The Tree Surgeon
It was 5 pm and the traffic was at crawl when Homeward bound motorist noticed a Tree Surgeon dangling from a Pine tree over their heads like a Christmas Tree ornament. Suspected comments probably ranged from “O My God” to “What a Dumb Ass”, and in typical Philadelphian manner they just kept moving preserving their reputation earned when they booed Santa Claus in a Thanksgiving Parade.
I suppose the genesis for this unfortunate incident might have been the day I decided to purchase a Tri-Fuel Boiler for the house. You know, one of those units that burns either Wood, Coal or Oil. I had become obsessed with the idea that I could heat our home more economically by having the options of burning wood or coal and use oil as a backup source of energy. Not bad thinking on the surface if you ignore the labor factor. Coal was much cheaper than oil and I was experienced in maintaining a well banked fire from my early days when I cleaned coal bins and keep a coal furnace fired and stoked.
Naturally the passage of time erases the memories of the disadvantages associated with those days, like coal dust, shoveling of coal, and the disposal of the ashes. But hey, this Tri-Fuel puppy also burns wood and that put me in another life cycle of looking for and hauling home every piece of wood my eye could spot. I’m now “Paul Bunyan” and purchasing all sorts of equipment to assist me in this new Wilderness Style Lifestyle.
Ever hear of the Chopper 1 Axe. I used this amazing axe for splitting logs I brought home. But I needed Chain Saw to be able to get logs in my cars trunk so I spend $80.00 dollars on the Chopper 1 axe and $90.00 on a “Homelite 16 inch Chainsaw”. Combining these cost with the $5,000 dollars for the Tri-Fuel Furnace we’re starting to talk real money here. But I not finished yet. I’ve yet to solve the heating of my office which is on an enclosed unheated porch. So off I go to find a heating source for the Office. That’s when I discovered those air tight wood or pellet Burning stoves. So while I’m buying the stove the Office I think why not pick up an air tight Wood burning insert for the living room fire place. After all if I’m going to make this change in lifestyle why not go all the way. I purchase the office stove and the Fireplace insert adding $900.00 for the office stove and $1,100.00 for the fireplace insert to the investment above. Chump change compared to the Thousands I’ll be saving in fuel cost,right.
Now all I need is Coal, Wood and Oil. The Coal and Oil are easy. A phone call plus money and Wa La they’re delivered and stored in a relatively small space. Wood, now that is another matter. A cord of wood measures 4′ wide by 4′ high and 8′ long, or 128 cubic feet. So my task is now to gather Four cords of wood, the amount I estimated it would take to run the two stoves and the Furnace for three months. I planned to store the wood in our two car garage and park the cars outside for the Winter. This is not an easy task, but fortunately I was young and Stupid, and harbored no limiting fears.
About this time I was taking both of my children to the Orthodontist for braces. I sure most of you have experienced the gripping terror when you discovered how much a pretty smile for little Johnny or Mary cost. Peanuts compared to my “Paul Bunyan” experiment. However as luck would have it my Orthodontist worked out of her home which was an estate of some size with many many large trees and she had a need and I had a bill. A deal was made where I was to take down one really huge Oak Tree (4′ dia. and really tall) and a Pine tree that was leaning and about to fall for Orthodontic services rendered.
In steps the “Tree Surgeon“, a good friend and client of mine, who was a Preacher in a small county Church. When I told him of my problem he said “Nelson, let me help you. I can take down that tree in about five hours and all you will have do is cut it up and haul it home.” Talk about answered prayer. And who better to receive it from than a person in good standing with the LORD. Good as his word the mighty Oak came down and for the next week I hauled close to 8 cords of wood home to be split and stacked in the garage.
Wondering about the leaning Pine tree aren’t you? Yep, now for the sad part of this tale. My friend after a few instructions lent me his climbing equipment. The Belt, Climbing spikes, and various ropes to tie off and let down safely what I dismembered from the tree. Everything went well for the first thirty feet. I was a tree climbing and tree cutting fool. That is until I reached the top when I became just a tree climbing FOOL. Remember when I said that it was a Pine tree that was leaning. Well as I got to the top, the trunk was much smaller and the tree was leaning out over the road, I started to doubt my trust in leaning out from the tree and letting the climbers belt hold me. I instead started to lean into the tree and oops, it happened. Those leg spikes came loose from the tree and I found myself hanging by the belt which was to working its’ way up my body. Thank GOD for Arms and Arm pits or I would have become a real ugly Traffic Cone on the road below.
Dangling with my face smudged against the tree and my chainsaw hanging from the belt which is now around my chest, I from my closet of prayer said ” LORD any chance you can lend a hand here“ The answer of course is the fact I’m here penning this woefully embarrassing experience. There are times in life where you reflect, Wow I could have been killed if I had not been so lucky. However through this Episode I did survived with my stupidity still intact to perform again on another day some other incredibly stupid act.
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“The Black Whip, Part 2″
With my twenty five cents in hand surrounded several dozen noisy kids we storm the Movie theater. Zorro’s Black Whip is about to begin. When we left last week Zorro was rescuing a Damsel from inside the Stage Coach as it was going off the Cliff.
Like wise last week I was staring at the Engine cover hovering above the wing thinking that I might have a ticket to Heaven before my Mother. Sgt. Spivey is now leaning into the Blister with me and assessing the problem. He has been flying on these aircraft for over five years and has experience a lot of strange things. This he tells me is new and he has to think for a few minutes.
While the Sgt. is thinking, this might be a good time to enlighten you on a couple things about the B-36. If you looked at the picture last week you might have visualize the plane as a long Cigar with wings. The Flying Cigar. This long cylindrical fuselage had seventy percent of its’ surface covered with thin Magnesium sheet metal, which has physical properties of being very light and the ability to burn like a 4th of July sparkler.
Sgt Spivey starts to talk to me and so you can listen to him with some insight, Sgt. Spivey is a Texas “Good Old Boy” with a heavy southern drawl. “Well Nelson, I sees it this way” he starts out. “If that there thing breaks loose and hits that number three Prop. We’s got big trouble. It could hit a blade causing the Prop to come off.” “That, my son might cause that there Engine Housing to collapse on the left landing gear under it and if that happens a wheels up landing is going to happen. This here Magnesium Cigar will become the biggest damn Road Flare ever seen in the State of Texas.” I’m not taking this very well and respond, “Spivey, I’m having enough problems with my Skid Marks without hearing this.” ” Well Nelson, you can always bail out if you want.” he said. I answer him with an “Expletive Deleted” comment.
Spivey then gets Col. Burch on the intercom and reports his assessment of our situation. “Here’s what I think Col. That Engine cover has lifted up into the Wing Vacuum above the upper Camber and appears to be quite stable. It should be okay until Landing. I suggest number three prop be feathered at that time because when those Props reverse that puppy is going bye bye.” Burch responds “Leon, gotcha, keep an eye on it and report any changes.” Spivey, just looks at me and laughs as he goes back to his seat. I shout at him, “Spivey, you Expletive Deleted.”
So off we go to Africa. The mission profile has us going to North Carolina, up the Alantic coast to Greenland, U Turning and coming straight down the middle of the Atlantic to the Azores then turning left and flying to French Morocco landing some Forty hours later. And just as my man Spivey said, on landing when the Props reversed that Engine cover just flipped up and over the Tail to be picked up and delivered to me after we parked. There is no substitute for Experience.
Now what about that the Secret Mission? Col. Burch gets his Navigator, Major Marr, on the intercom and says “Bob, your car is here” You have understand this crew. Col. Burch and his hand picked crew are the Lead Standby Crew in SAC( Strategic Air Command) and were responsible for training all the Flight Crews in the 492nd Bomber Squadron. They have a track record of excellence which elevated them to where important secret missions are entrusted. Major Marr is an interesting man. West Point Graduate which in itself sets him above most. He also, so the rumor goes, comes from a family with lots of “Old Money”. What I do know is what is told me by his fellow crew members. No matter where his plane lands there is always Staff Car waiting for him. That’s called being “Connected”. So off Major Marr goes not to be seen again until our take off three days latter.
Before I forget, remember the scene above from the Black Whip and the stage coach going over the cliff. Well at the start of the movie this time the view we have of the Black Whip and the Stage Coach is from the opposite side. As the Stage Coach starts over the cliff the coach door opens and Zorro, leaps from the careening coach with the pretty Damsel in his arms to safety. However at the end of this Chapter he finds himself again trapped, only this time in a burning building while again the screen goes Black. But don’t worry, I’ll finish this saga, so hang on.
In the mean time the Engine cover bent and dinged is delivered to me for repair and installation back to its’ Engine while Bomb loading and Weapons installation practice for the next two days begins. This Air Base where we are is on the North end of the Sahara desert and is just an awful place. “Bob Hope” once did a USO Show there and the classic Bob Hope line everybody repeats to us was: “I hear the Base Commander doesn’t report men who go AWOL for THREE DAYS because you can still see them WALKING”.
Three am on the third day Sgt Spivey and I report to our plane and perform our pre-flight duties. I notice the Bomb Bay doors are closed and Spivey says he performed any checks involving them last night. The Flight crew arrives at Five and by Six am we are off. I’m expecting another long flight but Sgt. Spivey tells me that we’re doing a direct low level flight home and will land around 5 pm Texas time which is about seventeen hours.
The ETA to home is right on and we land promptly at Five pm. As Col. Burch pulls the plane off the runway he announces that the Base Custom Officer will be boarding the plane and collecting our “Custom Declaration Forms”. This procedure is a Federal mandate for all planes entering the States from and Foreign Counties. Sure enough an Officer pokes his up through the lower compartment hatch and ask for our forms while asking “Anybody got anything to declare”. We all answer “No”.
That done we continue to taxi to our Hanger and shut down. We all deplane and walk to the hanger where there is a gathering of Officers with their wives. It was the damnest thing. There was food, beer and believe it or not music. Party time for the returning Cold War Warriors I guess. This revelry goes until dark (around seven pm) when Major Marr orders Sgt Spivey to open up the Bomb Bays and unload that Cargo Platform that was installed before we left.
I open the Bomb Bay doors and Sgt. Spivey and I climb up on the platform which is plied high with maybe a hundred or so boxes. They’re secured to the platform with cargo netting. Spivey and I get them unsecured and start to hand individual boxes to the many somewhat drunk officers from the party who are now excitedly standing under the platform. At one time I hand a box to the same Officer who was the Base Custom Officer that inspected the plane when we landed. This took all of a half hour to do this and when done I went with Spivey back to the Hanger.
There they were, all those boxes stacked neatly on the Hanger floor and standing before them was our Major Marr with a paper list in his hand. He would read off a name and the person whose name was called came forward and claimed a certain number of those boxes. This went on until all boxes were taken. The Claimants giddy with excitemet took their haul and left.
You see, this “Secret Clandestine Mission” assigned to Col Burch and his crack SAC crew was in fact the annual 492nd Bomber Squadrons………..
WHISKEY RUN
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“The Black Whip”
Saturdays with hundreds of other screaming kids at the Lehigh Ave theater I would be watching “The Black Whip” serial movies. Those Saturday Matinees would show one chapter each week with nail biting endings drawing the kids back to see what happen next week after the “Stage Coach” went off the cliff.
This and other thoughts are surging through my mind as we start to taxi out to the Runway. I’m excited and scared and I’m thinking “How did I ever get here“. Gone was comfort and safety of home. That disappeared the day before my High School Graduation when Mother pulled me aside with “Nelson we need to talk“. I knew that tone well and understood it housed no good news for me. ” What are your plans after tomorrow.” was the question. Casually I said “I’m probably going to continue working at Tax Eddy’s gas station” (A place where I’ve been working for four years while going to school). “Okay”, Mom said, “That’s good, however you know that in this house all the adults share in the living expenses each month and you will responsible for your portion come next month.” Enter my first taste of Adult reality. It took me less than twenty four hours to decide that the Air Force was going to be my new home. So five days later off I went a newly minted Air Force recruit.
Mind you I’m not attempting to toot my horn, but there is one area of my life where it can be said that I was one hell of a Mechanic. I sucked at seventy percent of my other personal achievements but as an Air Force A & E mechanic I was damn good. Because I was so good I was chosen from a pool of several dozen other mechanics by a Sargent Leon Spivey to be his Assistant Crew Chief on a B-36 Bomber assigned to the 492nd Bomber Squadron. An honor few got at so young an age.
Back to the runway. We are taxing into position for take off. This is my first flight and like I said before I’m both nervous and excited. We’re in position, brakes locked and the Flight Crew, both up front and in the back where I am, are going through the take off check lists. Col. Burch the Aircraft Commander gives the order to bring the engines ( all ten engines) to take off power. The four jets start to roar, the six R4360 turbo compound 28 cylinder engines are starting to pull 65 inches of manifold pressure which causes them to release noise and vibration I never heard or felt before. All this noise and vibration becomes so intense my vision starts to blur.
Col. Burch releases the parking brakes and everybody is slammed back in their seat as the Behemoth leaps forward. I tell you in 1957 this feeling for us was like being in a rocket. Unreal and breath taking. I’m leaning out in the left Scanners Blister observing the engines, landing gear and a dozen other things while seeing the concrete runway accelerating past me. The skid marks of thousands of landings becoming a blur while I’m praying that I won’t be making my own skid marks in you know where.
What happens next will have more relevance if I first revel why we are on this mission. Once a year Orders come from somewhere, who knows where, that a plane is to be dispatched on a secret mission to Africa under the pretense of advance training in weapon loading. The real mission is classified and only a select Flight Crew with its’ Aircraft knows its’ true purpose. The plane is loaded with a special cargo platform in the aft Bomb Bay and a really huge Atomic Bomb in the forward bomb bay. The Atomic Bomb is to be part of the advance weapons loading training. Along with the A-Bomb and Cargo platform there is a maximum fuel load and tons of various replacement parts for Aircraft repairs if needed. In short, we are super heavy and take off will be a b@%ch. if you get the drift.
So there I am scared to death reporting to the Aircraft Commander and Flight Engineer the necessary observations they need. In case your wondering why, the Dimensions of the B-36 are as follows
Length 161 feet
Wing Span 230 feet
Height 46 feet
Fuel Capacity 30,000 Gallons
Gross take off weight 410,000 pounds
As we are screaming down the runway the pitch of engines step up a notch. The Engineer has the Tubo super chargers on each engine dialed in and he has just released Water Injection into the six bellowing R4360 motors. What Water injection does is this. It allows a temporary cooling in the engine cylinders which allows a few more inches of manifold pressure to be created, which allows more fuel to enter the cylinders, which in turn produces more thrust and that in turn increases the propensity of my body producing more skid marks in you know where. You had to be there to appreciate how awesome this adrenaline rush becomes. Each engine has 55 gallons of water/alcohol mixture to produce this kick and in 20 seconds it is gone, all 330 gallons, and the plane just leaps off the ground.
I’m now making my reports to Col. Burch when suddenly I see it. Number three engine, the engine closest to the aircraft body on the left wing, has a loose outboard engine cover and the cover is flapping in the airstream. This cover is four foot wide and six foot long. It should be fastened to the engine housing with no less the 80 little Dzues fasteners, it appears that only 3 or 4 are holding it to the engine.
The news is not received well. Col Burch is in a outrage. If it were not so serious I believe the culprit responsible would be called up front and given thirty lashes and tossed out of the ship. But it is serious and we are in danger. Too heavy to land, on a secret clandestine mission, Atomic bomb in the bomb bay and lives at stake. Not a good thing.
However like the days of my youth in the Lehigh ave theater as the stage coach with damsel in distress goes off the cliff, the screen goes black and screaming kids have to leave only to come back next week to see the The Black Whip, Chapter two.
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding.
My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
Promptings
He laid there hidden by the bush for hours. Two women, oblivious to the bush and its’ hidden secret, just continued batting tennis balls, back and forth, back and forth, until finally one ball sails over the fence. The forerunner to his body’s discovery was now the tennis ball for it landed next to his silent and now cold body. Reaching to retrieve the errant sphere by one of the Tennis combatants exposes him lying lifelessly staring as only the dead can stare.
Two thousand miles to the east and some nine hours since the tennis ball’s discovery a phone rings in a New Jersey flat. Phone calls at three am always harbor chilling thoughts of, ” This can’t be good“, and this call was no exception. You see the brother of the discovered body was the one answering the phone. As the scene of this tragedy is unfurled through the phone receiver, tears and emotional thoughts of the last time he saw his brother begin. Staring out the apartment window at the brick wall of the building next door he says “I’m so sorry Kris, I love you and miss you and Kris I promise to never ever let this happen again”
Back tracking events we see him at his Parents home saying good bye. He, his wife and their eighteen month daughter, was off to a new job two thousand miles away. Excited and anxious to be on the way he backs out on to the street and proceeds to drive away. As he starts to leave he sees his older brother Kris parking some cars on the lot next to his parents. That’s the moment when it came! The gut feeling urging him to stop, get out of the car and say goodbye. However like many millions, self interest of I gotta get going rode roughshod over any thought of stopping the car. So the obligatory Horn honk and a shout “Bye, talk to you later Bro” sufficed.
Two months pass and on this particular day four hours before the tennis ball revelation, Kris is up on a metal pole changing burned out light bulbs over a tennis court. As he is pulling on the metal cable attached to the wiring harness and light standards bringing the fixtures to him for light bulb replacement the cable snaps and flies over his head wrapping around a 72,000 volt electrical line.
Okay, we now have all the facts of this story. For those who are hearing this for the first time let’s concentrate on that little phrase “Kris I promise to never ever let this happen again”. It took Twenty years to fulfill this promise. The mission to keep the Promise culminated with the launching of a company whose sole mission and “WHY” is to “Celebrate life while there is still Life to celebrate”. Exceeding all expectations this company has touched hearts of millions who now have a vehicle allowing for the execution of those “Gut feelings“.
On the heels of this success that Brother has Authored a best selling book titled “Promptings“. Promptings far exceeds my attempt to explain what this Tragic Death gave birth. Promptings is a read for everyone. It reveals the inner craving for which we all desperately yearn. The need to be appreciated. Kody Bateman is that Brother and the video below gives an inkling to what has driven him these many years.
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“The Starboard Gunwhale”
The Starboard Gunwhale (a nautical term describing the top edge of the side of a boat pronounced “gunnel”) of a ten foot row boat was crushing my chest while gallons of water began to drown me. My Life did not flash before my eyes like some would think, but thoughts of “You stupid idiot” did.
The beginning of this tragic ending started while traveling “The road to Hell that is paved with Good Intentions” by innocently believing a malicious concept that the “Family who camps together has fun together“ As foundational material for family bonding this idea may not always be the best. I had this male infested fantasy that family leadership had to include a “Daniel Boone” wilderness experience. Never mind the only real camping I experienced was toasting marshmallows over the kitchen stove. Some might be at this point be recalling my “Prisoner Exchange“ Blog. That was not camping but the housing of human bodies in a wooded environment. To take my wife and two young children camping in the great outdoors relying on my providing food, shelter, and safety required something not found in my tool box. Experience! With no experience, no equipment, and no plan, I possessed the perfect prescription for guaranteed entrance to Camping Hell. A place where Idiots go to to validate their stupidity.
I mentioned my pending outdoor foray to friends at work and pleasantly received all sorts of advice and loans of equipment. A ten foot row boat, brand new unused four man tent, assistance in selecting a good camp ground, and the assurance of my best friend to spend the first night with him and his family at his favorite place before sending us on to our own reserved camping site.
The collection of equipment began and I getting excited, started to pump up the family with how great it was going to be. The family car was a 1968 Volvo four door sedan. Not much in storage space so I purchased one of those roof racks, you know the ones with the funny suction cups and straps that hook to the rain gutters, something which cars today no longer have. The wife packed a footlocker with every possible clothing item need and I loaded the boat, ice chest and food locker on the car roof securing them to the newly acquired rack. Gathering the family and BeeBee our English Springer Spaniel dog, we board the camping vessel shouting gleefully “We Be Camping” and venture off to the Wild Wilderness for a week of fun and family bonding.
Wrong, Wrong, Wrong
Ever hear of Rain? Boy did it rain. It started halfway to our first stop where my buddy was all ready set up and waiting for us. Fortunately all I needed to unload that night was the borrowed tent as my friend was providing everything else. Need to clarify something here. The borrowed new tent was in fact a tent sold at discount because of certain defects. That night those defects showed up. The tent leaked like a sieve. The kids were sliding across the tent floor like body surfers at the seashore. A very long night indeed, but we made it through.
The morning brought relief from the rain and after a wonderful breakfast provided by my friend. We packed the tent up and off we went to destination Camp Fun shouting “We Be Camping“. The Camp Fun destination was “Promised Land State Park” high in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. A beautiful two lake paradise where it always is sunny and bright.
Wrong, Wrong, Wrong
It also rains in the “Promised Land“, and because the name is a reiteration of the promise GOD made to the Jews coming out of Egypt, it came with Thunder and Lightning as added features.
So there we are sitting Indian style (legs crossed) in a tent staring out at the rain which now has reached the 100 year flood stage. In addition to the rain, the thunder and lightning became so intense the kids with the dog joined GOD’s display in an avalanche of weeping, sobbing and howling. Compounding with the hysteria going on we had to be careful not to touch the tent sides which now had streams of water exuding from every seam traveling to the bottom collecting into a Lake Pontchartrain puddle surrounding us not unlike New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. By now I am particularly focused on the boat on top of the car. Not being one to quit easily I determined myself that I was going to at the very least going to get that boat into the water and sail out on the lake. Couldn’t get any wetter right.
Wrong, Wrong, Wrong
The Thunder and lightning ended and the rain eased to a drizzle giving me the incentive to go launch the boat. Off I went to the car and proceeded to unstrap the tie downs and started to ease the boat off the roof rack. Dang it, I’m always doing this, I forgot to add an important fact. Back when I first put the row boat on the car I had the amazingly bright idea to mount it right side up so I could put more stuff in side thus giving me ample storage space. Now back to the unloading. So there I am easing the boat off the car when a tipping point occurred. Do you have any idea how much forty or fifty gallons of water weigh? Over I go as my feet slip out from under me because of the mud I’m standing on. Down comes the boat slamming me to the ground with all that water turning into a tsunami heading for my mouth.
There comes a time where an assessment of advantages and disadvantages of a project is prudent if one is to survive. Yep, reload the car, grab the wet soggy kids, wife and one really dirty smelly dog and head home whipped, bruised but still alive. As fate would have it those two days were the only days the entire week it rained. Today I’m an avid camper and Dutch Oven cooking guru. Looking back to that first camping experience I just shake my head and laugh. “You Stupid Idiot”
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“Only on the Black Keys”
The ship was taking on water from the storm at an alarming rate and the possibility of the vessel broaching became eminent. Over five hundred passengers plus the crew had little hope for survival from the raging sea. The Captain fearing the worst stood alone on the deck crying out for “GOD have mercy” on his ship and the six hundred plus souls on board. Survive they did and later that night in his cabin the Captain entered in the ships log the events along with the accounting of his total surrender to the fate of Providence. The rest of his life he would observed the May 10 as the day he became subject to a higher power.
I can hear the questions now: “Where’s he going?” Well here is my objective. Our lives and our passions are intertwined with History and the makers of History. Our Captain continued operating his vessel for seven more years, however there was a difference. There was a noticeable change in his attitude. You see those five Hundred plus passengers were Slaves from Africa being delivered to the new land of America. Five Hundred souls jammed into a space that would uncomfortably fit less that one hundred. They were stripped of clothing and laid side by side and head to foot with the next person like a vast carpet woven out of human bodies. On these voyages aside from the misery and crying he would hear a Humming and Chanting from the slaves. Just a simple five note chant. Rhythmic and full of emotion that seared its’ way into his soul never to leave him in his lifetime.
Eventually our Captain took on different life’s work of Preaching. I won’t go into this very deeply except to note the significant accomplishments of this man’s life in writing hymns. One Hymn written was “Amazing Grace” set to the melody that was driven into his soul by those men and women he delivered into slavery. I’m searching for words here that will resonate what the emotions were as the slaves hummed or chanted this Melody that our Captain felt as he penned words “once I was lost but now I am found” A state of despair, chanting and humming this five note melody to give their souls hope that their future will be better. When we hear this same melody with the words penned by a Slave Ship Captain, our minds and hearts stir with I would like to believe the same emotions as those slaves stuffed in those horrible wretched vessels. There is a better day coming and we will sing and rejoice again. When you go to a library and look up the Hymn “Amazing Grace” , you will see our Slave Ship Captain, John Newton as the author of the text. However you will also see the Author of the Melody as “Unknown“ The history does not warrant with certainty about the Unknown being an African chant but it is known that John Newton more than once talked of it.
Now what is this “Only on the Black Keys” stuff? The Melody that the slaves hummed was in what Musicians know as a “Pentatonic Scale“. Five notes per octave played only on the Black Keys. The African culture of the slaves had no knowledge of Music and the written form of it, yet their songs and chants were very much in line with all of Europe and the white culture. The Negro slaves in American continued to express their Spiritual life in songs we call “Negro Spirituals“, which again are in the “Pentatonic Scale” or “Only on the Black Keys“.
I just love to learn about History. The more I understand it, the more I see us as a people and not as individuals. Our Culture is a melding of many, ( e pluribus unum) and now when I hear or sing “Amazing Grace” I see the suffering of Slaves and the Fear of “Captain John Newton” enriching my life through their lives.
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“Ride Em Cowboy”
We were so excited! Our second home was a small ranch with living room that had a beautiful beamed Cathedral ceiling. Hold it, you have now idea where I starting with this saga. Sorry, the year is 1968 and I’m married with two children, a son ten and a daughter six. We had just purchased our second home on an half acre wooded lot in Westtown Pa. Paid an exorbitant twenty five thousand dollars for it. The house was built on a concrete slab and those who may have owned or are now living in one will identify with some of the built in troubles these homes can have. However it will be the weather and its’ associated misery that is the foundation for what I am about to reveal.
Good looks we all know can be deceiving. Our new home while being just drop dead gorgeous had absolutely no insulation in the walls and ceiling. To help you to visualize this, on the other side of that beautiful one inch paneled Cathedral ceiling was God’s glorious world. Cold in the winter and hot in the summer. The living room in summer became a repository for heat and humidity that made it uninhabitable for the human species. The Bedroom wing with hallways and bathroom did have regular height ceilings but they also experienced no insulation. Above the Bedroom wing was however an attic space that was accessible by one of those pull down stairways in the hallway ceiling.
I need to pause here and explain an important fact of the male behavior. The easiest example probably is this, before Tim the “Tool Man” Taylor , there was Nelson the “Idiot“ Schroeder. Before and after this Schroeder “idiot“ are the multitude thousands of men who have thrown sound judgment and caution to the four winds to do battle with life. In this battle sometimes the man wins and sometimes the man loses and on some occasions the man dies in the fray. It’s in our DNA. We must be perceived as winners and the ultimate providers.
Back to the house and the attic. At the top of the pull down stairs is where the trouble lurks. The space above the bedroom wing is some twenty five feet wide and the length is close to thirty five feet long with no flooring. Only two by ten rafters on twelve inch centers with no insulation was available to walk on. At one end of the Attic is a shared wall with the Cathedral ceiling living room which my children have now dubbed the sauna. Thirty five feet away is the other wall with a two foot square vent to the outside. Focusing my laser sharp mind on the two end walls I see the solution. If I placed a louvered vent that opened by air flow in the living room wall at its peak, it will not only fit well but will allow the humid air from the living room to be evacuated . The key would be to install a large enough exhaust fan in the vented wall that would pull enough air to operate the vent louvers in the far wall and have enough extra strength to pull air from the far reaches of the house.
Seems simple to me. I go to a Hardware store and buy a large thirty six inch square vent with movable louvers for the living room wall. After installation and trimming I look at it and declare, “Man I’m Good”. Next to the far wall for the fan installation. At the same store I purchased a huge forty two inch three speed fan with a 3/4 horse power motor. The Mother of all Air Movers. This sucker can move some serious air. I open up the outside wall to the correct size and run the proper wiring and a special wall switch from the hall way to the wall where the fan will be installed. I getting a rather big head now. I’m thinking this project is bound to put me in the Schroeder Family Hall of Fame.
You need a little more information to appreciate this Herculean effort. The attic has no floor, only 2 x 10 rafters 12 inches apart. The height from the top of the rafters to the Ridge Beam is a little under 5 foot 10 inches. For the record at that time I was six foot two inches, (today I’ve shrunk to six foot) so I had to either bend my knees or my back to do any work. The forty two inch fan and Motor weighed somewhere around the Sixty pound range. I wrestled the fan up the stairs and over the rafters to the opening. I found that because of my height the leverage was not there with my bending to put the fan into the space I created in the wall. I’m now very hot, sweaty, and frustrated. A bad combination for any man on a mission. I test the space between the rafters and it feels solid. This one move will now let me gain ten more inches of leverage.
I am sure most of you have some knowledge of Isaac Newton and his three laws of Motion. Let’s say that the ignorance of Sir Isaac Newton’s three laws does not make them any less valid.
Newton’s Third Law:
For every action there is an equal and opposite re-action.
That law took effect the moment I lifted the forty two inch fan putting an force coupled with my body weight of two hundred pounds as the beginning decent of my body through the ceiling .
Newton’s Second Law:
Acceleration is produced when a force acts on a mass. The greater the mass (of the object being accelerated) the greater the amount of force needed (to accelerate the object).
This law was enhanced by the sixty pound Fan which was acting not unlike an NASA Booster Rocket, only in reverse, propelling me downward.
Newton’s First Law:
……………. An object in motion continues in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.
As I was accelerating down through the ceiling this Law was abo………… Rewind just a second back to where I first tested the strength of the ceiling. What I forgot to make clear was I had placed each of my feet on different sides of the two by ten rafter to spread my weight over a wider area. Does this gives a sharper image of what the First Law of Newton will mean to me as I am hurling downward? I titled this article “Ride Em Cowboy” which is the position I assumed on the rafter when my decent abruptly stopped. And the end of my decent was very sudden to say the least.
I’ve told this story many times and with the same reaction. The Ladies will laugh uncontrollably. In fact one time at a Dinner party one female laughed so long and hard that she puddled the chair she sat on. Men will have the opposite response. Their cheek bones get tight while the eyes start to squint and an odd internal feeling in the lower part of their torso develops.
I’m in serve pain but I manage to right myself and get back up to the top of the rafters and crawl over to the stairway and make it back down to the hallway. Gathering those internal resources to show the world I was cool with my incident, I stiffen my upper lip and go to the bedroom to survey the damage. The hole through the ceiling was directly over my sons bed. Looking around the room I see my son sitting on his dresser a full twelve feet away from the bed starring at the gaping hole in the ceiling. It seems that he was standing on his bed with his sisters Field Hockey Stick doing an “Air Guitar’ rendition of a song he was listening to on his radio when the heavens opened and my size twelves came into his view. He doesn’t know how he got to the top of the dresser, he just got there.
I snap him out his trance and asked him, “You okay son”. He responds ” I’m okay Dad, Wow that was awesome. Are you okay.” “Thank you for asking, I’m fine. However if you harbor any hopes of having any more Brothers and Sisters, you can cancel them”.
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“He was Voted Most Likely To Not Make It”
Good looks he had plenty, but his penchant for trouble out weighed them. Ever see a new born puppy fighting to get in line to be fed. That would be him, trouble was his meal and bad behavior his dessert. “Voted Him Most Likely To Not Make It” could easily be the consensus if his family were forced to vote.
Early forays found him breaking windows, smoking cigarettes and other acts of civil disobedience. And this was while he was only Nine. The free spirit in him gave his mother much concern and anguish. Once in a town where they recently move, his mother while driving home from the store saw a boy walking who was obliviously displaying an advance case of Cerebral Palsy stumbling with involuntary arm and leg movements. Her heart just ached for him that is until she came up along side and saw that he was her son. History has no record of what happened that day, but I knew the Mother and she made it clear to me her displeasure.
Life happens and in accordance with fifty percent of the population his parents divorced. For whatever reasons his bad behavior accelerated, so much so that he was taken from his Mother and placed in a Foster Home. Took awhile but his Mother with help from family was able to go to court and get him back. His Mother took him and his brothers and sister to a home close to her parents hoping for some family support. No luck there, his behavior, perhaps I should say Misbehavior, developed to even grander scales.
But this time his Mother had assets to assist her in tracking his movements. His downfall was his likability factor. Everybody liked him. You know the “Charming Rouge Factor“. But now in this new close knit neighborhood whenever he did something wrong the neighbors reported to his Mother. He especially enjoyed running away in the summer. With the aid of his many friends he would camp out on the porches of his buddies homes and would appropriate (steal) food from the Milk Man and others who delivered to the homes. Reports of these excursions filtered over to his Mother almost as a daily routine. ” Don’t worry he slept on our porch last night and is okay.“ was the usual message.
Attendance to school was almost none existence. His best friends were Catholic and went to a Catholic school so he just went with them whenever he felt like. Then came another move. This time a family consolidation with Grandparents and his family under the same roof. By this time he is nearing seventeen and is enrolled in High School. The only thing that kept him from taking off to his usual habits was the sport of Basketball. I’m not entirely sure if he ever played any organized ball, but we do know this, he was a natural. Hope certainly was peeking over the horizon and he did just enough school work to be kept on the team.
The basketball coach saw in the him adhesive for binding together a team of pretty good players. There were better scorers, a there were better ball handlers, but what he contributed was the oil to make it all run like well oiled clock. The boy began to show promise, that is until the Phone Call.
It was at night, three am to be exact, when the call from the Police arrived. Seems that he took a Grocery Market truck from the store where he worked part time to go joy riding. Might have worked out if he hadn’t rolled it over. It becomes a little murky as to the process of the next events. Not sure if it was a voluntary or involuntary enlistment, but in any case he was now the Navy’s problem and no longer his Mothers.
By now those of you who follow me are by now are wondering where’s the story going? This rendition is an appreciation of somebody who overcame a lot of family negative vibes. So let’s see how this guy ends up. After four years in the Navy he comes back home and first finds work delivering milk for a large dairy. Eventually he hires on as an apprentice for an Electrical contractor. Grueling work, but he is mentored by the owners who would later become huge supporters of his going back to school and earning his High School Diploma.
His sweetheart from High School before he enlisted became his bride and life long friend. Four children later, all boys, who would give any parent a challenge, he and his wife raised with love, discipline and class. His wife would occasionally remark that their home was not unlike a boys locker room. But life isn’t always fair and after forty four years of marriage he is left alone without her.
Now remarried to another wonderful woman, he continues on baffling all naysayers by mentoring and assisting in the care of his Step-Son who has been severely handicapped from an Automobile accident for over twenty odd years. To list his accomplishments would stagger those of us with an ordinary life. The quote: “We all are born unique, but most will die Copies” does not apply to him. He is unique from his beginning unto this Day.
This guy I’m talking about is my Brother Clayton who turns Eighty this August. And this post is for you Bro. I want you to know I Love you and appreciate you and your life as an inspiration to me and others. You proved them wrong by becoming
“The Most Likely to Succeed.”
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I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“The Latchkey Kid”
I , like many others from my early years, was known as a “Latchkey” child. The harshness of those days on families demanded that children at a young age assume adult responsibilities for their lives while the parent (usually a single Mother) was at work. Thus the term “Latchkey Kid“. A term meaning to be left alone to fend for themselves until a parent came home. Sadly this Culture driven practice is once again dominating American families.
However, and fortunately, the propensity for evil was not as prevalent as it is today. But there were still problems, and I managed to invest my time exploring and reveling in all sorts of deviant behavior. You may have already read my battle with “The Money Jar“ and my addiction to TastyKakes. This episode is the lead in to that sad period of my succumbing to thievery.
Backing up just a bit. I was a super skinny kid with an abnormal amount of energy. I fueled my body with anything that past muster as “Sugar”. Sugar cubes (usually stolen) were an staple. I first met this morsel of delight when Mother took me to a “Horn & Hardart’s Automat”. It was there I discovered many delicious treats including the Sugar Cubes that probably started my insatiable quest for Sweets. Back to the story line. As a result of this discovery I became very uninterested in any food substance that was not laced with some form of sugar or at the least had a sweet taste. Mother before leaving for work would leave for me sandwiches and other stuff on the kitchen table to eat when I got home after school. Most times there were sandwiches that would be to my liking. But sometimes a sandwich of Liverwurst or GOD forbid an unidentifiable meat called “Tongue” would be on the table staring at me not unlike a scene from the Night of the Living Dead.
Sandwich and the Radiator
When these horrid sandwiches showed up, I being the clever one, would stick them behind the big cast iron Steam Radiator mounted on the floor next to the table. This “feeding the Radiator” went on for a time before coming to a screeching halt. Did you know Ants liked Liverwurst and Tongue? Really who knew, I certainly didn’t! And are you also aware that food when left behind a HOT Radiator also emitted odors? That was news to me! Yep, a big lesson learned and learned well by the “Seat of my Pants” if you get my drift. A new battle plan needed to be formulated to battle this menacing meat. But before I was able to develop plans, Mother announced to the family that we were moving to a home near Grandma and Grandpa all the while looking squarely at my beautifully innocent face and adding “where there are no Steam Radiators“.
Battle plans are put on hold until I am able to reconnoiter the new battle ground. The move to the new home was a nightmare for my game plan. Two words: Central Heating! Central heating was a Coal Furnace in the Basement with a registrar vent that was a big square grate in the floor between the living room and the dinning room. The upstairs was heated through another large grate in the floor that allowed the heat from downstairs to drift up though it. This system made for cold days and nights if you were not layered with 20 pounds of clothes in addition to not providing a safe dumping site for unwanted food.
Off Site Disposal
In search of a dump site I checked out the backyard. I couldn’t believe it. Fence to fence Concrete. I couldn’t even bury the crap now becoming known as “Sandwiches from Hell”. Then I saw it. A gate in the back fence leading into a service alley that ran the length of the entire block. Looking both ways up and down the alley for anything that would serve as a final resting place for the Sandwiches I spied the Pole. Telephone pole to be exact. The perfect place with just a enough space between the pole and the fence and a good twenty yards away from the backyard gate. Ideal! Game, Set, Match.
There is a RAT somewhere
Things were working just great. I had secured a Hazardous Material dump site and I had begun working the “Money Jar” gig. Life was sweet! That is until the day Mother collared me and walked me out to the alley and over to the POLE. What happen next is not pretty and I’ll spare you the details. I can say this though, while hating Corduroy Knickers they did saved my little butt that day. Hard to blister a Fanny though those Iron like Corduroy Knickers. I never discovered who Ratted me out. Probably a brother or sister who viewed me as the pampered little brat that they sometimes where burdened with by Mom. Doesn’t matter now. History has its’ own validation of our worth and my brothers and sister have long since become the shining heroes of my life.
Today however, I now love Liverwurst and Onion Sandwiches. But Tongue Sandwiches, Ugh. I still look for suitable dumping sites for that Hazardous Material.
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
“RE: The Little Pager that Could”
I’ve been researching this week articles for background information to use in my next Post. The title looks like it might be “Only the Black Keys”, but that may change. So today to give myself more time to sort things out, I went into the Archives and am re-posting this piece I wrote last March. Apologies to Val Wilcox, Bill Hartman and others who have already read this article.
The “Little Pager that Could” declares not only our dependence upon GOD, but also on those who claim HIS Name. The narrator of this is Roger Bennett who subsequently passed away shortly after this event from his own battle with Leukemia.
“The Little Pager that Could” by Roger Bennett
“I’ve just come back from my latest consultation at M.D. Anderson. Labs at 7:30 am, Dr. Lenihan (cardio) at 8:30 then Dr. Keating and Co.(leukemia) at 11:30 am. As you can deduce I spent a lot of time in waiting rooms today. I have this theory that a cancer patient can spot another cancer patient. Of course it’s easy at a Cancer Center like MDA, but it’s interesting to watch.
When the new patient comes into the room, there is an immediate sizing up that takes place. I do it as well. You look for the tell tale signs. Any obvious lines or ports in the veins, complexion variations or hair loss. It’s not an uncomfortable thing it is just the way it is. I don’t think there’s any more honest place in the world than a cancer waiting room. The conversations that take place are no frills and always contain terms that the average healthy person is unfamiliar with. CBC, neutrophils, aspiration, and a host of other things that might not be discussed so openly in another place are right out in the open in the waiting room.
One of the other rituals that take place is identifying the patient. Many times this is not a problem in that the patient is obviously sick and companion is there for support. However, there are patients like myself that look healthy on the outside and are accompanied by a healthy companion. You can see it in the eyes as the two people are judged and the decision made. Sometimes you’re right and sometimes not.
I was wrong today. I wasn’t feeling quite up to par this morning and in one of the waiting rooms I fell asleep. The room was empty except for Debbie and myself when I dozed off. But soon a quiet conversation roused me. I heard talk about pain management etc. I woke to see a very young mother and what looked to be her father in the room with us. I quietly listened to Debbie talk with them. I made my choice…It was the Dad that was sick and the daughter was his caregiver. She looked so healthy and vital. I was wrong. This young women, a mother of two small kids was the patient. She has a rare form of bone cancer and is in for the fight of her life. It broke my heart. During our talk I kept hearing a vibrating sound like a cell phone’s alarm. Every few minutes, sometimes more than one a minute this little pager would make its noisy announcement. I thought, “Boy she’s a busy lady”. Then she told me the story of the pager.
It seems her prayer group at church gave her the pager and every time anyone at church prayed for her, they would page her just to remind her of their love and support! She didn’t have to talk to anyone. No one wanted a call back. This was just to encourage her that her friends had not forgotten her! I got cold chills every time that little pager vibrated! And I could see that she found strength with every vibration! What a great idea and what a picture of grace.
I know first hand the power of prayer and how important it is to your spiritual health. And I saw first hand the power of reminders today in the face of this beautiful young cancer patient. Her friends were remembering her and that reminded her that God remembers too!
It doesn’t have to be a pager. A little card will do the trick. Sometimes a voice mail is better than a phone call. It depends on the day, but sometimes when you’re sick, it helps just to listen and not have to talk. Whatever form you choose…let your sick friend know that you are remembering them.”
For those who may be like me, the Kleenex below is for you.
I'm a 73 year old man who loves this new medium of Blogging. I am also an Senior Manager in Send Out Cards which gives me a superior method of relating to the world through Greeting Cards. I have met and enjoyed wonderful friends who support me and actually LIKE me which is very rewarding. My online presence is growing and if I can hang on to life I will reap the benefits of establishing a business that will comfort me when I get old. Mostly however I Blog about my life which for some strange reason is well received. Like most of us the future is scary and the remembrance of older days give a measure of comfort. So I continue to reveal the past with optimism that the future will some day be the comfort of somebody else.
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