A Very Special Day Indeed.....

Today, our youngest son, J. P. is getting married.  He is marrying a sweet and beautiful young lady named Jessica (everyone calls her "Jessi") Bivins.  Like his old man, he traveled to South Muhlenberg County to find this jewel he chooses to spend the rest of his life with.  I don't know if there's any particular reason for that but my friends always said I had to travel that far to find a girl who wasn't familiar with my "reputation."  Hopefully, that's not the case here.

We have known Jessi for about four years now as that's how long they have been dating.  He's 30 and she's 24 (yeah, I told him he's "robbing the cradle").  I was 26 when I "took the plunge," so he outlasted me by four years.  Jessi has become so much a part of our life already that we have secretly thought of her (and even referred to her) as "Daughter in Law.  Today will make it official, however.

She comes from "good stock" as my Dad used to say, meaning her family instilled good family values in her, just as we feel we did with J. P.  She has always had a good work ethic and easily makes friends which is obvious in observing how well J. P.'s close friends have taken to her.

J. P. came up with a group of guys that have remained close even twelve years after their high school graduation.  Many of them are friends he has met "along life's way," from college or other places.  I remember when most of these boys were in the seventh grade attending Muhlenberg North Middle School, Pat would come home and tell me what a special group they were.  They were typical teen-age boys but they were very close-knit, and although they maintained a "michievious" streak from time to time, they were a smart group and a good group of guys.  As they grew older and some of them got married and went their separate ways, they still remain in close contact with each other and get together several times a year.  Their wives all "hang out" with the other wives and girl friends.   I sure hope their life continues on this path.

I don't know much about raising girls as all we had around the Sweatt households were boys.  There were two of us in my family growing up and three sons in our family.  I could always handle boys and pretty much knew what to expect from them.  There never was a lot they did that "surprised" me but I never got them figured out 100% either.  Pat, on the other hand, grew up with only two boys (both younger than her) and four sisters (making five girls in their family).  Raising boys was a completely different experience to her but she managed to do it quite well.  I'm proud of and love all of "My Three Sons."

A few years ago, a beautiful and smart little female came into our lives.  Her name was Erin and she was the daughter of our "senior" daughter in law, Sylvia.  Erin was something I wasn't familiar with at all.  I always thought girls were supposed to be "delicate" and "soft-spoken," but man was I ever wrong.  She was as energetic and rough as any boy I've ever been around, but with a huge dose of "sweetness."  Getting boys lined out generally wasn't much of a problem to me.  First of all, their "Mamma" could handle it most of the time but occasionally she needed to "bring me into the picture."  Like my Dad before me, who only had to spank me "once," each of my boys got the same treatment.  After that, all he (and I) really had to do was enter the room and give them the infamous "stare," (usually over the top of a pair of eyeglasses) and they pretty much came into line.  It's a good thing too since once they turn about thirteen years old there's a 50/50 chance they could "whoop us" anyway.  But girls....they're different.  There's no way I could begin to even lightly "tap" a girl so therefore they are strictly products of their mothers.  Dad's missions are to smother them with kindness, not to disclipine them.  We are there to suggest to Mom how to disclipine them, not to do it ourselves.  That's why most Sons are always referred to as "Boy," while girls are usually called nicknames like "Princess."  Having Granddaughters proves this.

About the time we were getting used to Erin and her ways, along comes another Granddaughter,  Mackenzie.  She was pretty much like Erin but because Erin was already about three or four years old when she entered our lives, we weren't really sure what those years were like.  Mackenzie has now given us an education in life.  She also was "rough and tumble," with a touch of sweetness to "melt your heart."  She knows her way around and is pretty much an expert in getting what she wants.  I really haven't figured out if these are traits of "girls" or just "grandchildren" in general but I suspect the former.

Now, like Sylvia, Jessi will become the daughter we never had.  Someone to give us (or at least me) a different perspective on life and someone for my wife to share "girl talk" with and go shopping with (or whatever else girls do). 

So today is a very special day.  The hard partying "frat-boy" image I had of my youngest son is gone now as he takes to the role of provider and family man.  I like to think that when my life is done on this earth and I'm judged in part by how good of a parent and family person I was, our Creator will pat me on the back and say "Well Done My Son!"   I can't think of any better legacy than that!

We never heard of "Black Friday"...

Well, Thanksgiving's now over (except for the leftovers we'll be eating in some form for about another week)and several of you are out and about experiencing this relatively new phenomenen we call "Black Friday."  Supposedly it gets it's name from some theory that says most retailers finally begin making a profit for the year on this day (or finally getting in the "black).  I find this sort of hard to believe since stores like Walmart have literally millions of transactions a day and I dont' think they would spend first eleven months simply losing or breaking even just to make a profit in the twelvth.  I can assure you they'll make a "hefty" profit in January, even with all the returns and "white sales."  They'll make a hefty profit every other month too.

The business I'm in (the residential/commercial rental and real estate development business) is exactly the opposite of the "Black Friday" theory.  We make money like "gangbusters" the first eleven months of the year and on the twelvth month we start getting property tax bills and insurance premium bills that "eat up" a lot of the profit we've made so far.  I'm not complaining though...if it was easy, everybody'd be doing it!

When I was a kid growing up, I don't remember anything like "Black Friday."  The Friday after Thanksgiving was pretty routine except for the fact we were out of school for a long weekend.  We didn't go on any special shopping trips and I don't remember merchants putting many items on "sale" during the busiest shopping season of the year.  I don't remember anyone saying "I've got all my Christmas shopping done" this early.  Shoot, some folks didn't even begin it until about a week before Christmas.

Things sure were different (and simpler) in those days.  We didn't have big "box stores" like Walmart or Target.  I suppose the closest thing to one of those was Sears (called Sears & Roebuck back then) and they were pretty rare.  Whenever Mom went shopping for clothes, she went to a "clothing" store.  If Dad wanted to shop for tools or "manly" stuff, he went to a hardware store like Wallace's or Western Auto.  Groceries were purchased at a grocery store and tires were bought at a tire store or service station.  Nobody had any trouble figuring that out.

Speaking of Sears, I remember how excited we would all get when we would get their annual catalog.  It usually arrived around Thanksgiving and there was something in it for everyone in the family.  Every household got one and they were between two and three inches thick.  They were pretty evenly divided with stuff for women, for men and even for us kids.  Mom would pretty much wear out the first part looking (and dreaming) at the latest women's fashions and a virtual sea of new dresses and coats and even lingerie (yeah, I know....I wasn't supposed to be looking at that stuff).  They had lots of clothes for men & kids too but Dad spent his catalog time looking at the latest tools and stuff for cars and the house.  The last one-third of it was reserved for us kids.  It was a "Wonderland" of every toy ever invented including the latest fads. 

A few days before each Christmas, my brother and I, along with Mom and Dad would turn each page and make comments as to which toys we desired the most.  Funny thing, old Santa must have been listening too because most Christmases, we'd get several of those same toys in that catalog.  We'd also get some "yucky" stuff too like pajamas or dress shoes or even (shudder) underwear but the toys always made up for that other junk.

These catalogs (although they got much smaller) continued into our Son's early lives also.  We kept the tradition of sitting down somewhere with them while they immersed themselves into it's toy section and we took mental notes on what they wanted.  It was pretty easy then because they toys they wanted pretty much "mirrored" the toys I wanted as a boy.  Things like toy gasoline stations or electric trains or transistor radios and of course, the "every boy wants" a BB gun (like the kid in "Christmas Story").

The game of "hiding" this stuff until Christmas Day was challenging too, both for my parents and for myself.  I kept with Dad & Mom's tradition of keeping everything locked up in the trunk of the car until needed but with the age of SUV's and Mini-Vans, this became more difficult.  I remember one particular year, I always drove a "demonstrator" (company car) while working as a car salesman for Lester Motors.  Pat & I had gone shopping in Evansville for the boys and drove that car.  It had a large trunk and it was only a couple of weeks until Christmas so we decided to leave the boy's gifts in the trunk.  A couple of days before Christmas, I had a good customer who had purchased several cars from me over the years, have a breakdown and his car was going to be in the shop over the Christmas weekend.  "No problem," I told him, "we're not going anywhere out of town so you can just drive my demonstrator."  I had completely forgotten that our boy's entire Christmas was in the trunk....Oh, and did I mention that he and his wife were going to Knoxville Tennessee for the holiday weekend.  When I got home, and we remembered about the stuff in the trunk we nearly panicked.  Fortunately, I got hold of the guy by phone and we drove up to Beechmont that night and retreived our gifts before they left at midnight and all was saved.

Pat has spent a "goodly" portion of this day decorating the interior of our home for the holidays.  She has a lot more patience in this department than I do and she does a magnificient job of hanging garland over our windows, hanging wreaths and decorating the tree.  Again, when we were growing up, and because we always got a "live" tree, we usually didn't decorate until about ten days before Christmas.  This allowed the tree to stay relatively fresh and not burn the house down.  Of course, artificial trees have pretty much eliminated that and are much safer but I still miss the aroma of those fresh cedar trees.  I remember on a few occasions we would go out and cut down a tree but more often than not we'd buy one for about two dollars from one of the several "tree lots" scattered about in those days.

People who were "higher on the economic ladder" than we were would "break the bank" and go out to Tudor's Nursery and purchase a "flocked" tree.  I still don't know exactly what these were...I just know they were beautiful (and expensive - according to my mother).  They looked as they were made of cotton, very "fluffy" and full, and they came in colors like white or soft pastels like pink or light sky blue.  There was a family over on Cherry Street who actually "enclosed" in their carport, making it into a family room with double patio glass doors (very expensive and chic for those times) just so they could showcase their flocked Christmas tree.  They would decorate it with lights and tinsel and would highlight it with one of those "color" wheels mounted on a spotlight.  They even parked their family car in a neighbor's driveway so as to not block the view of it.  People drove in from all over the county to admire it from the street. 

Some people spent quite a lot of time decorating the exterior of their houses too.  This usually involved building your own yard scene since few places sold anything like that.  And you gotta remember that lights back then were of the variety of "when one went out, they all went out."  It took a lot of time and was a lot of trouble.

Now you can go to Lowe's or Walmart and purchase a huge decoration that you inflate (as in "blow up").  They have moving parts and snow and feature Disney characters and whatever.  Takes about five minutes to set them up... just plug them in and they even blow themselves up.  During the day, when they're unpluged they lay on the ground like a dead animal waiting to be "revived" when darkness comes.  They're even selling "pre-decorated" trees now that the lights are built right on.  Just pop them out of the box and plug them in.

If my Mom had left the table right after Thanksgiving dinner and spent the night in front of a store in hopes of getting a bargain, she would have been packed off the the "nut house."  Of course, now we don't think anything about it...in fact, we think it's cool.

Oops, well I had better wrap this up.  I've got some serious Christmas shopping to do and I plan to do every bit of it right here on this computer.  Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow!

Dollar General the Town's most Unusual Store? Nope...it was Cohen's!

The Missus and I were driving to Louisville a few weeks ago when I noticed a Tractor Trailer in the east bound lane sporting the Dollar General Store logo and the saying, "The Town's Most Unusual Store!"   That might be true today but back in the fifties and sixties it wasn't.  The most unusual store in Central City was Cohen's....a clothing and department store owned and operated by Dave and Elizabeth Cohen.  They catered to mostly working folks by having lots of khakis and work boots in stock.

Their store was pretty indicative of stores in that era.  They had shelving but inventory was pretty much stacked on and around it where nobody could find anything except the people that worked there.  They had a showroom window complete with mannequins and signs offering bargains and even had a covered outdoor area where bargains could be placed on tables and weather didn't matter.

Mr. Cohen was quite a colorful character, as was his wife.  They were lifelong citizens of Central City and made up about 10% of the total Jewish families that lived in our county (and about 35% of those in the city).  Most of these good folks were in a retail business of one kind or another.  The Cohen's store had been in business for many years. 

Mr. Cohen was well known for his frugal ways.  It was said that if he surrendered a nickel to you, his fingerprints were permanently "embedded" into the metal.  He had a flourishing business and he knew how to protect it.  A few people were able to obtain "credit" at his store but he had to know you extremely well.  Most of the other downtown retailers extended credit more loosely.  Remember, Visa and Mastercard where unheard of in those days (as was gasoline credit cards).

I remember one day when I was a bank teller at the old First National Bank (when it was at First & Broad streets), this hilarious event happened.

This was in the early sixties and the TVA power plant had just opened.  A lot of construction workers were in town as well as some new people who transferred here to work at this new plant.  In other words, there were several "new folks" around.

A young man meandered into Cohen's one afternoon around 3:30 and walked through the store to the back counter.  Mr. Cohen spotted him and asked if he could help him.  The fellow, who was obviously a construction worker complete with hard hat, work boots and the like told him he would like to "pay his bill."  Mr. Cohen's eyes "perked up" and he said "Certainly!  Now vhat (that's how he pronounced what) name is it in?"

The man told him his name.  You need to know that Mr. Cohen was working at a desk behind a stack of shoe boxes and he was looking over these boxes as he spoke.  The young man could see him from about the nose up but couldn't see what he was doing.  "Are you sure about that name?" Mr. Cohen asked, "I'm having trouble finding it!"  "That's my name," the fellow said, "I'm sure it's the name you charged it to."

"How do you spell it?" Mr. Cohen asked.  "P-A-R-K-E-R" the young man told him.  "Vhat was the first name, Mr. Parker?"  "Jackson" he replied. 

"And what did you say you purchased?"  "A pair of Wolverine Work boots," he said.   "Do you remember the date?" Dave asked.  "Well, it was Wednesday, two weeks ago from yesterday, that'd have been the 8th" said the young man.  What the young man couldn't see was that as he was giving this information, Mr. Cohen was making out a new ticket, convinced that his wife or some other clerk had failed to make out the original.  A few minutes later, he proclaimed, "Aha, here it is...Jackson Parker, Wolverine work boots purchased on June 8th for $16.00 (a claim that wasn't disputed by Mr. Parker).  That'll be $16.00 Mr. Parker.

Mr. Parker told Dave that it was 3:45 and the banks had all closed at 3:00 p.m.  He asked Mr. Cohen if he could cash his paycheck and take out the amount for the shoes, as well as a new pair of Levi's he was going to purchase that afternoon.   "How much is your paycheck and who is it on?" Mr. Cohen asked.  "The check is for $196.50 and it's drawn on the payroll account of Cawood Construction Co.," the young man told him.  "We've been up at TVA for nearly two years."  "O.K." Mr. Parker, please endorse the check here on the back along with your phone number in case there's any problem."  Mr. Parker signed the check, took his new Levi's and "paid" ticket and left.

The following Thursday (I remember the day because the banks and some stores closed at noon on Thursdays), Mr. Cohen came in just before noon and deposited his receipts for the previous day.  He was going fishing that afternoon and was dressed casually, including a straw hat with one of those "sun visors" sewed into the brim.  He was very cheerful, holding the door open for other customers, greeting everyone with a friendly "hello" and tipping his hat to all the ladies.  He was talking to Mr. Jess Moore who was President of First National at the time in the lobby when "Cy" Ross, the bank's Executive Vice-President asked him to stop by his window before leaving.  Mr. Cohen stepped up to the window when Mr. Ross slid the heavily stamped check on Cawood Construction and told him there's no such account.  "VHAT?" Mr. Cohen yelled...."NO ACCOUNT!!! .... I KNEW IT!  I KNEW IT!!!"  He then grabbed the brim of his straw hat and pulled it down around his neck, ripping open the top and his eyes protruding just above it.  Needless to say, it ruined his afternoon.

As I said, Mr. Cohen was famous for being frugal.  He always traded at Raley's Standard Oil filling station at the lower end of Broad Street.

Darrell Raley used to love to tell us that Mr. Cohen would bring his car down and tell Darrell or one of his helpers to Fill it up, Clean the Window Glass, Change the Oil and Filter and put new air in all of the tires.  Darrell would simply make a notation of doing this on his ticket with the words "no charge" out beside the "air changing" portion.  Mr. Cohen always felt he was getting a bargain on that.

I guess with the advent of the Mega Stores we shop at today, the stores like Cohen's are pretty rare.  I know people like him really are.

Could you imagine going into a Wal-Mart and saying "just put that on my tab...I'll pay you in a couple of weeks."  Now we flip down some plastic and if you pay them one day late, they charge you $30 in late fees.  Sure would be nice to slow down and do things the "Old Vay," as Mr. Cohen would say!

Why kids never say "My Mom can "Whip" your Mom! ....

First of all, to all you "Moms" out there..."Happy Mother's Day!"  All Moms are very special and I have to agree with Sally Field when she said "If Moms ruled the world, there'd be no wars!"  Of course, she laced it with some pretty "salty" words in which my Mom would have made her eat a cake of soap.

My Mom was a "stay at home" Mom.  She never worked outside the home (other than volunteer or church work) while me or my brother lived at home.  This was the biggest part of twenty-six years since I was still living there when I got married.  Sure, I wandered up north for a few years and did a stint in the military but home was 503 Park Street for the biggest part of twenty-six years (followed by another thirty one at 505 Park Street).

In their later life, my parents closely resembled Archie and Edith Bunker.  Dad was very opinionated about political issues (although he'd tell you he hated politics) and Mom was sort of passive.  She "ruled" the television during the weekdays and Dad took control in the evenings and weekends (especially Sunday afternoons).  For some reason, Dad liked operas, even the foreign language kind.  I guess he appreciated the music and it didn't matter if he didn't understand the plot or even what a song was about.  If you wanted to see an opera, you could only get them on KET, Kentucky's version of PBS (Public Broadcasting System).  Usually for one night a week an opera would be on for a couple of hours.

Every one had assigned seats in our living room.  The house (and the living room) was small so things had to be arranged to accomodate not only our family of four (plus usually a dog), but also for any guests or neighbors who might unexpectedly drop by.  Dad always commandeered the couch.  Directly at the "head" of the couch (the opposite end from the television) was a small round table and lamp,  and beside it was Mom's upholstered rocking chair.  I couldn't begin to guess how many afghans were crocheted in that chair over the years.  A couple of feet to Mom's left was another chair, a maple rocking chair for either Bub or myself or any guest that might appear.  If we had more than one guest, everyone just stayed in the dining room, which sat six people.  Depending on whether Bub or I first got the maple rocker, the other one would simply lay on the floor with a pillow.  It was a pretty cozy situation.

Of course, in the early days there was no "remote" so to change the channel, someone had to get up and turn the knob until they found out what they wanted to watch.  I remember how mad it used to make us boys when Dad would get up click the channel one click and then stand in front of the television waiting to see if he approved of what was on.  This took about two or three minutes per channel. 

I can think of countless times Bub and I would be outside playing with some neighbor kids and would come in around dark.  Mom would be sitting in her chair crocheting and a Russian opera would be on television.  The words to the plot were "dubbed" at the bottom of the screen.

Dad would be asleep on the couch.  In a low voice, I'd ask Mom why she was watching that and she'd say "I'm not but your Dad is!"  "Yeah, right!"  I'd slip up to the TV and quietly slip the channel over a notch or two and immediately Dad would awaken and say "Hey, Boy.. put that back on my opera...I'm watching that!"  Bub and I would then go down in the basement and play leaving Mom to spend the rest of the evening listening to a combination of a Russian opera and "Dad's snoring!"  She never complained.

Mom was sort of the vice-disiplinerian in our family.  It was her job to keep law and order.  When it became too difficult, she would then summon Dad to take over.  This only had to happen for about two or three years.  After that she only had to "threaten" to get Dad.  Mom probably "whipped" us a hundred times in our formative years.  Dad only "whipped" us once each, but you never forgot his "whippings."  After that, he only had to give us that "I'm out of patience" look and we fell in line.  Mom was always having to whip us but I can't ever remember it hurting.

I remember she used to send us out in the yard to get our own switch when we were really bad.  Most of the time we'd go out and by the time we brought one back in, she'd just shake it at us and threaten that if we "ever did that again" she'd "beat the living tar" out of us (I never really knew what that meant...I just knew it couldn't be good!).

Over the years I couldn't help but notice that Mom made sure that every one of us filled our plates before she filled hers.  She was careful not to take the last portion of anything.  If there was a tablespoon of mashed potatoes left in the bowl when it reached her, she'd take half a tablespoon, insuring that some was left for us.  She never got the best piece of fried chicken because it was pretty picked over when she got her portion.  Luckily for her, Dad had trained me to savor the "gizzard" and the "neck" at an early age or she would have been stuck with those pieces.  Actually, I didn't know that this was a "trait" of most Moms until I became a father myself and saw my wife do the same.  That's when I learned that it "went with the territory."

My mom was a funny person.  When I say that, I mean funny in the sense of humor.  She (along with her sister Ruby) could get herself into some situations that would rival Lucille Ball.  I remember once that she and Ruby went shopping over at Owensboro on a Saturday afternoon.  They went in Ruby's Corvair which had no air conditioning.  On the return trip, as they were going down the "Island Levy" (a straight stretch south of Island, Kentucky that's about a mile long), an owl flew inside the cab of the car.  Because the back windows were rolled up, it couldn't find itself a way out so it flew frantically around inside the cab.  Making matters worse, Mom and Ruby kept "swatting" at it and Ruby was weaving back and forth on the road trying to stay out of the ditches on each side and "feathers were going everywhere!"  This went on for what seemed like an eternity before she finally got the car stopped.  When she did, they jumped out only to find the poor bird laying in the back seat "exhausted" and nearly "naked."  A truck driver picked the poor bird out of the car and took him to the side of the road where he finally "hopped" over to a line of trees and managed to climb up to one of the lower limbs.

After I got married and was working at Lester Motors, I would usually go out to the house and have lunch with Mom.  She would always prepare a meal (usually eggs and bacon) and we'd share conversation while I ate.  Promptly at 12:30 pm, even if I was in the middle of a story, she would then retire to the living room to watch "As the World Turns."  I don't believe she missed a single show for forty years.  She knew all of the characters by name and whose illegitimate child was fathered by which doctor.  It was unbelieveable.  I'd go in the living room and watch about ten minutes of it with her (which was all I could take) and she'd tell me that the Doctor was the father of that nurse's child but the patient they were tending to was the unknown father of the Doctor by the nurse's sister.  The nurse had a "contract to kill" on the life of the Doctor because he also fathered her daughter's baby.  I remember once I was watching a portion of it with her and some guy shot another guy and he fell across an "ottoman" in the living room of this apartment and died there.  Pat and I went on vacation and for some reason or another, I didn't get back out to Mom's house for lunch for about three weeks.  When I did, I ventured into the living room where "As the World Turns" was on and here was this poor clown still laying across the "ottoman."  I couldn't help but wonder if the actor, who had probably gone to acting school for years,  enjoyed going to work knowing that was what he would be doing for the next several weeks.  What a Country!

Dads were different than Moms.  We kids were always "booking fights" for our Dads by saying "I'll bet my Dad can "Whip" your Dad," but I never once heard anyone say "I'll bet my Mom can "Whip" your Mom!"  It just doesn't sound right.  My Dad worked a lot and a lot of it involved night work.  He liked working in the yard and garden, something we kids didn't care for.  Seems he always had a project going on and we were always busy playing down at the park or swimming pool.  Mom was always a big part of our life though.  It was her that made us take baths or do homework.  She's the one who made sure we didn't "cuss" (at least in hearing distance of her) or burn down the house (although I did burn down the bedroom of my Grandmother's house once, but's a different story for a future blog).  Moms made sure we went to Church.  Mom's are the ones that sewed our jeans or ironed on those patches on the knees that "got another six months wear" out of them.  Moms are the ones that tended to and comforted us when were sick and made sure we "stayed sick" after school let out.  Moms were Taxi drivers, Doctors, Mediators, Seamstresses, Janitors, Wardens and Guidance Counselors all rolled up into one.

I'm sure many of you remember when the telephone service around here had no dial service.  You simply picked up the receiver, and operator at the other end of the line said "Number Please," and you gave her a number.  Pretty simple, huh?  We used to go to the State Theater every Saturday for the matinee.  It ran all day and we pretty much stayed all day.  The show opened at 10AM on Saturdays and we'd usually stay until around 4 or 5 pm.  When the show was over, instead of walking home (it was about a mile or so), we'd find a public phone and call Mom to come and get us.  We used to do this at the old D & W Cafe (that's where I first saw the Everly Brothers).  When they closed, we would walk up to the Tastee Freeze (across from the old City Building).   Only thing was, the only phone in the Tastee Freeze was a pay phone.  We'd go in there and pick up the receiver and the conversation would go like this:

"Number Please?" asked the operator.  "476-R please!"  (that was actually our phone number). "Theenk Youuu!," she'd say.   The phone would ring a couple of times and Mom would answer "Hellllooo!"   The operator would then interupt with "One Moment Please...Deposit Five Cents!"

Having spent all of our money, we'd simply yell into the phone...."MOM-TASTEEFREEZE-COMEPICKUSUP!!!"  About five minutes later, here'd she come.  Of course she never told us that the nickel was charged to her phone, and she never told Dad either or he'd have "whipped" us for "stealing!"

Mom's gone now but certainly not in my memory.  There isn't a day that passes that I don't think of her (and Dad too) or find myself sharing some funny story about her.  I can't remember spending an unpleasant moment with her and I can't remember not wanting her in my company.

She enjoyed life to the fullest and I believe she's doing the same in her "afterlife." 

I guess most (if not all) Moms are like her because Pat's Mom was the same way.  Although I never knew her until I was an adult, she enjoyed everything about her life too.  She had 7 kids, five of which were girls.  She did some "crazy" things too. 

In fact, when it gets down to it, I'm sure after Pat has left this world, our kids will be telling these funny stories about her.  Even now, on the rare occasion when I'm with one or all of our three sons, they'll start telling stories about her that make my sides split.  Many of these stories had me in them with her,  but at the time I didn't realize how funny we seemed to them. 

It's a good legacy to leave behind!

Happy Mother's Day, Moms!!!

Jackass, the series!

 

I was channel surfing a few nights ago and ran upon a portion of a series called "Jackass."  I'm sure most of you are aware of it (I've been told that they've even made a series of "Jackass" movies for the big screen) but for some reason it has eluded me until the other night.  What caught my attention was this guy agreed to get into a shopping cart, no helmet or other protection, and allow a couple of his buddies to push him off of a hill similiar to Reynolds Street or Third Street hill (actually it looked quite a bit like Town Hill in Greenville).  Anyhow, this shopping cart and passenger went flying down the hill, staying perfectly on course until it got about three-quarters of the way down and there it hit the curb, flipped over and passenger and cart landed in a large ditch.  He was shaken up but no bones were apparently broken.  If it wasn't such a stupid move, it probably would have been funny.  But wait....did I say stupid?  I sort of remember doing something similiar back in school days and it didn't seem stupid back then....in fact it was downright funny!  Could it be I'm getting to be a "curmudgeon?"

I've written about several of these in previous blogs (sledding on Third Street hill, diving off the tipple at Gibraltar into Green River) but there were plenty more and Johnny Knoxville (the host of Jackass) would have been proud.  These go way back into early boyhood and I'll try to name a few more.

Fourth Street Hill.  One of Central City's lesser known but just as dangerous hills was the infamous Fourth Street Hill that ran beside the old Scouthouse.  Although much shorter than Third Street and Reynolds Street hills, it was just as steep.  It was only one-half block long from top to bottom and it emptied directly into Whitmer Street at it's base.  What made it more dangerous that it's cousins was that both Fourth and Whitmer were very "loosely" paved, almost to the point of being gravel roads.  In fact, both streets had a layer of small loose gravel over the paved surface. 

One of the first bastions of "manhood" was to take your bicycle (and most of us rode 26-inchers) and ride down the hill, turning right onto Whitmer without applying your brakes or without the bicycle completely sliding out from under you.  Both were nearly impossible and unless you found that "perfect groove" you wouldn't make it.  To complicate this even further, many times we would attempt this while either enroute to or from the city swimming pool which meant we only were wearing swimming trunks. 

I had attempted to perform this feat numerous times in my youth only to "give in" and apply my brakes at the last split second.  I was probably about seven or eight years old during this period of my life.  My bicycle was a huge and heavy Western Flyer twenty-six incher with whitewall balloon tires and handlebar streamers.  It was a gift from my Granddad and I was too short to even sit in the saddle.  I rode the steel bar that connected the seat to the handlebars (which was "tricky" sometimes).  Anyhow, this particular day, a group of us decided to meet on the hill and try once again to make the manuever.  There were about six or seven of us, including one standing down on the corner to be sure we didn't apply our brakes and lie about it.  The first two set out and like always, at the last minute you could hear their brakes squeal and their tires slide across the loose pavement ever so slightly.  Foiled again. 

When my turn came, I pushed off the hill and picked up speed.  For some reason this particular day, I felt confident I could actually make it.  We were on the way to the pool so naturally, I only had on swimming trunks.  As I neared the bottom of the hill and began my right turn I still felt confident.  I leaned over gently and so far so good.

The trick was to make as wide a turn as possible and barely miss the inside curb on your right then swing wide again once you were on Whitmer, maintaining as straight a trajectory as possible.  As I clipped the inside curb (I was probably going about 25 miles per hour), my right foot pedal was "down" and it hit the edge of the curb which set me sliding.  The bike came completely out from under me and I slid on my knees, stomach, shoulders, chin and forehead from the West side of Whitmer all the way to the East side, and Whitmer was one of those streets that was wide enough to angle park on both sides.  I was one solid "scab."  Both my body and my pride hurt a lot as I tried to hold back tears and get back on the bicycle for the ride home. 

When I got home, Mom took one look at me and said "you were trying to get down fourth street hill without your brakes, weren't you?"  "Yep," I replied.  "Well go get into the bathtub and wash the dirt off" she said.  When I returned to the kitchen, I knew what was next.  The dreaded "Methiolate," which was slightly worse than pouring gasoline on it and igniting it.  The only good thing about Metholiate was that it made the pain so bad that you actually forgot how bad it originally hurt when you had the wreck in the first place.  Anyhow, it took about a week to heal and before the end of summer I learned to routinely get down Fourth Street hill without applying the brakes.

Once you learned it, it actually became boring.

"Initiation behind the High School."   When you began your career at the High School, after you suffered the humiliation of "purchasing" your locker from one of the older guys (which you later got back when you became one of the older guys), you had to suffer another humiliation by being "initiated."  "Initiation" was when a group of the older guys took a group of us younger guys to the back of the schoolyard.  Back then there was a "super steep" hill (darned near a "cliff") that was formed from years of "cinders" from the old boiler that heated the school.  This "cliff" was probably about ten or fifteen feet tall but to us kids it looked like a mountain.  Anyhow, they'd push you off of it and you'd slide and "shimmy" down it dodging broken pop bottles and other garbage mingled in with the cinders.  These cinders were perfectly capable of tearing clothing and puncturing skin.  You didn't dare cry, no matter how bad it hurt, because that would just provoke the older guys to "keep it up."  You took it like a man and you endured the day without complaint, no matter how bad it hurt.  I wonder how long that tradition continued (the old cinder hill, like the School is gone now).

Riding inside a tractor inner tube.  In my pre-teen and early teenage years, we spent a considerable amount of time out at the "bluff" on Green River.  Across from the bluff and just downriver was an area they called the "sandbar."  The "sandbar" was just exactly that.  It was an area of sand that went for about 100' or so and was about fifteen or twenty feet wide.  It was the only area along that portion of the river that was "sandy," and it was the closest thing out there to an actual beach.  We'd usually comandeer somebody's parent's fishing boat and taxi people over there two or three at a time.  It wasn't uncommon on a Sunday afternoon for fifteen or twenty people to be over there.

The "sandy" portion ran from about water's edge and it was fairly flat on the "beach" area.  Directly behind it, the riverbank was very steep and "woodsy" with a couple of man-made paths going from the top to the bottom.  About a foot into the water, the sand abruptly ended and the river bottom was "gooey" black mud.  Most of the girls would sun bathe on the sand but preferred to stay out of the water as much as possible because of the mud.  Guys would cover themselves up in the "goop" and dive in to wash it off.  I guess we thought this was funny and appealing to the girls (which it wasn't). 

One day, one of the guys showed up with a huge inner tube.  It had come from one of the "Ukes" from the mines ("Uke" being a synonym for "Euclid," a huge truck used to haul coal and dirt in the strip mines that was built in Euclid, Ohio).  This tube stood about 6' tall and could hold about eight people.  We couldn't use it to float on the river though because it would end up downstream and without a good-sized boat to pull it back upstream, it would have been a long walk along the shoreline. 

It wasn't long before we discovered that you could "roll" it up one of the paths going up the bank (this took at least three people to do), stand it upright and it would roll and bounce along the shore and several feet into the water.  We decided to find somebody brave (or stupid) enough to "prop" themselves into the center of it and see if they could ride there for it's entire trip.  This sounded easy enough but the bank of the Green River isn't completely "smooth," and when it hit a "hump," it would catapult for about ten feet before hitting again and bouncing even further.  This was fine as long as it hit over the soft sand or better yet, the water but if it turned over before clearing the wooded edge of the shoreline, it could "smart" at best.  Well, the "somebody" they found was me. 

We pushed it to the top of the bank, stood it upright and I climbed in the center.  The valve stem was about six inches long so it had to be positioned where I could hold onto it with both hands in order to always know where it was and to insure it didn't go where I didn't want it.  Once in the center and positioned, all I had to do was push against the opposite edge to "wedge" myself into it and hang on for the ride.  Sounded simple enough to me.  The other two guys pushed me off the hill and I began my descent.  After a few feet it became harder to hang on because it was spinning so fast.  Pretty soon it hit the first "hump" on the downhill path and went airborne about six feet into the air.   It took another bounce about midway through the sand and "sprang" another ten feet or so up into the air and catapulted itself out over the water.   When it reached the apex of it's arch, it suddenly turned sideways and began it's descent.  I looked down to my right and noticed that there was one bush about six feet out into the water and I was heading directly toward it.  I knew how Wyle E. Coyote always felt when he ran out over the edge of a cliff.  The world seemed to momentarily stop as I looked down at the knots and jagged edges of the bush and suddenly the tube began it's descent and it was all over in a matter of seconds.  I hit the bush dead on and it hurt like heck but with all of those girls watching, I wasn't going to let on like it hurt at all. 

A couple of guys came into the water and disentangled me from my lair.  I was pretty sure I had dislocated a shoulder and broken a toe but I didn't let on.  If I did, in fact, do those things, I never knew it and they eventually healed themselves.  One thing about it though was as far as I know, I was the only one to ever ride the center of the tube from the top of the bank.  After everyone else saw what happened they were happy to give me bragging rights for that feat.

Attempting to launch a rocket to the moon.  One of my favorite movies of all time was the film "October Sky," about a boy who idolized Werner Van Braun (who pioneered rockets as we know them today).  This kid became obsessed with making rockets and launching them as part of his science class.  His science teacher (played by Laura Dern) encouraged him to follow his dream.  His dad was a foreman at the local coal mine and wanted his son to become a miner like himself since he wasn't good enough at football to land a scholarship and he knew he'd have to "spring" for his education.  Long story short, the kid went on to become a famous rocket scientist (this was based on a true story).  Great movie.

In real life, things didn't happen like this.  Fortunately, I wasn't a part of this experiment but a few of my boyhood buddies were.  Two of these were my old pals Larry Vincent and David Greenwood.  From about the eighth grade on the three of us were pretty much inseparable.  I don't remember where I was or what I was doing when they pulled this stunt off but anyway, I wasn't there.  I have to base the facts on what witnesses who were there told me, and since their stories were pretty consistent, I feel they're true for the most part.

Anyhow,  Larry somehow ended up with a rocket launching kit.  He either got this as a gift for his birthday or Christmas or something but it wasn't the type of thing he'd go buy with his hard earned money because it required some thought and quite a bit of following directions.  Anyhow, he and a group of buddies (excluding me) decided they wanted to launch this rocket which was made of wood.  It looked just like the big rockets of those days only this one was about two feet long.  It has a host of stuff that made up the fuel to get it airborne (which the only one I remember is gunpowder) but anyhow, they loaded it up with this stuff and placed it on it's launching pad.

They were in somebody's back yard and there weren't a lot of trees back there but there was one large oak tree on the edge of the lot.  This rocket had a fuse just like a stick of dynamite.  When the time came to light the fuse, Larry took extra caution and stood behind the large tree.  The rest of the boys simply stood around the rocket and watched as it lifted off it's pad.  It climbed to about thirty feet, turned on it's side (toward the oak tree) shot towards Larry and exploded directly beside him, embedding a large piece of it in his inner bicept.  It was like "destiny" had sought Larry out.  After a trip to the emergency room and several stiches, he still carries a scar to remind him of this adventure today.

When the Times-Argus came out that week the headline on the front page said "Central City Youths Miss Moon by 250,000 Miles!"

Attempting to get a Go-Kart started by pulling it with a car.  This one also involves my two common "partners in crime," David Greenwood and Larry Vincent.  Larry's grandparents lived on the Old Greenville Road (Old 62) which was a curvy and narrow lane.  Many of you would remember it as the route to the "Old Morehead Cemetery" where many of us went "parking."  Somewhere along his pathway to life, Larry managed to accrue a single seater go-kart which sat idle in his granddad's garage for many years.  One afternoon, in our quest to avoid the boredom of the day, Larry, David and myself decided to get the old kart out and see if we could get it running.  It had apparently been "sitting" for several years.  The gas tank was dried up so we added some new fresh gasoline to it.  The oil was still in the motor although it was pretty black and thick.  We made several attempts to start the engine by pulling on it's starter rope but to no avail.  We decided the best way to get it going was to tie it to the back bumper of Larry's '56 Chevy and pull it up the road until it fired.  David was elected to drive the car, I was the "spotter" and Larry volunteered to drive the go-kart.  We were all about sixteen years old and Larry was already well over 6' tall and when he seated himself into the kart, all you could see was knees and elbows protruding out the sides.  He didn't wear a helmet and I believe all he had on was a pair of cut off jeans and a tee shirt.  The rope that was attached to the back of the car was at least sixty or seventy feet long. 

Fortunately "new" Highway 62 was already built so "old" highway 62 was actually an "offshoot" that began at the base of the southern end of Ryan Hill (Reservoir Ave) and ended at the Northern end of the entrance to Powderly.  As I said, it was very "curvy" and during the daytime was scarcely used (at night when the "parkers" came out, that was a different story).  We pulled out of the driveway and got the slack out of the rope.  Larry gave us the "thumbs up!"  The Chevy was a three speed on the column ("Three on the Tree"- remember that?) and David took off slowly in low gear.  The kart tracked behind us.  He wound it up a little to shift into second gear and "so far, so good," but the kart still hadn't started it's engine.  Finally, at my urging (remember I was the spotter and was "hunkered" on my knees facing backward in the front passenger's seat) he sped the car up to about 50 mph.

Two things come into play here.  First, since most of the land on both sides of "Old 62" were owned by the coal companies and there weren't any "environmental laws" in those days, there tended to be a lot of "roadside dumps" where people hauled household garbage and junk.  Second, the go-cart had a steering wheel that was about 6" in diameter and steered very abruptly when turned about 3" in any direction.  It was not designed to go over about 10 mph and we were now going about fifty.  I could see Larry was having a lot of trouble keeping it on a straight trajectory, and the curvy nature of the road didn't help.  It also didn't help that the sight of him (all elbows and knees) trying to drive it struck hard at my "funnybone" and I was laughing loudly at him which got David "tickled" and he was also laughing as I tried to describe what was going on back there.  Larry had a look of "sheer terror" on his face as the kart weaved back and forth, edge to edge of the narrow pavement. 

For some reason, David said (or did) something that diverted my attention to him and when I looked back Larry was gone.  I assumed the rope had come untied and just as I was about to tell David to slow down, Larry came "catapulting" out of a deep ditch alongside the road that contained lots of junk (cans, bottles, refrigerators) and lots of honeysuckle vines.  As he re-entered the highway he was airborne about three feet with a honeysuckle vine wrapped around his neck that was at least twenty feet long and a lapful of bottles and cans....not to mention some mud and rocks.  Immediately he ventured into another ditch on the opposite side of the road and had the same results.  I finally managed to get my breath long enough to get David to bring the car to a stop.  We got out and Larry was now "wrapped' in honeysuckle vines and all the other junk and other than a few scratches and abrasions, was basically unhurt.   Johnny Knoxville would have loved this (he probably wasn't even born yet).

I could tell about another dozen stories like this that would certainly qualify us for a starring role on Jackass, but I think you get the point.  I'm also sure I wouldn't have any trouble finding "co-stars" out there and never have to cross the county line.

Life's Memories are reawakened by "smell".....

ConocoPhillips is teaming up with Peabody Energy to build a "Coal to Natural Gas" synthetic natural gas plant here in Central City.  As with all projects involving the burning of fossil fuels, there has to be a hearing that allows comments from the public regarding the pros and cons of issuing a "clean air" permit.  Such a hearing was held last night at the Merle Travis Music Center and over 300 attended.  As usual at these events, everyone was allowed to speak and there were differing opinions on the topic.  Wasn't a lot of "gray" area there as it was either the cleanest thing since pine scented Ajax (95% of those attending)  or it was a foul smelling pollution belching monster (5%).  Actually it was somewhere in between but that's not why I bring up this subject.

I don't know what it is about public hearings, but it's something "spiritual," just like when given the opportunity to speak in church, that makes the orator want to be as poetic as possible.  This is especially true if they get time to prepare their remarks.  They like to conjour memories of times past, especially the tough times.  We listened as a twenty-two year  old talked about the old days and how much tougher times were "back then."  This guy already had cell phones (although they were called "bag phones" in those days), computers, the Internet, etc.  Of course he didn't have "texting" or an "I-phone."

Some of the speakers brought up some memories that made my small mind float back in time, however.  A couple of them alluded to when the old Roundhouse was operating here and how between the coal furnaces and railroad engines, there was a constant smell of combustion (smoke) throughout our town.  They spoke of how you could hang your clothes outside to dry and if the wind was blowing in a certain direction, those clothes would have to be "re-washed" because of the "soot" that settled on them.  This was, of course, more prevalent in the winter than it was in the summer because that's when the coal furnaces were used.  The item that brought all of this up is how much less our air (at least here in Muhlenberg County) is polluted than it was "back then."

I remember as a young boy delivering papers on my route and the smell of this smoke permeated throughout the entire city.  It seemed as natural as drinking water from a creek to us because it had always existed throughout my young life.  I would simply put my transistor radio in a shirt pocket, stick an earphone in my ear and listen to top 40 hits on WMTA and life was good as I delivered the papers.  It didn't matter what I was breathing.   Even after leaving home for the service, one of my first duties was to shovel coal into the stokers in Ft. Lewis Washington and these sames smells were my only reminder of home out there on the west coast. 

Natural gas became a part of our landscape in the early sixties about the same time the railroads converted to diesel engines.  By the mid to late sixties, the smell of coal was all but gone.  The massive TVA power plant was built but the emissions from it didn't rest in our town unless the wind blew it this way which was fairly rare.  The bigger problem (in my mind) in those days was all the speed humps (actually speed depressions) in our streets from the installation of gas lines.  Sort of kept us from being able to drive sixty miles per hour up Broad Street, which is what we wanted to do.

After my parents passed away, I purchased their home from their estate and made a rental house out of it.  Several people have asked me if it's tough to visit that home, especially when someone else lives there and I have so many memories revolving around it.  Of course it doesn't, because a home isn't sticks and stones.  A home is also the way it's decorated and most especially how it smells.  To the people who live there now, and the several others who have lived there over the years, it was distinctively theirs...nothing of the decor or smell was anything like it was when my brother and I lived in it with our parents. 

It's the same with a home town.  I'll never forget the smell of the burning coal in those early years.  I miss the smell of burning leaves and when we go up to our lake house in the fall and rake and burn them, it brings back good memories.  I love the smell of a campfire or open fire.   The smell of a wood burning stove or a fireplace.  A good pipe tobacco or expensive cigar (I don't smoke them but when someone else does, I like the smell).  More recently, when I leave my office each evening (I'm next door to the Sonic), I enjoy smelling the hamburgers and french fries cooking as people are starting to arrive for their evening meal.  Nothing beats the smell of springtime even if the various stuff emited by the plants limits how long you can smell them (it's called allergies).

Most of these are considered "pollution" by the environmentalists and EPA but I don't care.  If I have to leave this earth a little early because of them, it was worth it.  I'm glad I got to smell them and from time to time I even miss them.  My mother smoked unfiltered Camel cigarettes for 68 years and they probably killed her but that's what she loved and if tobacco is grown in heaven, she's smoking now.  For those with breathing problems, (and I understand you're disagreeing with me on this issue), I'm sorry you're not able to enjoy life's "polluting" smells without irritation or breathing problems.  I want you to be able to enjoy the experiences I've enjoyed and smelling pollution is a part of this thing we call life.  I also understand that if we had "kept it up," we'd all be living a shorter life so it's a good thing that we clean things up. 

Now about that "spit" on the sidewalks........

Your Call is (not) Important to Us!

Like most of you, I have become "dependent" upon some of the electronic gadgets we use everyday.  I not only depend upon my cell phone (for business and pleasure) but I enjoy my satellite dish and my internet, when they are working.  In all fairness, and for the most part, they have performed pretty well over the past five years or so.  I expect the satellite to not perform very well during a hard rainstorm but I have learned to adapt with that shortcoming and it hasn't been much of a problem.  Fortunately it hasn't rained hard during the Super Bowl or the Daytona 500 or a close UK basketball game in the NCAA Tournament.

About five or six years ago, I decided to sign up with AT & T high speed internet service and until recently, it's been pretty reliable.  I had an issue with it about three years ago, I dialed their Tech Support network (which at the time was manned by Americans), they had me try a few quick maneuvers and determined I needed a new Modem.  The following day, a technician from AT & T showed up and in ten minutes fixed the problem...all at their cost (well actually, it was included in the fifty bucks a month I pay them for service at my home).  It has worked fine for the past three years.

Last week, we lost our service so the next day, my son called their tech support line.  He was greeted by a young geek named Matthew who spoke some language between English and Swahili.  We assumed Matthew was certainly a nickname for some muslim name that has fourteen syallables and no vowels in it.  We envisioned him sitting in a cubicle in the middle of the Calcutta Desert smoking a cigarette made from camel dung and wearing a turban while drinking a warm glass of Yak milk. 

He put us through a battery of tests while at our computer, many of which we had to ask him to repeat several times because of the language barrier.  After about forty minutes, it appeared he had somehow restored our internet service and we parted company.  Later that night, it went down again, but my son (who can be somewhat of a Geek when it comes to computers) remembered the battery of instructions from Matthew earlier that day and he went ahead and performed them himself.  It worked...for about three hours.  He repeated it again and again it worked...for about three hours.  The next day, when I was attempting unsuccessfully to get on the Internet, he kindly showed me how to do these tests and get the Internet going again.  This went on for about two or three days and finally they got to the point where it would only stay on for a matter of minutes or wouldn't come back on at all.  This time my son refused to called tech support and made me do it.

After pushing a variety of buttons entering the "Abyss of Tech Support,"  I finally reached a human voice from a guy named "Herbert."  "Herbert" and "Matthew" were apparently classmates in the same English Class because both of them talked alike and neither of them could be understood by anyone claiming to be "reasonably American."  I'm sure Herbert could sense how frustrating I was becoming as he put me through the same exact battery of tests that Matthew did and even a couple more.  The phone call took a total of fifty minutes (minutes being "burnt" from my cell phone) and when we got done, the internet service was working again.  This lasted for about twenty minutes after I hung up.  I decided to wait until the next day (which was this morning) to call back because I knew I would have said things I would later regret if I had called them then. 

This morning, I got up in a good mood, ate a nice breakfast and read the Sunday morning paper.  When I was done, I decided to call AT & T tech support and made up my mind I wouldn't say anything out of line, but that I would be firm in demanding a service technician be dispatched to my home in Kentucky.  This time (after the same twenty minutes of pushing buttons to get to a human), I got to speak to Stephanie.  Stephanie's demeanor seemed more "friendly" than Matthew's and Herbert's but her English wasn't any better.  I explained as calmly as possible what my ordeal had been over the past few days and told here I wasn't interested in any more "tests" or anything of the sort but I simply wanted to request a service tech to bring a new modem and head my way.  Apparently, this couldn't register with her tiny brain because she began talking like a "Droid" and asked me to perform the same battery of junk her predecessors did.  She also asked me (in a kind way) to disconnect the modem, including the power plug, phone line and some other yellow cable and leave them disconnected for about five minutes.  Since her voice was more pleasant than the other guys and since she was a female, I decided to follow her request.  She then had me hook it back up and see if it came back online, which it did.  She promised to stay with me as long as it took to insure it stayed online this time.  She asked me to search some sites, get on facebook...simply do what I would do if she wasn't there and see if it stayed connected.  I did this for some fifteen minutes and it appeared to work.  Stephanie even promised to give me a call Monday to see how things are going.  After several minutes, we parted company.  Ten minutes later guess what?  Yep, it crashed again!  Can't wait for Stephanie's call tomorrow.

Finally, in desperation, I call them once more and this time I get somebody named "Chris," which I think was a man but still can't be sure.  I tell "Chris" to listen and not talk but that I am very "frustrated" with AT & T's tech support and that I intend to quit them ASAP unless I can get a service tech out to my house.  I demanded to speak with (1) the highest ranking manager he/she could connect me with or (2) someone from Kentucky who spoke my language.  "Chris" tried desparately to get into "Droid" mode and perform the battery of tests again but my constant yelling apparently convinced him/her I was serious so he/she said they would connect me with a technical support office in Henderson, Kentucky, which I quickly agreed to.  I thought that meant he/she was going to give me the phone number for this fellow Kentuckian, but instead he/she transferred the call direct from Calcutta or Bangladesh or wherever he/she was.  When the phone rang, a recording came on asking me to please call back during regular office hours.  It left no phone number and when the recording ended, I got a dial tone.  End of conversation.

The first number I intend to call tomorrow is 1-888-321-2375 to tell AT & T to permanently disconnect my Internet Service.....FOREVER, ending a forty-plus year business relationship!  The second call will be to someone else to provide me with an internet service that is (1) high speed, (2) reasonably priced, (3) reasonably dependable and (4) can be serviced locally.

Now Dish Network better hope my TV doesn't go down for awhile!

 

Gettin' Nostalgic for Downtown Again....

Pat and I went to Owensboro tonight to pick up our youngest Granddaughter who happens to be spending the night at our house.  We decided to eat out and asked her where she wanted to go.  "Ritzy's" she immediatly said.  For those who haven't been to a Ritzy's, they have these "old time burgers" that start out as a meatball about 3" in diameter and then they are placed on a grill and "smushed" into a pattie that is about 8" in diameter and about a quarter-inch thick.  They are wonderful and when served with their miniature crispy french fries are absolutely "heaven."  Then top that off with what they call a "chocolate-chocolate" shake and it reminds you of eating in one of those drug store diners during the fifties...the ones who made milk shakes in a metal can and you poured it into a "Coca-Cola" glass. Unbeatable!

I've mentioned it before in previous blogs, but I used to work at Corner Drug in downtown Central City (it was previously Miller Drug Store) and one of the duties of that job involved working at the soda fountain (a term lost in history).  The old fountain was made of stainless steel and had a formica counter.  The brand name was "Bastian Blessing."  My Dad also worked at one of these at Donovan Drug Store and Robinson's Drug Store nearly 50 years previous. 

I suppose being a "soda jerk" was the closest thing to being a bartender in those days as we would get a lot of the same characters there every day.  Most of the day, it was operated by Barbara "Lefty" Vincent during the morning/through lunch hours and she was assisted by Mary Lou Hardwick Skeeba when it got busy.  I would get to work about 3 p.m. and it was my responsibility from then to 7 p.m. when we closed.  Downtown Central City had a similiar atmosphere to Bedford Falls, the fictional town in It's a Wonderful Life, especially in the winter.  There weren't any huge department stores in those days (at least not around here) and everyone pretty much knew everybody else.  I got to spend a lot of time, even as a fourteen year old kid, listening to the dreams and problems of the regular clientele.

The counter didn't have a grill and the only hot food you could get there was soup or chile which came in cans and was heated on a contraption similiar to a Mr. Coffee.  We also had a selection of what we called "Nabs" (short for Nabisco, who originally made them), which were packages of four cheese or ritz type crackers with cheese filling or peanut butter.  Of course we had Ice Cream (the hard stuff, not soft-serve) in four or five flavors, available in either dish or cone, banana splits, sundaes (including hot fudge), Cherry Smashes (cherry syrup mixed in carbonated water), Cherry Cokes, fountain drinks and those marvelous milk shakes and malts concocted in metal cans.  We had Alka Seltzer (in tear open packages) and Bromo-Seltzer which was a dry powder served in an otherwise empty glass with a side of carbonated (called Seltzer) water.
This product must have had some "addictive" properties because we had more than one regular customer who would come in every evening and order up one of these.  They would take the two glasses, pour the carbonated water into the Bromo Seltzer and it would foam completely out of the glass.  They would then "down" this mixture in a single gulp, "plop" the glasses back on the counter, pay (they were a quarter) and leave.  The counter was generally a mess where they were sitting and had to be wiped with a wet rag before the "foam" dried on it;

I had one gentleman who was a mechanic at Lester Motors stop by every evening after work (and Sundays before evening church) and he would have a cup of soup and a Cherry Smash.  I have no idea how long he had been doing this before I began working there but I'll bet it was difficult for him after we moved across the street because the new drug store didn't have the soda fountain.  To my knowledge, no one else around sold Cherry Smashes.  I guess he had to learn to eat "regular" meals.  Anyway, it must have been healthy as he lived well into his nineties.

The Soda fountain was the "gathering place" for many of the local merchants, clerks, accountants, lawyers and pretty much anyone who hung out downtown.  They would eat their "real meals" at either Winnie's or the D & W Cafe (Jerry's and The Peerless were the choice of the railroaders and those who hung out at the pool rooms) and they would have coffee and a package of Nebs in the mid morning or mid afternoons.  Guys like Charles Bennett Greenwood (Barnes Mercantile), Carl Pendley (Western Auto), Joe Whitmer (Broadway Jewelry), Fred and George Wallace (Wallace Hardware), Buddy Becker (Buddy's Hardware), Dave Cohen (Cohen's), Jonas Rubenstein (Charles' Store),  Clayton Reed (Ben Franklin's), John Hinson (Newberry's),
E. G. Pegues (J. C. Penney's) and a host of others.  We also had a regular cast of town "characters" reguarly stop in such as Donald Frazier, "Candy" Hampton, Rabbit Franklin, "Jimmy" (never knew his last name but he worked at the State Theater), Mr. Wells (the guy who got dressed up in a blue suit and came to town to "people watch" every day, rain or shine), Cash Miller (street preacher), James Howerton (whose sole purpose in life was to count cars at the corner of First & Broad streets every day) and several others.  It was a simpler life in simpler times.

One of my duties when we closed was to be sure the front doors (there were two of them side by side) were locked because we exited via a side door.  One morning Orville (Brand, the owner) came to work and found the front doors unlocked...I had somehow forgot to lock them the night before.  Miraculously nothing inside was bothered.  Imagine that today.

I worked at Corner Drug seven days a week, four hours Sunday through Friday, ten hours on Saturdays and never missed a day for sickness (or any other reason) during the five years I worked there (I started in the 8th grade at thirteen years old).  We were the only store in downtown that stayed open until 7 pm every night (8 pm on Fridays when ALL the downtown stores stayed open late) and until 5 pm on Sundays.  The Apple House and Corner Drug were the only retail stores in town that were even open on Sunday, along with one or two of the "cut-rate" gas stations (stations that sold gas and cigarettes and nothing else).  We had no shopping centers in those days and Owensboro only had one and it was closed  on Sundays.  The Dairy Maid and maybe a couple of the restaurants opened on Sundays but for the most part, people were expected to go to church and spend the rest of the day at home.  The largest store we had in town was the
A & P Supermarket and later Stewart's IGA.

It's hard to imagine life today without Drive-In Windows, ATM machines, huge Box Stores, gigantic impersonal building supply stores, and the like but those were sure good days when you went downtown to purchase groceries, nails, tools, bicycles, clothes, shoes, cash a check, get an ice-cream cone or hamburger, buy a car (or get it fixed), get your oil changed and a lube job (or your windshield washed), purchase a goldfish or pet turtle or pea-shooter...whatever.  Each store was a specialty place with experts in the products and services they sold (as well as our neighbors). 

I suppose in twenty years we'll just purchase everything online and probably won't even need the big box stores any longer.  Who would have thought a generation would be remembering when Wal-Mart actually "stocked" items on shelves that you purchased in person, would be referred to as the "good old days."
If that happens, maybe somebody will see a need to install a "soda fountain."  You can't buy a Cherry Smash online!

I'm no "Techno-freak," but...

I've never been much of a "techno-freak," and still am not but if you're not on "Facebook," I highly recommend you get on it.  Once you do that, you can search for "friends" (people you want to know what they're up to and don't mind them knowing what you're up to) or you can search for "causes" (friends with things of interest to you like "Save the Sperm Whales) or you can search for "Groups" (subjects of interest to you like historical photos).  There are several of these referring to Muhlenberg County and it's communities.  A great one is "Muhlenberg County Historical Group," which has lots of old pictures of our county.

One of the best (it was started by Taylor Watkins) is one called "Central City, KY memories."  There are hundreds of old photos of mostly Central City, it's residents, it's buildings and houses and pretty much anything else that happened in our town in the past 80 years (or in some cases even more).  Jackie Bowen went over to the Muhlenberg County Archives building at the library in Greenville and obtained hundreds of these pictures on a CD.  He then proceeded to upload these photos on this group's page.  It is unbelievable and is a "time machine."  It has people who have departed this life long ago (and some recently) that were a part of this community and played a role in most of our lives. 

Remember the old trampolines out by the Dairy Maid in the 50's - 60's.  There's pictures of them on there.  How about Mr. Fosco's famous Hot Tamale wagon that frequented Broad Street in the 40's.  Yep, it's there too!  Walter Creager?  Rabbit Franklin?  Wilbur Wheeldon?  They're all there. 

We've had a lot of fires downtown over the years in Central City.  Some of the buildings were rebuilt just to burn again (J. J. Newberry).  Most of these fires are in these archives.  Floods - common downtown in the mid-thirties...got 'em on film.  Remember Judge Campbell?  He's there...so is Edna Batsel (Health Dept. Nurse) and lots of other folks who've entered and exited our lives.

I avoided facebook (still avoid "Twitter") and "MySpace" for years.  I remember the fad of the seventies when everyone had a CB radio.  We invented a new language with terms like "Good Buddy, Double Nickels (55 mph), County Mountie, Smokie Bear, Lordy-Sakes-Alive" and other strange sayings.  We'd get on them for hours and "yak" (CB language for talk) and say literally "nothing."  A typical conversation would go like this:

Wampus Cat (me): "What about ya, Ballyhoo?  You got a copy on this one Wampus Kitty?"

Ballyhoo: "10-4 Good Buddy, you're "peggin' my meter!"  (coming in loud & clear).

Wampus Cat:  "What's your "twenty" good buddy?"  (where you at?)

Ballyhoo:  "I be at that ol' one Wal-Mart in the parking lot waitin' for Lady Ballyhoo!"

Wampus Cat: "That ol' Lady Ballyhoo not let you go in there with her?"

Ballyhoo: " That's "negatory" good buddy...she's afraid this ol' Ballyhoo would spend too much moola!" (negatory means "no")

Wampus Cat:  "What kinda readin' am I puttin' on ya Good Buddy?" (CB radios have a meter showing how strong your signal is)

Ballyhoo: "Whooeee Good Buddy...you be "slammin' bout a seventy-five on me!"  (that's a 75 reading out 100 - pretty strong)

Wampus Cat: "That'd be a big 10-4.  Guess these twin ears are perculatin' tonight!"  (twin ears are two antennae)

Ballyhoo:  "What's that ol' Lady Wampus Kitty doin' tonight?"  (What's your lovely wife up to?)

Wampus Cat: "She be doin' the laundry and the dishes.  Soon as she's done we might run down to Sonic for a cone."  Hope she's

                      got some money cause the ol' Wampus Kitty's broke til payday.  Spent all my money on this "power mike!"

Ballyhoo:  "10-4 on spendin' all yer money on that mike...I did that last month.  Lady Ballyhoo didn't mind though cause she uses it

                  all day while I'm at work!"

Wampus Cat:  "10-4!  Wish I could get the Lady Wampus Cat to do that!"

Ballyhoo:  "10-4 on that good buddy!"

Wampus Cat:  "Well, Ballyhoo, guess I'd better shut 'er down and head for bed...6 o'clock comes mighty early.  Keep yer thumb on

                     the button, yer foot on the pedal and yer hand on the wheel!  Wampus Cat Out!"

Ballyhoo:  "10-4 Good Buddy. That old one Ballyhoo is over and out!"

It was for this reason I avoided Facebook and other social sights because I was afraid I'd have to learn a new language.  I'm not into "texting" like my granddaughter and I'm not too familiar with the language.  Terms like OMG, BTW, and others are strange to me and I was afraid Facebook would require I learn these terms.  I've found it's friendly, sociable and easy to use.

Speaking of "texting," my oldest granddaughter can "peck out" a message before you can say "Shazam!"  She's faster with her thumbs than my typing teacher (Mrs. Clark) was in high school.  Her messages make literally no sense to me but it doesn't matter...her close friends know what she's saying.  She was on the boat dock up at Lake Malone and texted (is that a word?) a friend in Owensboro.  She poked in about three paragraphs and there wasn't a vowel in the entire message.  After she hit "send," she got back a "two paragraph" message that didn't have a consonant in it (something like "oooeeeoooaaaaoa aaaoouaee oeaiioeouuu....").

These new cell phones amaze me.  I have a few friends that have iphones (I'm sure most of you do too).  These are only "phones" about 2% of the time.  The other 98% they're computers, levels, weather predictors, GPS navigators, gameboys, maps, libraries, telegraphs, ipods, thermometers (for my use they might as well be "rectal" thermometers) and whatever else you would need them for.

They've ruined the art of conversation as we know it.  A group of us eat lunch together somewhere most days and usually a disagreement (nice word for argument) ensues.  Most times it's over a subject none of us know anything about but won't admit it (this is pretty much a "manly" trait so you women just bear with me here).  In the old days, the one who got in the "last word" usually won the argument, even if he wasn't right.  We'd just leave after lunch and forget it.  Those days are gone.  Now when we get into one of these conversations, one of the guys simply pulls out his trusty iphone, clicks a few buttons and "voila"... there's the answer right there...in nanoseconds!  To save embarassment, now all we can talk about is what we actually know - which makes for some short conversations!

I referred to typing class in high school a couple of paragraphs back.  This new technology makes me think how far we've come.  I remember in that class we had about two modern electric typewriters and probably twenty old "tanks."  These were the old typewriters that had the letters worn off the keys and stood about a foot tall and you could see every working part of it if you looked down from the top.  To get a "strike" onto paper you had to depress the keys what seemed to be about three inches....and they expected you to hammer out eighty words a minute with no mistakes.  I never got close to that but I finally did get up to about twenty-two words a minute with about twenty mistakes.  These old typewriters had their own characteristics and you had to learn what they were.  Some had a long "return" bar and some were short.  Of course the "electrics" had a return "button" (talk about state of the art).  The first day of class, I sat at the end of a table (in the corner of the room).  The "return" lever was to my right and you slid it to the left when you completed a line.  Not being used to the "character flaws" of this particular machine, I typed a line and reached up to slide the "return" lever to my left.  I apparently slid too hard because it became "dislodged" from the typewriter and slid to the other end of the table (about eight feet) before "slamming" into the chalkboard.  Mrs. Clark (our teacher) tried to hold a straight face but came totally "unglued" with the sight.  It scared me to death because I though I'd have to pay for it.  She told me it happened to somebody every semester.

I guess the closest I ever came in those days to knowing a "texter" was when I worked at Corner Drug.  Orville Brand, the store owner and Pharmacist could "hammer" out a prescription label, using two fingers in a matter of three or four seconds.  He began using a "manual" typewriter like the old "tanks" at school.  After he had been doing this for about five years he finally "sprung" for a new electric typewriter.  If he ever made a mistake on a label I never caught it.  I've seen him put Band-Aids on his fingers so he could type, even with blisters from typing so much.  Eat your hearts out, "teeny boppers!"

My wife had her cell phone "fizzle" last week so she went to the store to get a new one.  Of course the guy at the store is in the business of selling a thing called "upgrades," more than he is phones.  In fact, if you get enough "upgrades," you can even get the phone for free.  Upgrades are stuff like "Super Value Family Packages" or "Unlimited Texting" or "Free Unlimited Long Distance" (how can it be free when it costs an extra $30.00 per month?).  My last phone was one that didn't have any "options," not even a camera (which amazed most of my buddies - how can you own a phone without it having a camera?).  Guess what - my camera doesn't have a phone in it either.  Anyway, as soon as the guy figured out she didn't want any "upgrades," but rather a phone (it did have a camera), he sort of looked "dejected."  He couldn't believe we didn't "text" each other several times a day.  He couldn't understand how we could cast a vote on "American Idol" without texting it in.  I told him I've never seen "American Idol."  I've never seen "Dancing with the Stars" more than a couple of times and "Survivor" (which we watch when we can) won't let us vote. 

Shoot, if I wanted to vote for somebody on "American Idol," I'm sure they'd let me radio it in on a CB.  "That's a 10-4, Good Buddy!"