Holocaust Remembrance Day

WE MUST NEVER FORGET

Today, April 25, 2006, is Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is largely considered a Jewish holiday, but it is a day when everyone should remember. I am not Jewish, but I was present one joyous and horrific day when a concentration camp was liberated. I will never forget. All mankind MUST remember and never let a thing like that happen again!

Chess Master, Not

I fear that one of the things that a youth of either gender, but mostly male, has to eventually learn is that he is not nearly as good at chess as he thinks he is. I learned the moves quite young as did many of my friends. I took a book or two from the library and mastered some of the standard ploys, openings and end games. I got to think in terms becoming a hot shot in the chess world. Then I went into the Army and ran into more challenges than ever before. Interesting what was hidden under the grime and tin hats of infantry men! But I voluntarily resigned all thoughts of even beginners’ competence when I started playing against the guy in the next bunk at the repo-depot on the way home from the Philippines. This guy was a drunk and I mean he was drunk 24/7. He also was the brother of a successful author. He had "issues". Most of the day he was either reading a book or writing his “great gift to American literature.” I don’t know about his writing, but he beat me at chess, he stomped on me at chess. And every time we played he also serenely read a book concurrently. I quit chess entirely and took up bridge for a while. However, I soon realized that in that game, it is possible to be yelled at by your partner at the same time you are laughed at by the opponent. I gave games up for girls about then and never regretted the move.

Our Heroes

While we probably do not express sufficiently our appreciation, the entire elder community of south Florida owes a lot to the teams of Fire –Rescue people that respond to 911 calls. Few of us reach the age of eighty or eighty-five without having been the beneficiary at some point of these ladies and gentlemen. They are on the go night and day serving not just private homes, but also all the Continuing Care Retirement Communities, but Assisted Living facilities and Nursing homes. Our neighborhood station is proud to be “on scene” in under seven minutes from the call and usually faster.

I can attest to the fact that they know their stuff. Just as important, they are caring souls that make the extra effort when necessary. My personal experience: I was on the way from the hospital to our skilled nursing center for recuperation from an operation to glue together the pieces of a shattered acetabulum. I was in a pseudo-ambulance, a vehicle equipped to transport, but not much more. I was chatting with the attendant in back with me. There was a sudden jamming of brakes and the driver let out a censorable exclamation. The attendant with me instantly became authoritative. He calmly said to the driver, “Call it in!” He examined my IV carefully as he asked, “Can you be alone for a few minutes?” I couldn’t see what was going on but I learned later that two people were trapped in a car which had been broadsided in front of us. The Palm Beach County Fire-Rescue arrived soon. I could hear them arrive. With that the crew driving me returned and we were on our way. The attendant explained to me that he was a Broward Co. EMT and his insurance was provided by Broward. He was moonlighting in Palm Beach. If he was hurt outside Boward, he was not covered. Yet he went yanking and prying on a smashed car to try to save those people even though he was not covered.

There should be a “Day” for these folks.

First Experience with Computer

I am bad at remembering dates, I can guess though that, this happened in the '50s sometime. I was working as a group leader in Research and Development. Computers were being talked about in the newspapers and pictures showed huge arrays of tubes that resembled radio tubes. The department signed up for a service offered by General Electric. A gigantic work station was installed in a central location at the labs. Supervisors were gathered together and given a lesson in "Basic" computer language. The work station was connected by telephone wire to a big computer somewhere in north Jersey. There was no monitor, no mouse, just the oversized typewriter-looking thing and an enormous printer. The printer used paper that had those holes along both margins and fed up in a continuous stream from a cardboard box on the floor. I decided that I would like to be able to enter the data my group gathered and have this miracle machine do all the calculations. But first I had to write a program.

I wasn't burdened with a lot of confidence (never was good at languages). So, I waited until after hours when most everyone had gone home. I labored away at the program-writing until I thought I had it. It was time to send my imput to the big computer at GE. (There was a substantial cost per minute of connection.) I pushed the appropriate keys and, sure enough, the printer groaned and started printing. First problem was, it was printing gibberish. Second problem was, I couldn't turn the darn thing off. I could see the Department being charged dollar after dollar as page after page of random letters and numbers accumulated on the floor. With no help available, I did the only thing I could think of. On hands and knees, I crawled under the monster and pulled the plug. I stuffed the acres of paper into my briefcase, put on my coat and went home.

p.s. Later, I got the hang of it and became a steady user.

The Sky is Closing!

Remember when you were very young, there became an age when expressing fear out loud was no longer "hip", "sharp", "cool", whatever the "in" word was? My parents and I were outdoors waiting because the radio and the newspapers had reported that on today's U.S. arrival of Germany's airship,the Hindenburg, it would pass over New York City and then over the suburbs in New Jersey. It was the largest man-made object to ever fly. They told the time and we were out there waiting. Suddenly, I was frozen with fear! The sky darkened and was filled with this monster, roaring "Thing". Pop and Mom seemed fascinated so I resisted the desire to run in the house and hide under the bed. Gradually is crept across the sky and slid south. Folks were jumping up and down in some sort of excitment I didn't understand.

Follow the link above for the first step in linking your way through the romantic and tragic story of the passenger-carrying light-than-air aircrafts of the prewar era in aviation. I am still convinced I had a reason to be scared that day. I have since done the math: there were 13 houses on each side of our street. Each had a 50 foot front footage. That meant that our street measured about 650 feet. The Hindenburg was 808 ft long and 135 ft in diameter. Flying very low, it smothered our street, my world. I was rightfully frightened.
If you read further about dirigibles, you will learn that the U. S. Navy was a pioneer in their use. You may also be surprised to know that America's refusal to provide Germany with nonflamable helium may not have been the cause of the Hindenburg's demise in a ball of fire at Lakehurst the year after I saw it fly over. Another surprise to many is the fact that the construction of the Hindenburg's sister ship (the Graf Zeppelin II) was completed and it flew after the crash. The onset of World War II kept it from ever achieving fame.

A bitter postscript for me was that I was doing homework with the radio playing on May 6,. 1937. I heard the broadcast of the fire and crash

How Leaders Learn to be Leaders

On Monday nights it is often our (yours too, I’ll bet) misfortune to watch the bumbling efforts to practice entrepreneurship on “The Apprentice” on TV. The winner gets a job in management, something they all (almost all) seem woefully inept and ill-equipped for. We seem to be raising bunches of overweight followers, trained to move a mouse while sitting down and obeying electronically imposed rules. The really well motivated parents get their children out in the sunlight exercising by enrolling them in organized play on a properly lined play ground. But many just hang around and play video games or watch TV.

When the “greatest generation and before”, was young, they just gravitated to a group of like aged kids down or up the street and stood around until someone said “whad’ ya wan’ ta do?” The group chose a game or activity by strength of persuasion or muscle, or who owned a ball. They argued about who would be captain of the team, who would call the plays, what the out-of-bounds and goal lines would be. They chose up sides. It was their game, not “the after-school counselor’s”. It was “organized” only after they organized it. They practiced management long before they knew what it was.

Sorry, I guess I just bemoan the disappearance of: Hide-and seek, tag, two-hand touch, one-hand touch, hop-scotch- jump rope, bicycle racing, one-a-cat, two-a-cat, foot racing (aka known as “last one there is a rotten egg!”), pick up baseball and football, building a tree house, going skinny dipping, fishing in the creek. Even good old cowboys and Indians (PC be darned, besides the Indians won half the time.). Do today’s kids know what a skinned knee is? This is where leadership was learned and managers were born.

ONE MORE BEFORE WE LEAVE

If you are a senior, and even if you are not, you frequently see surveys and polls asking your opinion on the greatest advance in technology in the last century. The computer gets a lot of votes., probably the most. We hear about the transistor and microchip from more technically oriented folks. Disposible diapers are credited by new mothers often. Radio and TV are cited as is assembly line manufacturing. Spray antiperspirants are favored by city dwellers.

BUT AS A LIFE_LONG SUBURBANITE I would like to praise the developer of the power lawn mower with grass catcher. To this day I remember vividly the Saturday I picked up that faithful old Pennsylvania push mower in a temper and threw it as far as I could ( about 18 inches) . I walked straight to the car sitting in the driveway, drove to "Two Guys From Harrison" and without cosulting the checkbook OR my wife -- purchased a POWER MOWER. Outdoor life began that day!

Second choice goes to the power edger. Of course, the manual grass clipper developed a strong handshake, but... the calluses!

Of course, in the "home" where I now reside, I must cofess I look out the window (closed to keep the air conditioning in) and watch the landscaping crew (probably illegal Guatemalans) make the lawn pretty.

Short Paws

We will be gone again for a week. More sitting in a courtroom. This time we should hear the sentence arising from the trial we attended three weeks ago. Be back soon.

The Boy Scouts of America

The Boy Scouts of America were probably in their heyday just as I reached the age to join. There were three troops in our little town and practically every kid joined one or the other when they reached 12 years of age. One troop was in the rich end of town and we had little to do with them. But the others overlapped in terms of area. Our troop (Troop 12) was “unaffiliated” while our competition was sponsored by the Presbyterian Church. My father, a sound Episcopalian, was on the troop committee of Troop 12, so, of course, that was my troop. We had a good and active troop. I don’t think at the time I ever gave a thought as to why so many of our members were Catholics. And I think now that the “competition” was at the troop committee level. We boys didn’t much give a darn what church anyone went to or what troop anyone joined..

Now that a skillion years have gone by, and I have grown aware, suspicious, and cynical, one thing bothers me. The Scoutmaster was a middle aged man that lived in a very large house with his feeble mother. Up on the third floor he had a “scout room” which he devoted to the scouts. He would have young boys up there to give tests, etc. At the time, the “etc.” didn’t occur to me as anything to worry about. I did wonder why the scoutmaster was dismissed by the committee soon after I left for the Army. But I was such a dork at the time!!

One of the highlights of my scouting career was a father and son twenty five mile hike on the Appalachian Trail. For Westerners who aren’t familiar with the AT – It is a wilderness trail that goes from Maine to Georgia along the mountain chains and only for purposes of getting across highways and country roads does it ever touch civilization. We were dropped off somewhere in New Jersey and picked up four days later somewhere in New York State. We camped out and cooked for ourselves three nights. I suspect that I was terrified and sleepless the whole time. I know I jumped out of my skin the day my father, who was walking in front of me, stepped on a snake and it curled itself up and around his hiking boot. I was doubly scared when he chased it and caught it by its neck to show it to me and prove it wasn’t poisonous. Yeah! But he didn’t know that when he stepped on it!. I bet I almost tippi-toed the rest of the hike.

But if it hadn’t been for the Boy Scouts would I have ever learn the up close and personal beauty of the natural out of doors? And would I have had to learn self-confidence in a less basic way? We took many hikes into the deep woods and I would take my dog on day long adventures into the parks and reservations that existed then. Today the adventurous types buy $45,000 SUVs and drive “off-road”.
I find it a shame that political correctness has deprived so many youth of the virtues of organized scouting..

Nice World

We didn’t know it when we went to live in France, but the community in which we moved (La Celle St. Cloud) was in an economic crunch. The American agency, the name of which I forget, SHAAF or SHAPE – one of those “Supreme Headquarters...”sort of outfits, had recently moved out. The economic consequences had been unpleasant for the natives and they blamed the Americans (probably with good reason). Anyway, there were enough Americans in the neighborhood for a social life. The kids went to the American School of Paris so they got to know other kids.. Our French neighbors could act snobbish and stand-off-ish and we concluded that was just “them”. Until the day our youngest daughter was running home from the school bus stop Her glasses flew off and hid themselves in the underbrush. Now, she was really cute at that age (still is) and her tears soon drew a small group of the French, suddenly helpful, searching for her glasses. Turned out that her Mother was the one to find the glasses, but we learned something that day about the basics of humans, no matter the nationality.  

I Wonder ...

I wonder if boys and young men have as much fun as we did.  There was a  Minsky Burlesque Theatre about 15 miles away from our town. It was something of a tradition that senior boys at the high school would sneak off in small groups to “go to the opera”. No one was fooled. Teachers, parents, everyone knew what was going on.  The irony was that the chorus line was funnier than the comedians and the strippers -- didn’t. The fun was the intrigue and the rush to catch the bus home in time for supper. And, of course, the suppressed guilty feeling. Today, I'm sure, one click on the computer can provide a more risqué show. But I’ll bet that our way was a lot more fun.

My clearest memory of those shows (I didn’t say I only went once) was the kid at intermission walking up and down the aisles calling out, “Sordid Chocolates! Get your sordid chocolates."
It was an example of the power of environment. We finally figured out he was really saying “Assorted  Chocolates” with a deep Jersey accent.

I Wonder ...

I wonder if college kids still mail their dirty laundry home in a “laundry case” with the thin strap around it., then get it back all clean and folded neatly courtesy of Mom. Any extra space in the case on the trip back filled with fresh baked cookies. I tried to continue this after I was married, but it didn’t work. Had even less luck with the mother-in-law.

I Wonder ...

I wonder if schools today are creating future generations of swayback adults. I go out in the morning or afternoon and I see little kids hefting backpacks that would flatten a donkey -- all because they don’t give kids lockers any more.  Are they doing this up north also?. Where do the students store their galoshes and heavy coats?  Gee, we used to keep all sorts of things in our lockers. We even had dry socks so we could change if our feet got wet walking to school.  I know, no lockers is so children can’t store guns and drugs in them. Seems to me there ought to be a better solution. This strikes me as chopping down the tree so you don’t have to rake leaves.

I Wonder...

I wonder if any of today’s football stars would be stars if the game were still played by the rules I grew up with. Then, if a player came out of the game, he couldn’t come back in within the same quarter. Thus, there were no such things as “kicking teams” “offense” and “defense” and all the specialty teams. You wanted to play football, you did everything.  The game was a closer reflection of life -- you didn’t succeed being half good.

Hong Kong steps

Hong Kong steps
Originally uploaded by Lantana Lad.

This is our youngest grandchild on a visit to Hong Kong. She's a cutie. I am fooling around with using Flickr as a way of posting pictures. So far I am confused aplenty.

A Verdict

That was a time of freezing hell. The room was cold.  We sat for hours on end on cold, hard wooden benches wishing severe retribution for the perpetrators. We rooted for the prosecutor and prayed for the jury to see the horrendousness of the crime. We briefly wondered whether we were motivated by a desire for justice or vengeance, then settled in our minds for a large dose of both. We tolerated a judge that needed neither a cigarette (we knew he was a smoker), nor a bathroom nor a food break. If our side won it would cause widespread sadness, but we consoled ourselves with the children’s cry of, “That’s what you get for...” Concentration was needed and it was exhausting. Witnesses sped by, first building an indisputable case, then trying to dispute it. When the jury left after days of silence to decide on their joint voice, we fretted. Would they be smart enough and brave enough to reach the right verdict? Though we were aware that the jury’s decision would make little or no difference to the victim, we wanted it to punish the villains who caused so much pain.

GUILTY!  While our joy was somewhat undercut by the fact it would have been better had none of this ever happened, we hugged the prosecutor and hurried to hug the victim. Now, let us get on with life.

Short Pause

Friends, Romans, and Casual Visitors,

Personal business will take us out of town for the next couple weeks. We will take the laptop, but do not know whether we will find a coffee shop with wireless facilities to communicate with the outside world. So check back here near the end of March for more of the fast waning memories of the grouchy old man. Thanks, Floridora.

ps. See Archana, You aren't the only one to take a break.

No Television?!

What did you do before television? Old goats like me get that question a lot from the younger generation. First, today’s children can’t really believe that there ever was a time without television, cell phones, microwaves, computers, etc. Yes, Virginia, there was joy in the non-tech world.  In the evenings when our generation was still in school we did home work. We played quiet games like Monopoly. It is still around, but not the rage it once was.. We read books, newspapers and magazines. There was radio in my youth. Tom Mix, Bobby Benson, Buck Rogers, Little Orphan Annie, Flash Gordon – were all fifteen minute adventure serials that many of us listened to. They were on in the early evening before our parents switched to Lowell Thomas who read fifteen minutes of news. In the New York area there was a great music program on every afternoon called the “Make Believe Ballroom” on WNEW. The host, Martin Block, was the first of the great disc jockeys. That was all AM radio with static a frequent interruption to listening pleasure.

Ipods were unheard of in those days, but we did have our big clunky phonographs. We collected 76 rpm records which were about 10 inches in diameter and had about 3 minutes of music (one song) on each side. We played them until they wore out or got so covered with scratches that they sounded horrible.

Without television, movies were a more popular source of entertainment, particular after sound and then Technicolor came along. They were a lot cheaper then also. We, the kids, used to go to the Saturday afternoon double feature complete with two serials for twenty cents. Adults wouldn’t be caught dead at that show. Too much hooting and hollering. We used to take a candy box (empty) and blow in one end making a very rude sound. Great fun
.

Building models from kits was a big time kids’ hobby in those days. Balsa wood, glue and paper properly cut and assembled could create neat model airplanes, ships and automobiles. Kits came in various degrees of complexity and detail to match abilities.  There was a company named Heath that put out Heathkits (imaginative name?). These were based on the growing field of electronics. They provided the parts and instructions for anything from simple radios and accessories to complete weather stations. My first wind meter was home made.I made a fine short wave radio with which I spent hours listening to stations around the world.

Oh yes, another lost art that kept us busy – writing letters. There were no e-mails or text messages or IM with their cryptic shortcuts. We spent evenings writing legible letters to friends and relatives. Stamps were two cents and then went to three cents later.

Technology didn't first enter my Mom's kitchen with the microwave oven. I think it was just before WWII(long before the microwave) that the pressure cooker became the thing the Jones had to have. It was a pot made out of heavy steel that cooked things very much faster than the usual pot or pan. Veggies in two or three minutes, for instance. It was sealed so that very little water was turned to steam under pressure. They had safety valves that released steam at critical pressure so the whole business didn’t blow sky high. Our kitchen ceiling was repainted several times to remove evidence of untended beans or peas. The microwave came along and only a few diehards still use pressure cookers

Net, net, what we did without TV and pop technology was enjoy ourselves just like you do with it.

All the "-mans"

Back when and where I was growing up there was no such thing as "pre-school". We were at home until we were about five when we went off to Kindergarten. During the summers we were home all day long. Oh, some rich kids went off to camp, but most of us were home full time. Of course, our Moms were home full time also. Working Moms were a rarity. We kids all liked the arrangement, but then, we knew nothing else. We found lots to do and managed to get in trouble with some regularity. My folks had no car until I was well up in my teens. This meant that all sorts of delivery men came door to door. We would tag along with the breadman, the laundryman, the eggman, even the scissor-grinder. The paper boy ran all the way so he was no fun. In the summer, the iceman was a favorite of ours. His horse knew where to stop like the other delivery horses did. When he stopped down at the bottom of our hill, Mr Hirsh, the iceman, would chip off pieces of ice for the kids to suck on. Nice man, but probably very dirty ice. We lived. The milk man came on the days when he was collecting his bill. The same day he would take orders for the next week and sell butter and such off his wagon.He would also supply pieces of ice to the kids when he was there in the daytime, but he made his deliveries before dawn.

One day the vegetable man's horse lost control of the wagon. It rolled down the hill after the horse fell. At the bottom it crashed and turned over . Obviously, Mr. Lewis, the vegetable man was more concerned for his horse than for the veggies. The neighbor ladies came out and each scooped up all the vegetables they could possibly use from the ground, then paid Mr. Lewis a little more than they were worth. Nice people in those days. The horse was OK, but Mr. Lewis rested him a few days while the wagon was repaired. Mr. Lewis was one of the first to convert to a little truck. Wish I had a picture.

I have a hunch little children knew more random adults then than the children of today do.

Glamorous Paris

I was reading the blog of LaCoquette (www.lacoquette.blogs.com/) that she wrote on arriving back in Paris after a work vacation in the States. She described her trials and tribulations with the flight and then described her glee at being back in Paris. She spoke of the feeling of Paris . No other city feels the same. I agree with her. It is like nowhere else.

So why was I so anxious to return to New Jersey after working in Paris? Let me count the ways - oh no, that's something else. Anyway, first, we spent the Christmas holiday in Switzerland. My 11 year old son and I were on an elevator and someone asked him, in English, where he was from. He said, "Paris". That stuck in my craw. I wished he had said, at least, the United States, if not the town.

Then, one Saturday morning we were out of working flashlight batteries. I went down to the local Prisunic, a sort of prehistoric Walmart. A department store with everything from clothing to groceries. I doubt I've spelled it right. The manager had appointed a little girl as translater for our family. Her response was to hide every time she saw one of us. (You who are fluent in French know where this is going) In truth, her English was not a lot better than my French. I found her and started my charade game. But how the heck do you do a flashlight, say nothing about the thingy that makes it go. I know I should have brought one of the dead ones, but I didn't. She was completely baffled. Finally in frustration, I almost yelled, "BATTERY!" She said , "Oh, battery." And walked me right to them. When I got home I looked it up in the dictionary. Same word - two languages. I brooded about how much easier it is to do business when everyone speaks the same tongue.

The final straw was one morning at Orly Airport. I was on the way to somewhere and stopped in the men's room just before getting on the plane. I was standing there doing what I came in to do when a female voice behind me said, "Bon Jour". Without a thought, I looked over my shoulder and said, "Bon Jour, Mademoiselle". On the plane I thought about it and decided I really didn't want to get used to ladies in the men's room.

I decided we should go home.