the members and guests he explained. "Just observe and go through the same motions as I do" were his instructions.
As luck would have it we were recognized by a policeman on duty at the door.
"Jeepers" - he boomed - "what are you two doing here?"
Tec picked it up immediately and asked "Officer, what time does the meeting start?"
"Oh - oh - seven thirty."
We entered and sat among a sparse few. It was obvious who was the guest speaker. He reminded me of one belonging to a pawn shop sitting with a battered black brief case on his lap. He made a pencil notation on a railroad timetable then returned both to the brief case.
Following an introduction which without doubt he had supplied, he began a tirade about comrades who were incarcerated in Poughkeepsie, NY on the last glorious Fourth of July. They had assembled without a permit on the town square. He demanded by a show of hands that those in the audience would send telegrams of protest to the President of the United States, to the United States Supreme Court, to the Governor of New York and the mayor of Poughkeepsie.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Tec raise his hand - I flashed mine.
Whatever else the speaker had to say hasn't stuck through the years.
Returning to the car Tec said - "Now for the railroad station."
"Why?"
"Jeepers - lot of help you are! He sat there checking the train schedule - I'm not going to the bus station."
We sat outside the train station with a good view of the ticket window. The black brief case showed up at the window attached to the speaker of the hour. He bought a ticket and headed for the restroom.
Tec went to the ticket window, flashed his badge, determined the destination; made a phone call; returned to the car and said "I turned him over to someone else - we are going home."
As a matter of conscience every time I think about those telegrams of protest something gets in the way - like leaves falling off trees, Pearl Harbor,...
9/11. Well, I'm still thinking about it. And the training Tec received from me that
night must have looked good on his resume; he was a Lt. Commander in Naval Intelligence during WWII.
Early one evening as I walked by his home he was standing on his driveway. "Tec" spoke up and asked if I were interested in a political science observation. When I replied in the affirmative he told me get some older clothes on and return very shortly. I complied with both orders; we left in his personal car.
Of course I was curious and Tec explained that we were going to a "Radical" meeting at a lodge hall across town. An organizer was coming in from New York to address the members and guests he explained. "Just observe and go through the same motions as I do" were his instructions.
As luck would have it we were recognized by a policeman on duty at the door.
"Jeepers" - he boomed - "what are you two doing here?"
Tec picked it up immediately and asked "Officer, what time does the meeting start?"
"Oh - oh - seven thirty."
We entered and sat among a sparse few. It was obvious who was the guest speaker. He reminded me of one belonging to a pawn shop sitting with a battered black brief case on his lap. He made a pencil notation on a railroad timetable then returned both to the brief case.
Following an introduction which without doubt he had supplied, he began a tirade about comrades who were incarcerated in Poughkeepsie, NY on the last glorious Fourth of July. They had assembled without a permit on the town square. He demanded by a show of hands that those in the audience would send telegrams of protest to the President of the United States, to the United States Supreme Court, to the Governor of New York and the mayor of Poughkeepsie.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Tec raise his hand - I flashed mine.
Whatever else the speaker had to say hasn't stuck through the years.
Returning to the car Tec said - "Now for the railroad station."
"Why?"
"Jeepers - lot of help you are! He sat there checking the train schedule - I'm not going to the bus station."
We sat outside the train station with a good view of the ticket window. The black brief case showed up at the window attached to the speaker of the hour. He bought a ticket and headed for the restroom.
Tec went to the ticket window, flashed his badge, determined the destination; made a phone call; returned to the car and said "I turned him over to someone else - we are going home."
As a matter of conscience every time I think about those telegrams of protest something gets in the way - like leaves falling off trees, Pearl Harbor,...
9/11. Well, I'm still thinking about it. And the training Tec received from me that
night must have looked good on his resume; he was a Lt. Commander in Naval Intelligence during WWII.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
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?"
Thursday, March 8, 2007
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."
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."
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