SPANISH IN NEW ORLEANS
29 April, 2014
If you happen to be in old New Orleans one summer and, after a strong, piping hot cup of café-au-lait at Café du Monde you should visit Jackson Square late at night, standing in front of St. Louis Cathedral, wait until the lights go dim just after midnight. Then go off the beaten path for a few moments. Go for a stroll through the misty alleyways alongside the cathedral.
There are two alleys: one is called Pirates Alley, named in honor of the French Buccaneer, Jean Lafitte, and his band of men who sailed before the mast under the Jolly Roger - or so it is said.
Close your eyes and imagine it is in the early 1800's. Your eyes may conjure up a view of salty seamen, just returned from the sea with boxes and barrels of contraband. Pirates, they were called, but really they were mostly boucaniers, smugglers, not cut-throat killers.
These exiled Frenchmen were mocked and shamed for making a somewhat less-than-honest living, perhaps, but in reality they helped SAVE the very city that scorned them. It was their ships and cannon that helped General Andrew Jackson turn the British away, and keep the City of New Orleans American. For this reason, this alley remembers them so fondly.
Didn't see any pirates? Then go to the other side of the cathedral. There is another dimly-lit alley called Père Antoine Alley. If, in the dark recesses of the passageway, you should catch a glimpse of a ghostly Capuchin priest, offering you his blessing, you have just seen the spirit of buen Padre Antonio de Sedella.
Affectionately known as Père Antoine by the city's French-speaking population, this beloved priest's name appears in the St. Louis Cathedral's sacramental record books as having performed many, many marriages and other holy sacraments in the city of New Orleans throughout the Spanish administration, the brief second period of French rule, and decades into the American period.
Many of my ancestral family members were married by Padre Antonio, who so loved the city of New Orleans and its people that his spirit forever walks and keeps vigil in the alley that bears his name.
Qué en paz descanse, querido padre.
When the Spanish arrived in New Orleans, they took over a city of shanties and plantation homes for the most part. Two decades into their rule, most of the city burned, with another conflagration a few years later devouring much of what remained.
It fell unto the lot of wealthy Spanish residents of the city to rebuild, and so they did, according to the designs and architecture prevalent at that time. The finest French and Spanish Créole architects went to work, and the result is the beautiful section of old New Orleans which we lovingly call the Vieux Carré, or French Quarter.
Viejo San Juan (Puerto Rico) is very similar to New Orleans in its architecture. This is no accident. Similarities in architecture can be found elsewhere through Iberoamerica, especially in la Habana (Havana) Cuba and Cartagena, Colombia. In this respect, as well as in many others, New Orleans can also be classed as an Iberoamerican city.
The city of New Orleans has a colorful history, and its period of Spanish rule was by no means an exception. It is a little-mentioned time in which a true multicultural, multi-racial, multi-ethnic port city came into being.
One oddity is that the first Spanish governor was run out of Louisiana by the local French. He was replaced by a second governor, Alejando O'Reilly - an IRISHMAN!
No WONDER I love this city so!! New Orleans pushed the envelope and forged its own way in the New World - neither following nor leading.
We of New Orleans owe much of who and what we are to those Peninsulares who came to a dismal swamp, and left with a beautiful, unique, endearing city as a token of their passing.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
The Chesapeke Bridge and the Train
I love trains! I like riding them, watching them go by, seeing pictures of them, etc.
I also like bridges - making connections - crossing waters that divide.
I love folk music and country music.
One day I saw a picture someone sent me of a fast train coming over a bridge.
I always wanted to write something about trains, and this came to me late one night.
26 Sept 2012
The Chesapeke Bridge and the Train
Out of the mists 'round the Chesapeke bridge,
My old love is comin' on the train;
I greeted the sunrise with a bottle in my hand,
and so now I'm feelin' no pain.
That old train it keeps on a-rollin' -
speeding fast onward down the track,
The wheels and the people keep a-movin',
It's nice that sometimes they come back.
But the days and the times keep a-changin'
Yeah, things ain't the same as before;
My life hasn't been the same since you left,
From the moment you walked out my door.
So speed on by silver bullet,
Let your steel wheels make you fly and fly,
But from now on it's just this here bottle and me,
And I'll watch that express train roll on by.
I also like bridges - making connections - crossing waters that divide.
I love folk music and country music.
One day I saw a picture someone sent me of a fast train coming over a bridge.
I always wanted to write something about trains, and this came to me late one night.
26 Sept 2012
The Chesapeke Bridge and the Train
Out of the mists 'round the Chesapeke bridge,
My old love is comin' on the train;
I greeted the sunrise with a bottle in my hand,
and so now I'm feelin' no pain.
That old train it keeps on a-rollin' -
speeding fast onward down the track,
The wheels and the people keep a-movin',
It's nice that sometimes they come back.
But the days and the times keep a-changin'
Yeah, things ain't the same as before;
My life hasn't been the same since you left,
From the moment you walked out my door.
So speed on by silver bullet,
Let your steel wheels make you fly and fly,
But from now on it's just this here bottle and me,
And I'll watch that express train roll on by.
IT WAS ONLY A TEST!
IT WAS ONLY A TEST!
29 April, 2014 Houston
I was nine years old. My mother and I had just moved down to New Orleans from Washington, D.C. It was a typically hot, humid day in early July. I had spent a leisurely morning visiting relatives around the corner from my grandparents'. Since it was getting to be lunch hour, I hit the hot pavement for their house, where I knew a wonderful meal and warm smiles awaited me.
Suddenly and without warning, AIR RAID sirens began to wail!! It wasn't just one - the sounds were coming from everywhere - coming from far and near. One sounded like the air raid siren I heard tested in D. C., its drone became louder, then softer, then louder again as its horn turned around in a circle. But there were other sirens sounding a warning - several others. Surely this was no test.
"It's CASTRO!!" I thought, or maybe some diabolical regime in the East! Whoever it was, they wanted us dead, or worse, and this was it! Today was the Day of Reckoning...
Now, I recalled the emergency warning siren testing that was done in Washington, D.C on a newly-installed device, and how lots of us got spooked by an unannounced drill. But swords rattled overseas, so they said on the news, and we were well-indoctrinated to be ever on the alert for just such a day. Now that day was upon us!
I began to run back toward my aunt's house, and on my way there, I spied a house with its door open, and a TV set on on the living room. I went closer to see if this was legit or just a test. The answer came immediately, as the CD (Civil Defense) emblem filled the screen, and a steady tone could be heard coming from the set.
That was it: I hightailed it to my grandparents! I must have looked funny, racing in the front door, all hot and sweaty, screaming hysterically: "IT'S A NUCLEAR ATTACK!! THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING!!"
"What in the WORLD's got into that boy," my mystified grandfather asked my grandmother, as he came into the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about.
"We gotta get to a basement!" I advised, recalling my "Duck! and Cover!" training. There's still time to hide. This was not an easy matter, as I discovered: New Orleans houses do not have basements.
"What's the matter with you, Sugar?" my grandmother asked kindly, keeping a wary eye on a pot she had on the stove.
"I just heard the AIR RAID SIRENS!" I explained. "That means they're going to attack us soon!"
My grandfather bust out laughing, and clapped his hands in sheer delight at what I had just said.
"Urchin," (that was a pet name he and his brother has for me) that was just the Twelve O'Clock whistles, that's all!" he reassured me with a hug. "It's nothing to worry about."
"Oh, yeaaa?" I protested, "Then tell me why there's CD stuff on the TV, HUH??"
So, in order to humor me, my grandfather put on the radio - and heard nothing but music and talk. Nothing about bombs or attacking airplanes or missiles - or Castro - was mentioned. I told him that may be, but what he had to do was tune to 640 or 1240 kHz on the am dial... THEN he'd know what's what, by golly.
He complied, turning the knob first to one part of the dial, then to the other,... and heard only static. STATIC!!
"No Russians." he said matter-of-factly. "What's more, no Chinese."
"No CUBANS NEITHER?" I insisted.
"Nope - nary a one." he replied, shaking his head, smiling broadly.
"So then what's with the air raid sirens?" I asked, having to get to the bottom of all this drama.
"Oh, THAT!" he asked, chuckling. "They go off every day at noon. That's to let us know that it's twelve o'clock. They also test them every day, so it there is something afoot, the sirens will be in tip-top working order.
"OK, OK, I guess you're right," I said, relieved ther wasn't any real attack, but feeling a little silly after making such a fuss. "But tell me one thing:" I added, not yet totally convinced, "What about the CD on the television?"
"Oh, the Civil Defense does a test every so often. It was only a test."
I was finally satisfied. Nontheless, I need to say right here and now, that for the next week or so, I kept a proper vigil fron a perch high atop the backyard pear tree, listening to the radio and scanning the skies for enemy aircraft with a pair of binoculars. I realized there wasn't a medal or anything for being on the lookout - but patriotism has its own rewards.
I still remember that hot day in July, when the sirens wailed from everywhere and the TV broadcast a CD emblem of warning. I remember how scared I was that day. It was only a test.
"THIS IS A TEST.
THIS IS A TEST OF THE EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM.
THIS IS ONLY A TEST" .................................................................................................
29 April, 2014 Houston
I was nine years old. My mother and I had just moved down to New Orleans from Washington, D.C. It was a typically hot, humid day in early July. I had spent a leisurely morning visiting relatives around the corner from my grandparents'. Since it was getting to be lunch hour, I hit the hot pavement for their house, where I knew a wonderful meal and warm smiles awaited me.
Suddenly and without warning, AIR RAID sirens began to wail!! It wasn't just one - the sounds were coming from everywhere - coming from far and near. One sounded like the air raid siren I heard tested in D. C., its drone became louder, then softer, then louder again as its horn turned around in a circle. But there were other sirens sounding a warning - several others. Surely this was no test.
"It's CASTRO!!" I thought, or maybe some diabolical regime in the East! Whoever it was, they wanted us dead, or worse, and this was it! Today was the Day of Reckoning...
Now, I recalled the emergency warning siren testing that was done in Washington, D.C on a newly-installed device, and how lots of us got spooked by an unannounced drill. But swords rattled overseas, so they said on the news, and we were well-indoctrinated to be ever on the alert for just such a day. Now that day was upon us!
I began to run back toward my aunt's house, and on my way there, I spied a house with its door open, and a TV set on on the living room. I went closer to see if this was legit or just a test. The answer came immediately, as the CD (Civil Defense) emblem filled the screen, and a steady tone could be heard coming from the set.
That was it: I hightailed it to my grandparents! I must have looked funny, racing in the front door, all hot and sweaty, screaming hysterically: "IT'S A NUCLEAR ATTACK!! THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING!!"
"What in the WORLD's got into that boy," my mystified grandfather asked my grandmother, as he came into the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about.
"We gotta get to a basement!" I advised, recalling my "Duck! and Cover!" training. There's still time to hide. This was not an easy matter, as I discovered: New Orleans houses do not have basements.
"What's the matter with you, Sugar?" my grandmother asked kindly, keeping a wary eye on a pot she had on the stove.
"I just heard the AIR RAID SIRENS!" I explained. "That means they're going to attack us soon!"
My grandfather bust out laughing, and clapped his hands in sheer delight at what I had just said.
"Urchin," (that was a pet name he and his brother has for me) that was just the Twelve O'Clock whistles, that's all!" he reassured me with a hug. "It's nothing to worry about."
"Oh, yeaaa?" I protested, "Then tell me why there's CD stuff on the TV, HUH??"
So, in order to humor me, my grandfather put on the radio - and heard nothing but music and talk. Nothing about bombs or attacking airplanes or missiles - or Castro - was mentioned. I told him that may be, but what he had to do was tune to 640 or 1240 kHz on the am dial... THEN he'd know what's what, by golly.
He complied, turning the knob first to one part of the dial, then to the other,... and heard only static. STATIC!!
"No Russians." he said matter-of-factly. "What's more, no Chinese."
"No CUBANS NEITHER?" I insisted.
"Nope - nary a one." he replied, shaking his head, smiling broadly.
"So then what's with the air raid sirens?" I asked, having to get to the bottom of all this drama.
"Oh, THAT!" he asked, chuckling. "They go off every day at noon. That's to let us know that it's twelve o'clock. They also test them every day, so it there is something afoot, the sirens will be in tip-top working order.
"OK, OK, I guess you're right," I said, relieved ther wasn't any real attack, but feeling a little silly after making such a fuss. "But tell me one thing:" I added, not yet totally convinced, "What about the CD on the television?"
"Oh, the Civil Defense does a test every so often. It was only a test."
I was finally satisfied. Nontheless, I need to say right here and now, that for the next week or so, I kept a proper vigil fron a perch high atop the backyard pear tree, listening to the radio and scanning the skies for enemy aircraft with a pair of binoculars. I realized there wasn't a medal or anything for being on the lookout - but patriotism has its own rewards.
I still remember that hot day in July, when the sirens wailed from everywhere and the TV broadcast a CD emblem of warning. I remember how scared I was that day. It was only a test.
"THIS IS A TEST.
THIS IS A TEST OF THE EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM.
THIS IS ONLY A TEST" .................................................................................................
Monday, April 28, 2014
МЫ ВАС ПОХОРОНЕМ!! (WE WILL BURY YOU!!)
МЫ ВАС ПОХОРОНЕМ!! (WE WILL BURY YOU!!)
PARIS 24 January 1996
"WE WILL BURY YOU!!!" Russia's Nikita Khrushchev threatened us, on 18 November, 1956.
Our own spy splanes verified that the USSR had every intention of doing just that.
In the late Fifties up to the end of 1962 was a time of tension - often extreme tension - between the U.S. and the Communist countries of the world. Red China, North Korea, East Berlin, and Cuba were in the headlines daily, as was the leader of the Soviet Union, "Mr. K" himself.
Since 1950 Russia had The Bomb, and its leaders were very vocal about their intentions to take over the whole world by force - including the United States. This was a fact. This was not an invention of some ultra-right-wing group in the west, though there were certainly some who eagerly exploited these threats in order to capitalize on the fear they generated.
To be sure, there were also certain corporations and individuals who were eager to profit from military weapon sales, spurred on by a reactionary arms race.
It must be emphasized here that, although McCarthy was guilty of extremist. some say draconian measures that did more harm than good, the overall basis for the Red Scare was WELL FOUNDED!
At home, Nike antiaircraft missiles popped up overnight in the Washington, D.C. vicinity. I remember seeing one raised and lowered. From bases far to the north, B-52 bombers flew would-be apocalyptic missions daily over the North Pole, ready to deploy their nuclear payload over Soviet targets - with just one order from the President of the United States.
Schools like mine practiced duck-and-cover drills. Everywhere in the country individuals and municipalities alike were building bomb shelters at a frenzied pace, as if their tiny quarters would, or could, render their occupants immune to the lethal radiation, the universal destruction, and the global environmental toxicity which would follow a thermonuclear war. Families were urged to stock up on 2 - 3 weeks of food and water, as if we could somehow emerge unscathed a few days after a nucular holocaust and start life anew.
A nuclear war most certainly would ruin your day, and I knew that even as a kid!
To warn the general population of an impending nuclear attack, and to coordinate civilian wartime activities, the U.S. Government established an organization known as CIVIL DEFENCE (CD). Also, CONELRAD radio stations were set up, and assigned the frequencies 640 and 1240 kHz on the AM radio band. Radios produced and sold during this period had a little triangle on both locations on the dial to mark for quick reference where one would tune in the event of an enemy attack.
Air raid sirens from WWII, now old and obsolete, were replaced quickly and more were added. We were given instructions on TV and radio - and pamphlets and posters could be seen in public buildings, etc. and elsewhere - explaining the meaning of each different siren signal tone.
We were preparing for Armaggeddon!
The huge old 4-way bullhorns we had atop the school's main building had never gone off - at least when I was there. I remember the day a linemen crew came to my school some time in 1960. We all watched in fascination the different phases of building a brand-new Atomic Age air raid siren.
CD personnel came to our school to inform us of the placing of the siren, and warned us of upcoming tests - to not be frightened when it went of periodically. We were even allowed to go up the hill to watch the first tests, and watched and listened, fascinated, as this huge, yellow horn blaired out a commanding alarm - and turned around and around.
The horn's sound was, as it should have been, loud and alarming. The other kids thought it was just a chance to get out of class for a few minutes. But I knew it was not a toy... I knew EXACTLY what the wailing tone meant, if it sounded in earnest. On that day, the sound made my hair stand on end. It still does so to this very day!
The tests continued for a week, and each time a test was scheduled, we were notified beforehand. Then the tests stopped. We returned to our studies, playing on the playgrounds, and listening to rock-n-roll on the transistor radio. All was as it should be.
And all was well and normal, until one day, nearly 2 weeks after the last test, and quite unannounced, the siren began to sound.
IT WAS A WAILING TONE!!! That meant an imminent nuclear attack!
The school was hit with a sheer panic! Pandemonium erupted! Soon students and school staff divided into two groups:
The first group, the survivors, fled in abject terror downstairs to the basement bomb shelter, and the inagined safety of brick and morter. Ducking and covering down in the dirt and darkness of the cavernous recesses of an underground passage, these people were poster children for the Red Scare.
The second group, the lovers of life, gleefully scurried uphill, once more in eager anticipation of hearing the giant klaxon blare its monotonous voice through hill and dale and see the mighty metal device gyrate on its axis. They had a ball!
Now, there was only one exception to all this. There was only one person who neither fled in abject terror to a useless netherworld retreat, nor raced wildly up a hill to see a silly horn turn round and round and round. That lone exception was ME!
I had read and heard enough about the Atomic Bomb and the results of a nuclear blast to know for an absolute fact that - if one of those bombs should fall in the Washington, D.C. vicinity - a bomb shelter would only prolong the inevitable, agonizing death from radiation poisoning.
I had confidence, though, that our Strategic Air Command fighter aircraft, as well as the NIKE missiles surrounding the city would be able to protect us. AND... what a SIGHT that would be: Russian BEAR bombers flying overhead in formation, and being blown out of the sky by ground-to-air missiles!
I figured I had nothing to lose --- I might as well get a ring-side seat for the show!!
And I really wanted to see those Soviet Bear bombers, with their delta-wing configuration and their double, counter-rotating pusher propellers.
What a day!!!
I remember back when I was an 8-year-old --- running outside that day --- standing right in the middle of the baseball field --- far from anyone else --- looking and waiting --- for Russian warplanes that never came.
IT WAS ONLY A TEST!!!
PARIS 24 January 1996
"WE WILL BURY YOU!!!" Russia's Nikita Khrushchev threatened us, on 18 November, 1956.
Our own spy splanes verified that the USSR had every intention of doing just that.
In the late Fifties up to the end of 1962 was a time of tension - often extreme tension - between the U.S. and the Communist countries of the world. Red China, North Korea, East Berlin, and Cuba were in the headlines daily, as was the leader of the Soviet Union, "Mr. K" himself.
Since 1950 Russia had The Bomb, and its leaders were very vocal about their intentions to take over the whole world by force - including the United States. This was a fact. This was not an invention of some ultra-right-wing group in the west, though there were certainly some who eagerly exploited these threats in order to capitalize on the fear they generated.
To be sure, there were also certain corporations and individuals who were eager to profit from military weapon sales, spurred on by a reactionary arms race.
It must be emphasized here that, although McCarthy was guilty of extremist. some say draconian measures that did more harm than good, the overall basis for the Red Scare was WELL FOUNDED!
At home, Nike antiaircraft missiles popped up overnight in the Washington, D.C. vicinity. I remember seeing one raised and lowered. From bases far to the north, B-52 bombers flew would-be apocalyptic missions daily over the North Pole, ready to deploy their nuclear payload over Soviet targets - with just one order from the President of the United States.
Schools like mine practiced duck-and-cover drills. Everywhere in the country individuals and municipalities alike were building bomb shelters at a frenzied pace, as if their tiny quarters would, or could, render their occupants immune to the lethal radiation, the universal destruction, and the global environmental toxicity which would follow a thermonuclear war. Families were urged to stock up on 2 - 3 weeks of food and water, as if we could somehow emerge unscathed a few days after a nucular holocaust and start life anew.
A nuclear war most certainly would ruin your day, and I knew that even as a kid!
To warn the general population of an impending nuclear attack, and to coordinate civilian wartime activities, the U.S. Government established an organization known as CIVIL DEFENCE (CD). Also, CONELRAD radio stations were set up, and assigned the frequencies 640 and 1240 kHz on the AM radio band. Radios produced and sold during this period had a little triangle on both locations on the dial to mark for quick reference where one would tune in the event of an enemy attack.
Air raid sirens from WWII, now old and obsolete, were replaced quickly and more were added. We were given instructions on TV and radio - and pamphlets and posters could be seen in public buildings, etc. and elsewhere - explaining the meaning of each different siren signal tone.
We were preparing for Armaggeddon!
The huge old 4-way bullhorns we had atop the school's main building had never gone off - at least when I was there. I remember the day a linemen crew came to my school some time in 1960. We all watched in fascination the different phases of building a brand-new Atomic Age air raid siren.
CD personnel came to our school to inform us of the placing of the siren, and warned us of upcoming tests - to not be frightened when it went of periodically. We were even allowed to go up the hill to watch the first tests, and watched and listened, fascinated, as this huge, yellow horn blaired out a commanding alarm - and turned around and around.
The horn's sound was, as it should have been, loud and alarming. The other kids thought it was just a chance to get out of class for a few minutes. But I knew it was not a toy... I knew EXACTLY what the wailing tone meant, if it sounded in earnest. On that day, the sound made my hair stand on end. It still does so to this very day!
The tests continued for a week, and each time a test was scheduled, we were notified beforehand. Then the tests stopped. We returned to our studies, playing on the playgrounds, and listening to rock-n-roll on the transistor radio. All was as it should be.
And all was well and normal, until one day, nearly 2 weeks after the last test, and quite unannounced, the siren began to sound.
IT WAS A WAILING TONE!!! That meant an imminent nuclear attack!
The school was hit with a sheer panic! Pandemonium erupted! Soon students and school staff divided into two groups:
The first group, the survivors, fled in abject terror downstairs to the basement bomb shelter, and the inagined safety of brick and morter. Ducking and covering down in the dirt and darkness of the cavernous recesses of an underground passage, these people were poster children for the Red Scare.
The second group, the lovers of life, gleefully scurried uphill, once more in eager anticipation of hearing the giant klaxon blare its monotonous voice through hill and dale and see the mighty metal device gyrate on its axis. They had a ball!
Now, there was only one exception to all this. There was only one person who neither fled in abject terror to a useless netherworld retreat, nor raced wildly up a hill to see a silly horn turn round and round and round. That lone exception was ME!
I had read and heard enough about the Atomic Bomb and the results of a nuclear blast to know for an absolute fact that - if one of those bombs should fall in the Washington, D.C. vicinity - a bomb shelter would only prolong the inevitable, agonizing death from radiation poisoning.
I had confidence, though, that our Strategic Air Command fighter aircraft, as well as the NIKE missiles surrounding the city would be able to protect us. AND... what a SIGHT that would be: Russian BEAR bombers flying overhead in formation, and being blown out of the sky by ground-to-air missiles!
I figured I had nothing to lose --- I might as well get a ring-side seat for the show!!
And I really wanted to see those Soviet Bear bombers, with their delta-wing configuration and their double, counter-rotating pusher propellers.
What a day!!!
I remember back when I was an 8-year-old --- running outside that day --- standing right in the middle of the baseball field --- far from anyone else --- looking and waiting --- for Russian warplanes that never came.
IT WAS ONLY A TEST!!!
DUCK AND COVER!!
April 28, 2014
“Remember in elementary school, you were told that in case of fire you have to line up quietly in a single file line from smallest to tallest. What is the logic in that? What, do tall people burn slower?” ~Warren Hutcherson, with thanks to Janis Ian
DUCK!!! ...and COVER!!!
When I was 6 - 7 years old, I attended a medium-sized private school in Washington, D.C. I have mostly pleasant memories there - phonics, reading, arithmetic - the usual stuff. This was in 1957 to 1958. We were at peace - sort of.
Across the Atlantic, Europe was still rebuilding after being nearly levelled by bombs during World War II, and the horrors of that war were still vivid in the minds of those who experienced it first-hand. The newsreels said we won, but I didn't thing we did.
An "Iron Curtain" had descended over Europe, separating the free West with the Communist-controlled East. We were being threatened by the very people who earlier claimed to be our allies a dozen years before in World War II. Daily we heard stories of refugees who were able to flee into the west - and of some who were shot or imprisoned while trying.
I read the newspapers, watched the news on TV (such as it was in 1957! (and had a good reading vocabulary, reading on a college level as a child. I also heard the adults talk. I even knew what the "A-bomb" was all about. Heck, even a friend of mine in my class had a daddy who was building his own bomb shelter! This was serious stuff! Programs on TV would advise what items to stock in your basement in case we were attacked and A-bombed. Magazine articles offered tips on prepping.
Throughout the world, countries were split in two: Nationalist and Communist China, East and West Germany, North and South Korea, and North and South Viet Nam. (I remember putting together a puzzle of the 48 states, and noticed that there was a North and South Carolina, and a North and South Dakota, and there was a West Virginia and a Virginia. When I got through with putting the jigsaw together, I asked my mother: "Which states are Communist?" She chuckled.
Things got more and more serious, and we were indoctrinated as to what plan of action we would take in the event of an atomic attack. "DUCK!!....and COVER!! was a little TV ad I recall seeing. We'd actually practice that in the classroom, quickly ducking under our desks - as if that, somehow, would prevent what surely would follow.
One day we had a fallout drill. In case a nuclear bomb fell near us, we'd retreat quietly (so the Russians wouldn't hear us??) and in single file usually from smallest to tallest, to the basement and cower along a wall. There were a few students who didn't have space along the wall, so they sought shelter under the substantial protection of a card table.
"Do you have ANY IDEA..." I wanted to tell the teacher, while I watched that silly exercise, "ANY idea at all what would happen to us if an A-Bomb fell anywhere near here???"
But for once I was quiet. I ducked - and covered!!
Thank God the bombs never fell...
10 January 2013 I wrote: "Just picked up the boys from school. They had a lockdown drill today. Man, have we lost our innocence ! When I was a kid, all we had to drill about was an Atomic Bomb attack!"
“Remember in elementary school, you were told that in case of fire you have to line up quietly in a single file line from smallest to tallest. What is the logic in that? What, do tall people burn slower?” ~Warren Hutcherson, with thanks to Janis Ian
DUCK!!! ...and COVER!!!
When I was 6 - 7 years old, I attended a medium-sized private school in Washington, D.C. I have mostly pleasant memories there - phonics, reading, arithmetic - the usual stuff. This was in 1957 to 1958. We were at peace - sort of.
Across the Atlantic, Europe was still rebuilding after being nearly levelled by bombs during World War II, and the horrors of that war were still vivid in the minds of those who experienced it first-hand. The newsreels said we won, but I didn't thing we did.
An "Iron Curtain" had descended over Europe, separating the free West with the Communist-controlled East. We were being threatened by the very people who earlier claimed to be our allies a dozen years before in World War II. Daily we heard stories of refugees who were able to flee into the west - and of some who were shot or imprisoned while trying.
I read the newspapers, watched the news on TV (such as it was in 1957! (and had a good reading vocabulary, reading on a college level as a child. I also heard the adults talk. I even knew what the "A-bomb" was all about. Heck, even a friend of mine in my class had a daddy who was building his own bomb shelter! This was serious stuff! Programs on TV would advise what items to stock in your basement in case we were attacked and A-bombed. Magazine articles offered tips on prepping.
Throughout the world, countries were split in two: Nationalist and Communist China, East and West Germany, North and South Korea, and North and South Viet Nam. (I remember putting together a puzzle of the 48 states, and noticed that there was a North and South Carolina, and a North and South Dakota, and there was a West Virginia and a Virginia. When I got through with putting the jigsaw together, I asked my mother: "Which states are Communist?" She chuckled.
Things got more and more serious, and we were indoctrinated as to what plan of action we would take in the event of an atomic attack. "DUCK!!....and COVER!! was a little TV ad I recall seeing. We'd actually practice that in the classroom, quickly ducking under our desks - as if that, somehow, would prevent what surely would follow.
One day we had a fallout drill. In case a nuclear bomb fell near us, we'd retreat quietly (so the Russians wouldn't hear us??) and in single file usually from smallest to tallest, to the basement and cower along a wall. There were a few students who didn't have space along the wall, so they sought shelter under the substantial protection of a card table.
"Do you have ANY IDEA..." I wanted to tell the teacher, while I watched that silly exercise, "ANY idea at all what would happen to us if an A-Bomb fell anywhere near here???"
But for once I was quiet. I ducked - and covered!!
Thank God the bombs never fell...
10 January 2013 I wrote: "Just picked up the boys from school. They had a lockdown drill today. Man, have we lost our innocence ! When I was a kid, all we had to drill about was an Atomic Bomb attack!"
OFFICE BOY
OFFICE BOY
...or ... A PRANKING WORTH A SPANKING
02 October 2012
Houston
My very first "job" was as an office boy. OK, it wasn't a real job - I didn't get paid or have coffee breaks. However, I did do work, and got to be a real hero to the guys on the fourth floor.
I was 6 years old, and my mother worked as a secretary in an office building in Washington, D.C.
I thought she had a great job, but she told me that it looked good, but the PAY wasn't anything to write home about. I told her that it was a neat job 'cause she could have all the pens, pencils, erasers, rulers, and staple removers she wanted for free! She told me that it didn't work like that. Oh, well...
Now, because I was 6 years old at the time, I, of course, went to school. But every so often, I'd get a day off for whatever reason, and so my mom would take me to the office. She was so proud of me, and everybody there at the office wanted to see me and say hi to me. Even the blind man who ran the coffee stand in the basement played hide and go seek with me, and usually found me.
(I think he was just playing like he was blind!)
My Mom's boss was Mrs. Mergatroyd (not her real name, but it fits!) She was ever so nice to me, and I really liked her. But I noticed right away that she had rather larger facial features, and, I know it is hard to believe that I'd ever express my opinion out loud, but ... after having a little chat with me, Mrs. Mergatroyd left the office, and I immediately remarked to my mother, in my little voice that carried half a block: "Mommy, Mrs. Mergatroyd has a BIG MOUTH!" (Of course I was referring to the SIZE of her oriface, not that she was a blabbermouth.)
That was the exact second that Mrs. M. returned to the office for... I don't know what... and she heard what I said. I didn't think I said anything wrong, but my Mommy sure was miffed at me!!
I was pretty well-behaved, for a six-year-old boy. I made myself useful there, helping my mother by delivering letters to other offices, taking letters to the drop chute be mailed, bringing her typing paper, ribbons, and all sorts of stuff. I even helped her out by stamping incoming mail with URGENT and IMPORTANT red rubber stamps - even when she didn't want me to, and I still can't understand why she got into a little trouble over this...
I took delight tearing up stuff to be thrown away, punching holds in blank pieces of paper, and in unstapling papers she asked me to unstaple. I also enjoyed watching her make Thermofax copies. Before copying machines that took pictures, the thermofax actually BURNED an image from a typed document onto a blank sheet of paper, and when the top was closed, there was the brightest yellow glow I ever saw! The pages were really hot when they were done.
Now I wasn't a mischevious lad - honest Injun. I just would get into trouble every once in a while for doing stuff. I'll explain:
One time I went to the men's room, located one floor below us. Why men's rooms and women's rooms were not on the same floor, I'll never know. Nevertheless, I was in a stall and after finishing, I decided to crawl out underneath the door into the next stall (which was vacant), and lock it. I repeated the process, locking ALL of the stalls...giggled to myself, washed my hands, and went upstairs, where I had a delightful time playing office boy some more.
Yes, delightful it was, for a short while... that is, until somebody got the bright idea that my mother's little boy could just be the very answer to their problem, came running into the office all excited, and asked my mother if she might volunteer her onlybegotten son to help the guys out on the fourth floor. It seems as though all the toilet stalls were locked, and they needed a little boy to get them unlocked.
My mother was very happy to oblige, saying something like: "Yes, sure! Kenny would be delighted to unlock those toilets." At some point in that conversation I began to see her smiling face change from a smiling, happy countenance, abruptly into one I'd rather not describe, as she contemplated the CAUSE of the problem presented to her. Seconds seemed like minutes to me then. She was quickly coming to the realization that I just might be the perpertator of the lower floor mayhem. She looked at me with that "You are SOOO in trouble!"-look and said sharply: "KENNETH!..." (She never called me that unless I was in doo-doo, and in it deeply I most assuredly was.) At that moment I now instantly recalled the nearly-forgotten events of about an hour ago, and it was like a surge of electricity shot through my brain.
"Kenneth," began the lower tone, stern question I dreaded: "Did YOU lock those toilets in the men's room?"
Of course I had guilt written all over my face. I was so busted!! I never could get away with anything. My mea culpa at my auto-da-fé was at hand, and I quickly confessed to having done the deed most foul, and as penitence, was ordered to "volunteer" for the task, and to head down to the fourth floor post-haste and undo what I had done.
On the fourth floor, in a line that stretched clear to the middle stairway, were men - many men - many very important men, whose suits cost more than my mother made in a month. They were not happy men. They were very uncomfortable men. (In retrospect, did I not realize, as I was committing the terrible act with which I had now been charged, that at some point what I did just might get noticed?
I guess these thoughts do not course through the mind of a 6-year-old...)
My tenure as office boy was now in jeopardy; what I did most certainly was not a career-enhancing move. So, as damage-control (and also because my Mommy told me to!), I eagerly volunteered to go to the rescue of the men of the office.
I had one saving grace - these guys had no idea that it was I who locked the stalls in the first place! They were all smiles when I came to unlock the doors, and they actually THANKED me, akin to people thanking a fireman who extinguishes a blaze HE himself started! For once I was a real hero, although I didn't feel much like one! I also had to apologize to a couple of them, and by then I really was sorry for the misdeed.
They say that time heals all wounds. The converse is also true: Time wounds all HEELS. I was heartily sorry - contrite, even - for what I had done, and I an pleased to say that I did go back to the office once or twice with my mother after that... eventually. I can just imagine word getting out that that "kid was back, and you'd better go now before he locks the toilets again!"
You can bet your bottom dollar I was strongly warned as we went to the office, to exit the toilet area in the normal way!
Thus ended my budding career as office boy!
...or ... A PRANKING WORTH A SPANKING
02 October 2012
Houston
Now I must confess to doing
something naughty! (Who, ME??)
My very first "job" was as an office boy. OK, it wasn't a real job - I didn't get paid or have coffee breaks. However, I did do work, and got to be a real hero to the guys on the fourth floor.
I was 6 years old, and my mother worked as a secretary in an office building in Washington, D.C.
I thought she had a great job, but she told me that it looked good, but the PAY wasn't anything to write home about. I told her that it was a neat job 'cause she could have all the pens, pencils, erasers, rulers, and staple removers she wanted for free! She told me that it didn't work like that. Oh, well...
Now, because I was 6 years old at the time, I, of course, went to school. But every so often, I'd get a day off for whatever reason, and so my mom would take me to the office. She was so proud of me, and everybody there at the office wanted to see me and say hi to me. Even the blind man who ran the coffee stand in the basement played hide and go seek with me, and usually found me.
(I think he was just playing like he was blind!)
My Mom's boss was Mrs. Mergatroyd (not her real name, but it fits!) She was ever so nice to me, and I really liked her. But I noticed right away that she had rather larger facial features, and, I know it is hard to believe that I'd ever express my opinion out loud, but ... after having a little chat with me, Mrs. Mergatroyd left the office, and I immediately remarked to my mother, in my little voice that carried half a block: "Mommy, Mrs. Mergatroyd has a BIG MOUTH!" (Of course I was referring to the SIZE of her oriface, not that she was a blabbermouth.)
That was the exact second that Mrs. M. returned to the office for... I don't know what... and she heard what I said. I didn't think I said anything wrong, but my Mommy sure was miffed at me!!
I was pretty well-behaved, for a six-year-old boy. I made myself useful there, helping my mother by delivering letters to other offices, taking letters to the drop chute be mailed, bringing her typing paper, ribbons, and all sorts of stuff. I even helped her out by stamping incoming mail with URGENT and IMPORTANT red rubber stamps - even when she didn't want me to, and I still can't understand why she got into a little trouble over this...
I took delight tearing up stuff to be thrown away, punching holds in blank pieces of paper, and in unstapling papers she asked me to unstaple. I also enjoyed watching her make Thermofax copies. Before copying machines that took pictures, the thermofax actually BURNED an image from a typed document onto a blank sheet of paper, and when the top was closed, there was the brightest yellow glow I ever saw! The pages were really hot when they were done.
Now I wasn't a mischevious lad - honest Injun. I just would get into trouble every once in a while for doing stuff. I'll explain:
One time I went to the men's room, located one floor below us. Why men's rooms and women's rooms were not on the same floor, I'll never know. Nevertheless, I was in a stall and after finishing, I decided to crawl out underneath the door into the next stall (which was vacant), and lock it. I repeated the process, locking ALL of the stalls...giggled to myself, washed my hands, and went upstairs, where I had a delightful time playing office boy some more.
Yes, delightful it was, for a short while... that is, until somebody got the bright idea that my mother's little boy could just be the very answer to their problem, came running into the office all excited, and asked my mother if she might volunteer her onlybegotten son to help the guys out on the fourth floor. It seems as though all the toilet stalls were locked, and they needed a little boy to get them unlocked.
My mother was very happy to oblige, saying something like: "Yes, sure! Kenny would be delighted to unlock those toilets." At some point in that conversation I began to see her smiling face change from a smiling, happy countenance, abruptly into one I'd rather not describe, as she contemplated the CAUSE of the problem presented to her. Seconds seemed like minutes to me then. She was quickly coming to the realization that I just might be the perpertator of the lower floor mayhem. She looked at me with that "You are SOOO in trouble!"-look and said sharply: "KENNETH!..." (She never called me that unless I was in doo-doo, and in it deeply I most assuredly was.) At that moment I now instantly recalled the nearly-forgotten events of about an hour ago, and it was like a surge of electricity shot through my brain.
"Kenneth," began the lower tone, stern question I dreaded: "Did YOU lock those toilets in the men's room?"
Of course I had guilt written all over my face. I was so busted!! I never could get away with anything. My mea culpa at my auto-da-fé was at hand, and I quickly confessed to having done the deed most foul, and as penitence, was ordered to "volunteer" for the task, and to head down to the fourth floor post-haste and undo what I had done.
On the fourth floor, in a line that stretched clear to the middle stairway, were men - many men - many very important men, whose suits cost more than my mother made in a month. They were not happy men. They were very uncomfortable men. (In retrospect, did I not realize, as I was committing the terrible act with which I had now been charged, that at some point what I did just might get noticed?
I guess these thoughts do not course through the mind of a 6-year-old...)
My tenure as office boy was now in jeopardy; what I did most certainly was not a career-enhancing move. So, as damage-control (and also because my Mommy told me to!), I eagerly volunteered to go to the rescue of the men of the office.
I had one saving grace - these guys had no idea that it was I who locked the stalls in the first place! They were all smiles when I came to unlock the doors, and they actually THANKED me, akin to people thanking a fireman who extinguishes a blaze HE himself started! For once I was a real hero, although I didn't feel much like one! I also had to apologize to a couple of them, and by then I really was sorry for the misdeed.
They say that time heals all wounds. The converse is also true: Time wounds all HEELS. I was heartily sorry - contrite, even - for what I had done, and I an pleased to say that I did go back to the office once or twice with my mother after that... eventually. I can just imagine word getting out that that "kid was back, and you'd better go now before he locks the toilets again!"
You can bet your bottom dollar I was strongly warned as we went to the office, to exit the toilet area in the normal way!
Thus ended my budding career as office boy!
Sunday, April 27, 2014
AKRON - TWILIGHT ZONE CITY
AKRON OHIO - 𝓣𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓩𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂
©KENNETH E. HALL APRIL 26, 2014 HOUSTON
"There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the 𝓣𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓩𝓸𝓷𝓮."
"There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the 𝓣𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓩𝓸𝓷𝓮."
Different strokes for different folks, I always say. Why do I always say that?
Mainly because I'm one of those "different folks!" I'll explain:
Most people are interested in the ordinary, the commonplace, the mundane...and that's fine. Different strokes, etc. But I learned as a child growing up to notcopy people, and to not do something simply because others were doing it - or because "Society" said so.
I learned early on that what I was, in fact, was a human version of the salmon - always swimming upstream. I found it was more difficult swimming against the current, but, strangely enough, I also found it far more rewarding than living a life following others like a sheep.
So, to put it poetically, I took the road less travelled. I developed my own unique interests and tastes - Society be damned. I liked the music I liked - not because some commercial radio station said I should like it.
One thing I began to like early on was the airship - commonly known as the blimp. Blimps fascinated me. If one flew by, I'd run outside and watch it go by. I can't explain exactly why I had such an affinity to that unusual aircraft... maybe it's because it was --- unusual.
Through the years I developed this interest into a sort of hobby - taking photographs of the craft whenever I got the chance, and researching the history of dirigibles and Zeppelins. It was something I did by myself, unless I dragged someone like my mother or my wife or children along as I happily chased a blimp across town.
Funny, for having such an uncommon hobby, whenever a blimp landed at the local airport, there seemed to be quite a number of others on hand, looking and taking pictures of the aerostat - just like me! What do you know!
Later, I became a regular contributor on a lighter-than-air craft website in the internet. It seems as though I wasn't the only lone wolf in the world. There were actually quite a number of us around, which made me happy, because it is fun to share information and also to learn from others.
So it came to pass that this group was going to hold some sort of Lighter-Than-Air technology convention (LTA) in Akron, Ohio.
Why Akron? Well, firstly, it is the home of the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company, which kept blimps flying when the world thought they were extinct. Blimps were actually assembled in Akron and more than a few were based near there for many decades.
Why Akron? Well, firstly, it is the home of the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company, which kept blimps flying when the world thought they were extinct. Blimps were actually assembled in Akron and more than a few were based near there for many decades.
Secondly, the huge Goodyear Airdock hangar, which housed some of the world's largest airships, was also there - in lowly Akron. So it was there that the convention was to be held. I decided I would take my self-developed hobby to a new level and attend this interesting conference. After all, many manufacturers, owners, and operators of blimps would be there, so the information said on the site. "Blimps will fill the skies of Akron" was another boast, because a total of 4 or 5 blimps at least were expected.
This was too good to pass up, I thought, and so I made plans to attend, making reservations at the convention hotel and everything. I was set. I took an plane to Detroit, changed planes there, making a brief stop in Cleveland, and landed finally in Akron - the Lighter-than-air MECCA! It was exciting.
As I deplaned, I thought I was getting off in Akron, Ohio. What I really did was buy a First Class ticket...to the TWILIGHT ZONE!
Now, the first clue that all was not going to go as well as I had anticipated was the fact that there was not a blimp in sight - not a single one! None were flying over the skies of the city, nor were there any at the airport. But there was a second airport across town - maybe they're there, I thought.
I walked into the terminal, and looked around. It looked like any small to medium-sized airport that I had ever been in - and I had been in a lot of them. There was even a Visitor's Information booth, and a gift shop. I was happy. Anticipation was building.
I went to a payphone and called the hotel - a major chain hotel, I might add, located in the heart of downtown, and asked if they had a courtesy van. They answered that they did not. (Unbeknown to me, this was a portent of things to come.) No problem, I thought; I'll just take a bus into town. It's probably not that far.
I went to the Visitors Information booth and asked what the best way to get into downtown was.
"Taxi." came the dry reply of a person who acted like she really didn't want to be there.
TAXI!! Really?? Of course, I'd be delighted to pay $50.00 for a one-way cab ride into town. These guys are the same in every city. For some reason the taxicab lobby seems to be extremely powerful politically, and has in most major metropolitan areas been successful in keeping other forms of transportation well away from city airports.
Here's a secret: nearly every airport in nearly every city in the United States is served by some form of public transportation! The cabbies don't want you to know about it for fear they won't be able to rip you off and you can get an equivalent ride for a fraction of what they'd gouge you for. Instead of $40.00 - $50.00 one way, a city bus or light rail or subway, etc will charge you between $2.00 - $15.00 - depending on what city you happen to be in. The trick is to FIND those facilities. (HINT: They're not usually marked. They don't want you to find them! Low-cost local transportation is for LOCALS. The turistas are fair game, and deserve to be bilked out of every peso they can! THAT is why the word "TAXI" spills from the lips of every airport information person you will ever deal with - it's because that's how their economy survives.
I thanked the lady (for stating the obvious) and as I left, from the corner of my eye, I spied the car rental counters. A-HA! thought I - this could work: I could rent a car for about HALF of what the taxi would charge me, and get a free trip back to the airport - AND be able to use it to run around the area in my free time! I'm a friggin' GENIUS!!
I walked up to the first counter, smiled, and asked how much it was to rent a car for a couple of days for local use. The charge would have come to some $50.00/day PLUS MILEAGE + gas! By the time I added insurance and a few other unmentioned line-items added in for good measure, this car rental idea was turning into an expensive proposition.
"But," I protested, "Don't you guys have weekend specials for $20.00 a day?"
"Oh, sure we do," the clerk replied, and often cheaper than that. But today the rate I just gave you is the best we can do."
I politely thanked her and proceeded to counter #2, where the same scenario played out. The third counter, a so-called " economical" rental firm, actually quoted me higher than the #1 and #2 companies. I was frustrated... and fresh out of car rental options. This would take some creative thinking.
Desirous to clear my brain of angry thoughts, I walked into the gift shop, where I had expected to see some sort of blimp-related souvenirs - maybe some post cards - who knows? Not seeing any, I asked if they had some, and got a, by now, strangely familiar-sounding reply: "Oh, sure we do. Most definitely. Only today we don't have them for sale." the clerk informed me, without bothering to move from her stool behind the counter.
Now, at this juncture I will mention that, at the time, I was an employee of a major U.S. airline, and as such, elligible to fly at greatly reduced fare. I thought it would be fun to pay a visit to my aunt and uncle in Pittsburgh while I was relatively close by. I would get a stand-by ticket to Pittsburgh and leave after the convention.
At the time there were two commuter airlines: the one I arrived from Detroit on, and a second one with which we also had an interline agreement. When I asked if I could get an airline employee stand-by ticket, the people at the first company said: "Sure, sure you can... but not here. You'd have to get it at our Cleveland office."
"What?" I asked, flabbergasted, "I'd have to pay full fare from here to Cleveland, just so I could get a stand-by ticket from here to Pittsburgh? That makes no sense!!"
Apparently it did to them. The second company was less accommodating. They referred me to their home office in another more distant part of the country.
I was beside myself! I just wanted to get to the hotel, get a shower, and have a bite to eat. Against my better judgement, I returned to the so-called "Visitor's Information" counter that had been of so much assistance a few minutes before.
"Excuse me," I said, "Is there any sort of, say, airport limousine service into town?"
"Oh, yes, sir" was the reply, "just go across to that counter over there."
NOW I'm GETTING somewhere!
I walked up to the counter, and lo! and behold there was a big poster with a limousine schedule, and table of charges, sharp color photographs of lovely buses, and everything else that could conceivably be posted about the limo service - with the possible exception of the genealogy of the bus drivers back to the dark ages.
I was thrilled! I asked the person behind the counter where I could catch this lovely limousine to town, and - well - I hate to say this - but the man said: "Oh, sure there's limo service to town... but it's not running today."
It was then and there that I pointed over my shoulders and asked the man to look at my back as I turned around for him to see if my "DUMB YOKEL" sign was on straight.
"I don't understand what you mean, sir," was the reply,
"Look, ever since I arrived in this screwy town, " I continued, in a loud voice - partly for the benefit of workers at the other counters, "all of you guys have had fun at my expense, and must think I'm some kind of HICK who just fell off the turnip truck!" I walked away, not waiting for any inane reply involving sunspot activity or the Van Allen Radiation Belt.
I went up to yet another counter selling I can't remember what, and asked, on the QT "Look, can you level with me? PLEASE? I know there is a city bus stop near here... can't you tell me where it is?
(I PROMISE not to tell anybody…)
"Sure," said the person behind the counter, "It's right there." and pointed to a bus-stop sign just outside the door.
I didn't want to get my hopes up. I was beginning to feel that I was on Green Acres or some such sitcom - the butt of some cynical joke. I walked outside, pulling my suitcase along, and - just to be sure - I asked a policeman if I was standing by the bus stop for the bus that could take me into town. He nodded in the affirmative.
Some twenty minutes later along came a small bus, and it stopped right where I was standing. I paid my fare - guess it was $1.00, and sat down. We started up, and an uncomfortable feeling gradually crept up on me.
"Sir," I inquired, "This IS the bus into downtown, RIGHT??"
"No, sir," the driver corrected me, " You need the other bus. ( I nearly lost it.) "But don't worry..." he added - (after all the BULL I went through at the terminal, why WOULDN'T I worry?!?) But the driver honked his horn as we approached an intersection, tore off a paper from a tablet, and said: "Here, take this transfer and give it to the driver of that bus, and he'll take you right into town!"
I boarded the waiting bus, gave the driver my transfer, and this time lost not a second and asked: "You are going into town, right?"
"Sure I am," he replied, nicely enough. Where are you trying to go?"
"To the ___ hotel," I said, awaiting some sort of goofball reply. It came soon enough -
"Oh I don't go there." he informed me.
"Well, do you go anywhere NEAR there - - - anywhere at ALL near there?" I asked, losing hope by the second.
"Sorry, but I can only drop you off about 5 blocks away, " he told me, as if that was bad news.
"FANTASTIC!!!" I said. If the man had handed me a $500.00 bill I couldn't have been happier - - - I'd soon get to the hotel. That was all I cared about.
It wasn't too long after that that I was dropped off in downtown Akron. I had at last arrived. All will go well from now on, I thought optimistically. I got to the hotel in minutes, walked up to the reception counter, told the desk clerk my name, and that I had a reservation.
He looked diligently through his folios and then looked up at me and said: "No, sir, I'm afraid I don't have a reservation for you."
"I'm sure there must be some mistake, " I protested; but after all, this was AKRON...
"Did you make GUARANTEED reservations?" the clerk asked.
"No, sir, I did not," I admitted...
"Well, I'm sorry, sir, but your reservations have been cancelled, as of 6:00 pm." The clerk explained.
"But it's 6:10 right now..." I protested.
"Exactly!" came the clerk's response, looking quite justified in his stance.
"Well, then, in that case, " I went on, (In the land of the insane, one must act accordingly.) "Do you have any rooms available?"
The desk clerk looked through his folios and replied: "Yes, sir, we do; Would you like a room?"
(NO YOU DARNED FOOL, I'M HERE FOR AN OIL CHANGE!!!!!!)
I must think calm thoughts.
I must think calm thoughts.
I must think calm thoughts.
"Yes, I'd love one." I replied, biting my tongue and smiling at the clerk, whose neck I'd have happily wrung in a New York second, and I'm a peaceful man.
"I'm here with the LTA convention" I added, though I don't really know why I said that. There was only one going on then, apparently, and he knew about it. Whaddaya know - I got the convention discount. I wasn't going to push that issue... so I guess even a blind squirrel finds an occasional nut.
I went to my room, took a long, hot shower (the water actually worked), got dressed, and decided to challenge the 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓊𝓂 once again. I was hungry, and went down to see about getting something to let my poor stomach know that my throat hadn't been cut. I hadn't had so much as a peanut since I departed my home in Houston this morning.
The hotel restaurant looked inviting, but this was too mainstream for me. I couldn't be bothered with the commonplace - the mundane. Oh, no - not ME!! I was sure that there was a road-less-travelled out in Akron that would lead me to some exotic and inexpensive restaurant - offering great food and eclectic atmosphere. I think the carbon monoxide from the bus must have gotten to my brain!!!
I walked around the city, and took in all its sights, such as they were. The city boasted clean, new, nicely-paved streets and was beautifully decorated with flower gardens everywhere. I passed quite a few bars, but no restaurants. None at all. Not even a hamburger joint! Now my stomach began to give me pangs I hadn't felt since I was a kid in high school!
One funny thing I noticed: every here and there, guys who'd pass me on the sidewalk would say "hi!" and wave to me, like they knew me or something. Now, I'm a friendly guy, I'll be the first to admit; this, however, was something I had never seen before. I finally found out why I was all of a sudden some kind of celebrity in this town I'd never been to before: It was my SHIRT!!
A few years before this visit, while passing through Akron en-route to Cleveland from Pittsburgh by car, I stopped in at the Goodyear company store (they were actually open!) and bought a beautiful shirt with a Goodyear BLIMP on it! That was IT - everybody in the city worked for Goodyear, one way or other. These guys were my brothers in tire and rubber production, by golly!
Goodyear or good will - I still needed to eat - and there was no food in sight. So, sadly, unrequited, I returned to the hotel, where I learned that I had walked around for so long that the doggone hotel restaurant was closed!!!! Really!!! SERIOUSLY???!?!??
Seeing my plight and frustration, the concièrge sent me upstairs to the bar, where they had some light snacks, and I was treated to a big bowl of the best French onion soup I have ever had to this very day - even in Paris!! I must've been hungry.
The convention began the following morning, and was smaller that I has envisioned, but very interesting, nonetheless. No blimps filled the skies, as was foretold. The two blimps that Daned to make their appearance were, as I suspected, not flying and were moored at the other airport - and I have already mentioned my not having transportation.
The following evening, after the meetings were over, I called the University of Akron, inquiring into their archives of lighter-than-air craft. Over the phone came the same out-worn, pre-recorded reply that I had heard so many times before: " Oh, sure, yes we have the world's largest collection of lighter-than-air materials. But unfortunately..." (I really didn't want to hear anything more about dinosaur poo or ray guns, or whatever wild reason the guy was going to give me for telling me I was SOL)
"We are undergoing major renovations. Come back later - it's going to be great!" the guy finished. Whatever!
I hung up the phone and said aloud to myself: "Come back?? COME BACK?? Are you frigging KIDDING me?? I wouldn't come back to this LOONEY-BIN for all the tea in China!
I paid my bill downstairs - amazingly enough they took my credit card. I tried not to think at all. I asked where the Greyhound bus station was, got directions, and I walked some two miles to it. The next bus to Pittsburgh didn't leave for another two hours, and once again I was getting hungry. (This happens to me every so often - it's a bad habit I'm trying not too successfully to break.)
From my seat in the tiny bus depot I spied, of all places, a hamburger joint. It was a chain I would rather avoid; in fact, this was the LAST place I'd EVER want to eat, but given my previous experience walking the gastronomically-challenged streets of downtown Akron, this was "any port in a storm." My stomach growled in discontent, and the storm clouds were gathering!
I crossed the street can began circling the little fast-food place, in a vain search for the entrance. I stopped to scratch my head, when an employee exited the place through a side door.
"Excuse me," I asked, "But where it the entrance?"
"This is a drive-thru only" replied the girl.
I pointed to my suitcase, then to the bus station across the street, and said: "Do I LOOK like I can drive through?"
"No," replied the girl, as if she could care less.
"Can't I just get a hamburger?" I protested. (Remember... this is AKRON...)
"No, sir, you have to have a car."
HOLD MY HAND WHILE I ZAP MYSELF DOWN TO HOUSTON TO GET MY CAR, DINGBAT!!
Once more I found myself frustrated beyond belief. Then I saw it: a convenience store!!
I walked in. Sounds of Arabic music met my ears.
I saw some sandwiches sitting on the counter. I picked one up and walked up to the counter.
The clerk was obviously Palestinian, so after the customary greeting es-salaam aleikum, I asked him, in Arabic, if the sandwiches were for sale. He said they were. I asked him did he take American money, and he also said yes, with a somewhat mystified look on his face. I continued: "So if I give you American money for this sandwich, I can take it, and I can eat it - today - now?"
"Not from around here, are you?" he asked.
"Ana ajnabi." - I'm a foreigner" I replied I was indeed a stranger there, "And this is a strange place indeed!" I continued.
Nothing made me happier than seeing AKRON through the rear window of that Greyhound bus. If it pleases the 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓊𝓂 (and Almighty Allah!) I shall never see the place again.
My bus trip was uneventful, my visit to my family in Pittsburgh was enjoyable, and I flew down later to Houston, with no further crazy events. I drove home from the airport, and, as I turned into my subdivision, I heard a familiar drone of an aircraft engine coming from the skies above...........
............I stopped my car and got out - and watched a GOODYEAR BLIMP fly overhead.
THE STORY YOU HAVE JUST READ IS TRUE. IT HAPPENED EXACTLY AS DESCRIBED, WITH NO EMBELLISHMENTS OR CHANGES - JUST THE FACTS. I DOUBT IF JAMES THURBER COULD HAVE WRITTEN A SHORT STORY TO APPROACH MY TRUE ONE.
THE NEXT TIME I SEE ANY SORT OF INFORMATION INVOLVING LIGHTER-THAN-AIR ACTIVITIES IN AKRON, I WILL IMMEDIATELY DISMISS IT. LIFE IS JUST TOO SHORT.
THE STORY YOU HAVE JUST READ IS TRUE. IT HAPPENED EXACTLY AS DESCRIBED, WITH NO EMBELLISHMENTS OR CHANGES - JUST THE FACTS. I DOUBT IF JAMES THURBER COULD HAVE WRITTEN A SHORT STORY TO APPROACH MY TRUE ONE.
THE NEXT TIME I SEE ANY SORT OF INFORMATION INVOLVING LIGHTER-THAN-AIR ACTIVITIES IN AKRON, I WILL IMMEDIATELY DISMISS IT. LIFE IS JUST TOO SHORT.
Goodyear Blimp Drawing from 1976:
Pen and Ink print of Houston from the Bi-Centennial Year, 1976. Signed by Michael Bludworth, the artist in the lower right corner. Original as restored by Chris Bryan.
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