May 22nd, 1:50am in Denver; still alive here! Missed the Rapture in it's entirety! I'm sure it was a close one but we made it.
Whack Job Harold Camping has some explaining to do! Some advise Harold: If you are going to predict the end, bracket the time frame! With bracketing you could have included the Japanese Tsunami and the Mississippi River floods! Then you could say "I told you so!"
Whack Jobs? Harold aside, it is his followers that are Whacked Out. Good God folks, don't believe everything you hear. The really scary part is, the wackier the prediction, cause or need; the more apt the sheep will follow you. This is truly the End of Days; too many credulous people!
The next big event will be December 21, 2012 when all of the planets will be in line. Perhaps the gravitational pull will bring about the End of Days. I will do a post on December 22nd and let you know how things are here in Denver.
Really now if you want something to fear, check out the Carrington Event: http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2011/03/110302-solar-flares-sun-storms-earth-danger-carrington-event-science/
Should we have a repeat of the this Solar Storm/Coronal Mass Ejection today, as it occurred September 1, 1859, life as we know it will come to an abrupt end. With this said, please contact me to arrange donations for my For Profit Fear Mongering enterprise.
Now 2:26 am, still alive! Night night!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Water, Child's Play
My earliest memories are ones involving water! Water, the basic ingredient off life; it is woven deep into our souls. I clearly remember as if it was just this past week. I was four or five years old playing outside behind our house in the alley, by myself after a wet spring snow. The snow, perhaps eight inches deep, was giving up it's icy crystal peaks to cold flowing fingers of little rivers, moving down the gentle slope of the concrete pavement. I could smell the water! "Water is tasteless and orderless" it is said of it's nature. Well I could smell it! It smelled like the essence of all life, I could taste it without touching it to my tongue; I felt the cold dampness against my cheeks! I just watched the ripples in the little rivers shimmering their way to some other place, a distant unknown destination. It was hypnotic; time did not exist.
My Dad, Rudy, had an older sister that lived in Lakewood Colorado, a western suburb of Denver. Aunt Dee, her husband Less, my mother Frances with brother Glen, along with cousins Lynn, Gordon, Jerry and Lauren would all pile in the back of Less and Dee's 1941 Chevy, to travel which seemed like a very long drive to Eldorado Springs; likely around twenty miles. The Chevy was equipped to carry all the kids in the back. The back seat had been removed and a piece of plywood had been neatly tailored to fit clear back into the trunk area! Complete with an empty one pound coffee can should someone have to pee before reaching our destination; I never remember the can being used!
Eldorado Springs is a resort that dates back to 1905. http://www.eldoradosprings.com/index.php?action=resorthistory We would spend a day there swimming. The very best of times with my brother and cousins. The water, us all in the pool together, bound us together, it was a special spiritual glue. Together, splashing, laughing--screaming! I now ask, why do we not do this today? After swimming we would venture up the canyon to picnic. South Boulder Creek runs through Eldorado Canyon. Barefooted we would gather rocks and try to dam the creek, trying our very best to build a lake and stop the water's flow. We never did stop the water! We did get some fairly good size pools however! The water always won out, pushing our rocks aside. With freezing water logged feet we would enjoy our picnic, which would frequently include cold fried chicken.
Brother Glen and I use to take baths together. I was ten, he was almost three years younger; we would play in the tub until our fingers wrinkled up like a prunes! One of are favorite toys, we each had one, was a plastic submarine, WWII vintage, complete with torpedoes that you could push into a spring loaded torpedo shaft. When triggering the torpedoess you could shoot at the other sub or aim it straight up into the bathroom skylight, many times hitting the frosted wired glass. Entertainment was cheap, hours had no meaning--what else would one rather be doing?
Watching your Mother, Aunt or Grandma bathing the newest baby that came into the family; in a bassinet or even the kitchen sink; was a time when the conversation was easy--so easy there may have been only the sound of the baby trying out it's first giggle or laugh. Sitting in the soapy water, baby's legs would not be completely covered--the smooth tight skin would glow with the wetness from the splashes.
Doing the dishes with foaming white suds, watching an old wringer washer or newer front loader pushing the water through the fabric--it was cathartic.
Are young children today still brought to such simple ecstasy by our life's force liquid? I will venture a guess that the are; should we take a few minutes and observe them in their play.
My Dad, Rudy, had an older sister that lived in Lakewood Colorado, a western suburb of Denver. Aunt Dee, her husband Less, my mother Frances with brother Glen, along with cousins Lynn, Gordon, Jerry and Lauren would all pile in the back of Less and Dee's 1941 Chevy, to travel which seemed like a very long drive to Eldorado Springs; likely around twenty miles. The Chevy was equipped to carry all the kids in the back. The back seat had been removed and a piece of plywood had been neatly tailored to fit clear back into the trunk area! Complete with an empty one pound coffee can should someone have to pee before reaching our destination; I never remember the can being used!
Eldorado Springs is a resort that dates back to 1905. http://www.eldoradosprings.com/index.php?action=resorthistory We would spend a day there swimming. The very best of times with my brother and cousins. The water, us all in the pool together, bound us together, it was a special spiritual glue. Together, splashing, laughing--screaming! I now ask, why do we not do this today? After swimming we would venture up the canyon to picnic. South Boulder Creek runs through Eldorado Canyon. Barefooted we would gather rocks and try to dam the creek, trying our very best to build a lake and stop the water's flow. We never did stop the water! We did get some fairly good size pools however! The water always won out, pushing our rocks aside. With freezing water logged feet we would enjoy our picnic, which would frequently include cold fried chicken.
Brother Glen and I use to take baths together. I was ten, he was almost three years younger; we would play in the tub until our fingers wrinkled up like a prunes! One of are favorite toys, we each had one, was a plastic submarine, WWII vintage, complete with torpedoes that you could push into a spring loaded torpedo shaft. When triggering the torpedoess you could shoot at the other sub or aim it straight up into the bathroom skylight, many times hitting the frosted wired glass. Entertainment was cheap, hours had no meaning--what else would one rather be doing?
Watching your Mother, Aunt or Grandma bathing the newest baby that came into the family; in a bassinet or even the kitchen sink; was a time when the conversation was easy--so easy there may have been only the sound of the baby trying out it's first giggle or laugh. Sitting in the soapy water, baby's legs would not be completely covered--the smooth tight skin would glow with the wetness from the splashes.
Doing the dishes with foaming white suds, watching an old wringer washer or newer front loader pushing the water through the fabric--it was cathartic.
Are young children today still brought to such simple ecstasy by our life's force liquid? I will venture a guess that the are; should we take a few minutes and observe them in their play.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Remind Me Later
"Dad the Internet is the greatest invention since the printing press," my daughter Courtney has stated. Since she is a PhD candidate in English, I do value her assessment of the hierarchy of inventions; I will agree with her on this one.
As with any invention there comes with it many nuances; some can be rather annoying. For example, you go to your online banking web site, logging in, you get a "pop up" window that takes up the entire screen of your computer; pitching their automatic bill pay option. The window has two choices: "Sign Up For Auto Bill Pay" and "Remind Me Later." I do not want to sign up for auto bill pay and I sure the heck don't care to be reminded again; I just want to check to see if I have any money left in my checking account! This is like the car salesman, "would you be proud to drive home the new metallic silver Accord or the mint green?" I would be much prouder if you would give me the keys back to my eleven year old Jeep so I can get the hell out of here! What happens with these "assumptive closing" techniques is you really feel you only have the two choices. Should you be the type of individual who doesn't like conflict, lacks self confidence, or just can't say "no" to anything, you may well be on your way to using Auto Bill Pay to pay for you new Mint Green Honda Accord!
The world at your finger tips: Having dinner at your favorite restaurant, dining with friends, with every one's Smart Phone at the ready, any needed information may be called up in seconds. "Hey remember that movie with Steve McQueen, Cool Hand Luke, where the prison warden kept saying to Steve McQueen every time he was caught escaping, 'what we have here is a failure to communicate?'" I offered this up as an expert movie critic/aficionado. "Ah Dennis, that was Paul Newman, not Steve McQueen," one of my buddies countered. The remainder of those at the table where either nodding yes or no. Whoooosh! It was like a gun fight in an old western movie, everyone did a quick draw on their iPhones, Blackberries, Androids; purses opening, hands reaching deep into pockets--it was breath taking! Who has the fastest hands, the best search engine, 3G or 4G, WiFi Hot Spot; who will relish in the glory of finding out first? There is a lot of ego on the line here. First or all, am I right or wrong, who is the most savvy on their device and what brand of phone and service provider will be the victor? "Paul Newman? Are you serious?" Was my response to one fellow that obviously had booked marked a movie information web site; just to pounce on an opportunity like this Shot down like a dirty dog! Out done and out witted, I hung my head in shame and disbelief. I however slept very well that night knowing that it was Paul Newman.
The Internet, truly one of the greatest inventions of all times. How much has your life changed in the last five--ten years? I don't know, remind me later!
As with any invention there comes with it many nuances; some can be rather annoying. For example, you go to your online banking web site, logging in, you get a "pop up" window that takes up the entire screen of your computer; pitching their automatic bill pay option. The window has two choices: "Sign Up For Auto Bill Pay" and "Remind Me Later." I do not want to sign up for auto bill pay and I sure the heck don't care to be reminded again; I just want to check to see if I have any money left in my checking account! This is like the car salesman, "would you be proud to drive home the new metallic silver Accord or the mint green?" I would be much prouder if you would give me the keys back to my eleven year old Jeep so I can get the hell out of here! What happens with these "assumptive closing" techniques is you really feel you only have the two choices. Should you be the type of individual who doesn't like conflict, lacks self confidence, or just can't say "no" to anything, you may well be on your way to using Auto Bill Pay to pay for you new Mint Green Honda Accord!
The world at your finger tips: Having dinner at your favorite restaurant, dining with friends, with every one's Smart Phone at the ready, any needed information may be called up in seconds. "Hey remember that movie with Steve McQueen, Cool Hand Luke, where the prison warden kept saying to Steve McQueen every time he was caught escaping, 'what we have here is a failure to communicate?'" I offered this up as an expert movie critic/aficionado. "Ah Dennis, that was Paul Newman, not Steve McQueen," one of my buddies countered. The remainder of those at the table where either nodding yes or no. Whoooosh! It was like a gun fight in an old western movie, everyone did a quick draw on their iPhones, Blackberries, Androids; purses opening, hands reaching deep into pockets--it was breath taking! Who has the fastest hands, the best search engine, 3G or 4G, WiFi Hot Spot; who will relish in the glory of finding out first? There is a lot of ego on the line here. First or all, am I right or wrong, who is the most savvy on their device and what brand of phone and service provider will be the victor? "Paul Newman? Are you serious?" Was my response to one fellow that obviously had booked marked a movie information web site; just to pounce on an opportunity like this Shot down like a dirty dog! Out done and out witted, I hung my head in shame and disbelief. I however slept very well that night knowing that it was Paul Newman.
The Internet, truly one of the greatest inventions of all times. How much has your life changed in the last five--ten years? I don't know, remind me later!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
My Life's Strory
What is your life's story? Do you have one to tell? Is your life worthy of a story?
I knew at an early age mine was! How could I know? I knew because my mother Frances and my Aunt Eileen were always saying "we should write a book!" This would usually follow some semi to very colossal event that we just experienced. When you are four or five every event is colossal!
I have a good memory; at least I think I do. When talking about the past with family members they say, "Really, you remember that? Now that you mention it I do too." Perhaps we are just making it all up.
I think my memories are real and fairly accurate. I remember back to three and four years old. Not a whole lot but a few bits and pieces. Perhaps enough to write my life's story? We shall see!
I am sixty four years old. Is that old? I don't know; refer to Blog "It's All Relative." Sixty four may or may not be that old; in terms of technological and life styles changes, it is very old!
The last ten years have brought about mind staggering changes. I have a 32 Gigabyte iPhone, unless you were Warren Buffet, you could not have purchased that much memory ten years ago.
Step back in my story to 1950. My parents were renting a huge two story home in the middle of Denver's exclusive County Club area for about thirty dollars a month. The house was heated with a coal furnace. The coal was one dollar a ton! Our kitchen stove was a cast iron wood/coal fired beauty. Yes! You had to light a fire in the stove, in its fire box in order to cook or bake. We had a Franklin stove, another wood/coal stove in the dinning room. It would keep the chill off, so you would not have to fire up the big furnace in the basement. There is a certain romance to warming a frigid room to a comfortable temperature, with these old cast iron stoves.
My Dad's car was a 1928 Chevrolet Coupe, complete with a rumble seat in the back! Think about it, now 1950 and driving a 22 year old car! Not that it was strange to have and old car like that, there were plenty of them around ; there were not many, if any new cars made during World War II, driving old cars was the norm. Memory? Yes, I remember taking a screw driver and poking a hole in the radiator of the old Chevy. After watching the water run out for a few moments I ran into the house and told my Dad, " the car is going piddle." He came out, took a look, he agreed that it was indeed going "piddle".
Are you serious, "cooking on a wood fired stove?" Yes I am! What else may we talk about? You shared your phone line with 2, 4 or 8 other family's. It was called a party line. The phone company, Mountain Bell, did not have the equipment or enough wires running out (each line needed its own two wires) for everyone to have a private line. Everyone on the party line had their own "ring," so that you would know when the call was for you. You could listen in on the other party's calls, they would listen to you as well. You could always tell when someone was eavesdropping, as the quality of the sound would be degraded. When you wanted to use the phone and someone else kept yapping away, you might ask them to hurry up, or just keep picking the phone up, creating a click in their ear, hoping they would get the hint and free up the line.
"Sharing phone lines, are you nuts?" It gets better! There was no such thing as a copy machine, calculator or cell phone. If you wanted to copy something you could type on a sheet of paper with a piece of carbon paper between it an another sheet of paper. Carbon paper was a thin sheet of paper impregnated with ink. When the typewriter key hit the top sheet of paper it would indent the carbon paper against the next sheet, making a copy. You could put three of four of these together, however the the bottom sheets would be blurred. With typewriters there was no corrections! Whatever you typed, is what you got. You could make multiple copies with a mimeograph machine. You would type a master copy on a stencil piece of paper. The Stencil was placed on a round drum on the mimeograph machine. There was a hand crank you would turn and it would work like a little printing press, churning out a new page with each crank turn. This process used mimeograph fluid to transfer the image to a special paper. This fluid had a solvent, paint thinner, alcohol type smell. It is probably the reason half the people my age have cancer. Every school test you ever took was on one of these printed papers. They would pass out your test and you would get high on the fumes!
No calculators and no cell phones! No more writing this evening; time for bed. More of my story later!
I knew at an early age mine was! How could I know? I knew because my mother Frances and my Aunt Eileen were always saying "we should write a book!" This would usually follow some semi to very colossal event that we just experienced. When you are four or five every event is colossal!
I have a good memory; at least I think I do. When talking about the past with family members they say, "Really, you remember that? Now that you mention it I do too." Perhaps we are just making it all up.
I think my memories are real and fairly accurate. I remember back to three and four years old. Not a whole lot but a few bits and pieces. Perhaps enough to write my life's story? We shall see!
I am sixty four years old. Is that old? I don't know; refer to Blog "It's All Relative." Sixty four may or may not be that old; in terms of technological and life styles changes, it is very old!
The last ten years have brought about mind staggering changes. I have a 32 Gigabyte iPhone, unless you were Warren Buffet, you could not have purchased that much memory ten years ago.
Step back in my story to 1950. My parents were renting a huge two story home in the middle of Denver's exclusive County Club area for about thirty dollars a month. The house was heated with a coal furnace. The coal was one dollar a ton! Our kitchen stove was a cast iron wood/coal fired beauty. Yes! You had to light a fire in the stove, in its fire box in order to cook or bake. We had a Franklin stove, another wood/coal stove in the dinning room. It would keep the chill off, so you would not have to fire up the big furnace in the basement. There is a certain romance to warming a frigid room to a comfortable temperature, with these old cast iron stoves.
My Dad's car was a 1928 Chevrolet Coupe, complete with a rumble seat in the back! Think about it, now 1950 and driving a 22 year old car! Not that it was strange to have and old car like that, there were plenty of them around ; there were not many, if any new cars made during World War II, driving old cars was the norm. Memory? Yes, I remember taking a screw driver and poking a hole in the radiator of the old Chevy. After watching the water run out for a few moments I ran into the house and told my Dad, " the car is going piddle." He came out, took a look, he agreed that it was indeed going "piddle".
Are you serious, "cooking on a wood fired stove?" Yes I am! What else may we talk about? You shared your phone line with 2, 4 or 8 other family's. It was called a party line. The phone company, Mountain Bell, did not have the equipment or enough wires running out (each line needed its own two wires) for everyone to have a private line. Everyone on the party line had their own "ring," so that you would know when the call was for you. You could listen in on the other party's calls, they would listen to you as well. You could always tell when someone was eavesdropping, as the quality of the sound would be degraded. When you wanted to use the phone and someone else kept yapping away, you might ask them to hurry up, or just keep picking the phone up, creating a click in their ear, hoping they would get the hint and free up the line.
"Sharing phone lines, are you nuts?" It gets better! There was no such thing as a copy machine, calculator or cell phone. If you wanted to copy something you could type on a sheet of paper with a piece of carbon paper between it an another sheet of paper. Carbon paper was a thin sheet of paper impregnated with ink. When the typewriter key hit the top sheet of paper it would indent the carbon paper against the next sheet, making a copy. You could put three of four of these together, however the the bottom sheets would be blurred. With typewriters there was no corrections! Whatever you typed, is what you got. You could make multiple copies with a mimeograph machine. You would type a master copy on a stencil piece of paper. The Stencil was placed on a round drum on the mimeograph machine. There was a hand crank you would turn and it would work like a little printing press, churning out a new page with each crank turn. This process used mimeograph fluid to transfer the image to a special paper. This fluid had a solvent, paint thinner, alcohol type smell. It is probably the reason half the people my age have cancer. Every school test you ever took was on one of these printed papers. They would pass out your test and you would get high on the fumes!
No calculators and no cell phones! No more writing this evening; time for bed. More of my story later!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Girl Scout Cookies and Milk
I was a Cub Scout. Wearing my uniform blue shirt with the gold neckerchief, I was as proud as I could be! We had Cub Scout meetings in Billy Knapp's basement. His mom was the Den Mother. We would work on getting our next badge; othertimes building little craft projects that we could take home and show off.
Scouting takes money. I am sure my parents paid some amount for weekly or monthly dues plus the expenses for the nifty little outfit, badges, books and the other scouting necessities. Non-profit organizations need more money than your paltry little dues cover. Non-profits may not make a "profit" but there are plenty of folks who need money to keep the Scouting, real estate and the light bill going.
Back to Billy Knapp's basement. Billy's mom, the Den Mother said we had to make some money for the Scouts! We would do this by selling lights bulbs. Light bulbs? My little eight year old brain did not light up over the light bulbs; not one bit! However being a good little Scout, with the "helping little old ladies across the street ethic," all of us in Pack 303 took our instructions, and with our new order pads in our little child like hands, hit the streets.
"Little Old Ladies!" Bingo! I lived next to an apartment complex named County Club Gardens. The place was loaded with widows living in little one and two bedrooms units. I think the husbands all died trying to make enough money to keep the old gals happy, in their former larger homes. Now the widows had these cute little pads; they could all hang out doing widow things together. I figured one thing they could do, would be to order Cub Scout light bulbs. WRONG! "Light bulbs? Young man why would I want to order light bulbs from the Cub Scouts? The Girl Scouts sell cookies, I always buy those; why don't you sell cookies like they do?" This widow was letting me have it, albeit with her false teeth grin.
I knew this project was doomed. Until then I didn't know that Girl Scouts sold cookies. The little Brownies at school never let on to that fact. They likely took an oath not to discuss it with the Cub or Boy Scouts. It must have been a closely held fundraising secret.
It is no secret anymore. I couldn't sleep tonight. I just got up and had a glass of milk and ten Thin Mints. IT'S OKAY, they are THIN MINTS--I will get thinner the more of them that I eat. The Girls Scouts and their cookies are a success story. How can you say "no" to a cute little Girl Scout? "Sir would you like to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?" "You bet I do! I'll take a case!"
Back as a little kid, the girls said they were smarter than us boys. When it comes to fundraising they sure are! The only light bulbs I sold were to my mom and dad.
I wonder what the Boy Scouts are doing today for a few extra bucks?
Scouting takes money. I am sure my parents paid some amount for weekly or monthly dues plus the expenses for the nifty little outfit, badges, books and the other scouting necessities. Non-profit organizations need more money than your paltry little dues cover. Non-profits may not make a "profit" but there are plenty of folks who need money to keep the Scouting, real estate and the light bill going.
Back to Billy Knapp's basement. Billy's mom, the Den Mother said we had to make some money for the Scouts! We would do this by selling lights bulbs. Light bulbs? My little eight year old brain did not light up over the light bulbs; not one bit! However being a good little Scout, with the "helping little old ladies across the street ethic," all of us in Pack 303 took our instructions, and with our new order pads in our little child like hands, hit the streets.
"Little Old Ladies!" Bingo! I lived next to an apartment complex named County Club Gardens. The place was loaded with widows living in little one and two bedrooms units. I think the husbands all died trying to make enough money to keep the old gals happy, in their former larger homes. Now the widows had these cute little pads; they could all hang out doing widow things together. I figured one thing they could do, would be to order Cub Scout light bulbs. WRONG! "Light bulbs? Young man why would I want to order light bulbs from the Cub Scouts? The Girl Scouts sell cookies, I always buy those; why don't you sell cookies like they do?" This widow was letting me have it, albeit with her false teeth grin.
I knew this project was doomed. Until then I didn't know that Girl Scouts sold cookies. The little Brownies at school never let on to that fact. They likely took an oath not to discuss it with the Cub or Boy Scouts. It must have been a closely held fundraising secret.
It is no secret anymore. I couldn't sleep tonight. I just got up and had a glass of milk and ten Thin Mints. IT'S OKAY, they are THIN MINTS--I will get thinner the more of them that I eat. The Girls Scouts and their cookies are a success story. How can you say "no" to a cute little Girl Scout? "Sir would you like to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?" "You bet I do! I'll take a case!"
Back as a little kid, the girls said they were smarter than us boys. When it comes to fundraising they sure are! The only light bulbs I sold were to my mom and dad.
I wonder what the Boy Scouts are doing today for a few extra bucks?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
One Blue Coat
I was a twenty one year old kid just out of the Navy. I came back home to Denver in December of 1967 with my new bride of less than a month. I had just spent three years at a Naval Air Station in South Texas. My new bride, now my officially my ex-wife for the past twenty five years, and I arrived in Denver to stay with my Dad, his new bride of five months, her two teenage kids, along with my eighteen year old brother. We arrived in Denver in a snow storm with everything we owned in a 51 Chevy. The old car had four bald tires and we had less than one hundred dollars between the two of us.
My goal was to have a job making at least $10,000 a year and to buy a $40,000 house. I was young, happy and energetic. Life at my Dad's house was not working out very well. My new bride and his new bride did not get along. This was his new brides fault not mine!
My Dad was working as a Maintenance Man at an office building in South East Denver. He said he would pay me $1.50 an hour to help him with some electrical work at the building. This was a great opportunity and I was up for the task. After a couple of weeks I asked one night at dinner if I might get paid for all of the hours I had put in. His new bride chimed in; she stated that they would keep the money owed to me for room and board! I understood where she was coming from but now felt like an indentured servant. Being stuck living with them, in what was rapidly becoming a toxic relationship, was not in line with my goals.
The very next day, being a resourceful young lad, I went to a private employment agency looking for a job. They said I would be well suited as an insurance salesman. On their referral and signing a note for $400 dollars for their fee, I went to work for Mutual of New York as a salesman. I was feeling like I had the world by the tail.
I told my wife that I had just landed a great job and we needed to get the hell out of our current living situation. She said she had her life's savings of $125 back home and would ask her Dad to send it to her; which he did. We found a furnished basement apartment for $65 a month. The owners who lived upstairs in this little bungalow agreed to let us pay $32.50 for the first month, if we would paint the apartment; my idea!
We announced to my Dad, his snippy wife and all the children, that we were moving. My Dad and his wife couldn't figure our how we were pulling this off; we did not offer an explanation.
To be an insurance salesman you have to dress professionally. I owned one blue blazer, one pair of grey pants, one oxford cloth white button down collar shirt and one regimental stripped tie. That was my wardrobe. Every Saturday I would take my sales outfit with my one blue coat to the one hour cleaners; to have everything ready for the next week's work.
Having only one outfit didn't seem too strange to me; although the other guys in the office were able to vary their wardrobe. I knew that we were pretty darn poor; I hoped that someday I would own more than just one blue coat.
The insurance sales job lasted about four months. I sold a few policies to some friends and family members.
Once that dried up it was the end of my Mutual of New York career.
I now have many coats; not really sure how many. I have two blue blazers, a light and heavy weight; a classic camel; some with patterns; winter and summer ones. I gave this some thought yesterday: I really don't feel much different than I did forty three years ago! I don't feel poor, but all the coats sure don't make me feel rich. I have to step back and think, what would it have felt like then, to have all the coats I have now?
My goal was to have a job making at least $10,000 a year and to buy a $40,000 house. I was young, happy and energetic. Life at my Dad's house was not working out very well. My new bride and his new bride did not get along. This was his new brides fault not mine!
My Dad was working as a Maintenance Man at an office building in South East Denver. He said he would pay me $1.50 an hour to help him with some electrical work at the building. This was a great opportunity and I was up for the task. After a couple of weeks I asked one night at dinner if I might get paid for all of the hours I had put in. His new bride chimed in; she stated that they would keep the money owed to me for room and board! I understood where she was coming from but now felt like an indentured servant. Being stuck living with them, in what was rapidly becoming a toxic relationship, was not in line with my goals.
The very next day, being a resourceful young lad, I went to a private employment agency looking for a job. They said I would be well suited as an insurance salesman. On their referral and signing a note for $400 dollars for their fee, I went to work for Mutual of New York as a salesman. I was feeling like I had the world by the tail.
I told my wife that I had just landed a great job and we needed to get the hell out of our current living situation. She said she had her life's savings of $125 back home and would ask her Dad to send it to her; which he did. We found a furnished basement apartment for $65 a month. The owners who lived upstairs in this little bungalow agreed to let us pay $32.50 for the first month, if we would paint the apartment; my idea!
We announced to my Dad, his snippy wife and all the children, that we were moving. My Dad and his wife couldn't figure our how we were pulling this off; we did not offer an explanation.
To be an insurance salesman you have to dress professionally. I owned one blue blazer, one pair of grey pants, one oxford cloth white button down collar shirt and one regimental stripped tie. That was my wardrobe. Every Saturday I would take my sales outfit with my one blue coat to the one hour cleaners; to have everything ready for the next week's work.
Having only one outfit didn't seem too strange to me; although the other guys in the office were able to vary their wardrobe. I knew that we were pretty darn poor; I hoped that someday I would own more than just one blue coat.
The insurance sales job lasted about four months. I sold a few policies to some friends and family members.
Once that dried up it was the end of my Mutual of New York career.
I now have many coats; not really sure how many. I have two blue blazers, a light and heavy weight; a classic camel; some with patterns; winter and summer ones. I gave this some thought yesterday: I really don't feel much different than I did forty three years ago! I don't feel poor, but all the coats sure don't make me feel rich. I have to step back and think, what would it have felt like then, to have all the coats I have now?
Monday, February 14, 2011
It's All Relative
I remember as if it was yesterday. I was a sixteen year old kid who just quit high school. My mother and father were divorced, my brother and I were living with our Dad. He was a good guy, heck he was a great guy; he was more like a friend than a father. Dad, we called him by his name, Rudy, was pretty much a kid himself. He grew up in an orphanage in New York City during the depression, as did my mother. They married young, moved to Colorado with an entire exodus of family and friends from the East Coast. They hoped to find true happiness in the Rocky Mountains.
I was a smart sixteen year old. My friends were all adults for the most part. Okay, I did have peer friends but I always prided myself on being very mature. I was not a trouble maker. I didn't steal or vandalize; I was not angry; I just lacked parental direction. I was taking ROTC at East High in Denver. Taking ROTC meant you did not have to take gym. I was never big on running around the track, getting naked in the locker room with a bunch or guys; trying to smack you in the ass with a rolled up wet towel.
While taking ROTC you had to wear a wool Army uniform once a week; perhaps it was on Thursday. The ROTC Sargent was a real enlisted Army guy. He had been in WWII and Korea. He was a no bull shit, behave or else Sargent. If you "forgot" to wear your uniform on "uniform day," you would have to wear it for two days in row. Whenever you wore it, the cool kids, the ones taking gym, would make fun of you. I decided not to wear the itchy god damn thing at all! The Sargent, his name evades me, took me to the Principal's office. The Principal said that I would have to wear the uniform for a solid week, for not obeying the rules. I told him, the Principal, and the good Sargent, to have a nice day and I was quiting this ridiculous High School; studying for half the year, what you already had learned the year before! I was going to get a real job.
After working for a few months, sacking groceries for a buck and a quarter an hour, working as the maintenance boy at a health club; another whole saga on that; I had been convinced, steered and coerced in to joining the Navy. My Grandmother said, "join the Navy, we are a Navy family." "Really now, who in the hell was in the Navy?" Okay Aunt Jean, Aunt Eileen and Uncle Roger and some distant relatives I never met. I will join the Navy!
The Navy it was. The recruiter had me take some tests. He said I was really smart and because of that he would guarantee me that I would be in Naval Air. I said "like a pilot?" "Not exactly," was he reply, "but you will like it."
Now to the "Relative" part. After boot camp I went to Memphis Tennessee. There was a Naval Air Station about 25 miles from Memphis, in Millington Tennessee. This was the Navy's Technical Training Center. Aviation Electronic Technician! That is what I was going to be. Nineteen weeks of electronic fundamentals and ten weeks of whatever your specialty was; mine was navigation.
It was I recall, May of nineteen sixty four. Our instructor, who likely had been in the Navy for six years, or so, was asking us about numbers. "Is one thousand a lot?" "Sure, one thousand is lot," I thought. "Is it a lot compared to ten million?" "Hmmmm, no it's not," my seventeen year old brain decided "How about compared to one?' "Yes, now it is a lot!" I was right after all! He explained that this is an important concept; being relative to what? In electronics you have little milli, micro and pico numbers. You have large and larger, kilo and mega numbers. This made a real impression on me--it has been part of me ever since. It is all relative!
In recent years I have had a lot of shoulder problems; both right and left. I had the left surgically repaired this past August. The right one needs to be done and is a constant source of pain. Back to the "relative" concept. Who ever is working with me at the time on my latest shoulder event; the Doctor, PA, Physical Therapist, all ask what is your pain number. Pain number? What is that? The reply is, "between 1 and 10, 10 being the worst pain you have ever had, what is your pain number?' I don't know why, but this really makes me crazy. What if I say 6, and it is really a 7; will they over prescribe my Percocets? "Try to be exact," they request. I will say, "It is about a seven point three six five." That doesn't cut it, they don't want decimals; nothing that exact! There is not a way to prescribe pain killers with that precision.
Temperature is also a relative issue. My wife will come home from walking the dog when it 5 below zero out. When she gets in the house she will say, "damn it is hot in here!" "Well honey, it is sixty four in here, and that is not hot--relative to outside, it feels hot, but it is not!" To this she tells me to keep my mumbo jumbo to myself and turn the heat down! ".........ah, it's not on!" I retort. This conversation is going nowhere fast and I am going to lose no matter what!
The point being, you may benefit from my experience without going to a Navy school; "it is all relative!" Relatively hot, cold; rich, poor; relatively stupid, really friggen stupid; stacked, not stacked; happy, sad; relatively tired of the bull shit; the long winter; bad TV; screwed up relationships; relatively bad breath, really bad breath ; and relatively reasonable co-pays!
....and if you can't stand it, move in with your relatives!
I was a smart sixteen year old. My friends were all adults for the most part. Okay, I did have peer friends but I always prided myself on being very mature. I was not a trouble maker. I didn't steal or vandalize; I was not angry; I just lacked parental direction. I was taking ROTC at East High in Denver. Taking ROTC meant you did not have to take gym. I was never big on running around the track, getting naked in the locker room with a bunch or guys; trying to smack you in the ass with a rolled up wet towel.
While taking ROTC you had to wear a wool Army uniform once a week; perhaps it was on Thursday. The ROTC Sargent was a real enlisted Army guy. He had been in WWII and Korea. He was a no bull shit, behave or else Sargent. If you "forgot" to wear your uniform on "uniform day," you would have to wear it for two days in row. Whenever you wore it, the cool kids, the ones taking gym, would make fun of you. I decided not to wear the itchy god damn thing at all! The Sargent, his name evades me, took me to the Principal's office. The Principal said that I would have to wear the uniform for a solid week, for not obeying the rules. I told him, the Principal, and the good Sargent, to have a nice day and I was quiting this ridiculous High School; studying for half the year, what you already had learned the year before! I was going to get a real job.
After working for a few months, sacking groceries for a buck and a quarter an hour, working as the maintenance boy at a health club; another whole saga on that; I had been convinced, steered and coerced in to joining the Navy. My Grandmother said, "join the Navy, we are a Navy family." "Really now, who in the hell was in the Navy?" Okay Aunt Jean, Aunt Eileen and Uncle Roger and some distant relatives I never met. I will join the Navy!
The Navy it was. The recruiter had me take some tests. He said I was really smart and because of that he would guarantee me that I would be in Naval Air. I said "like a pilot?" "Not exactly," was he reply, "but you will like it."
Now to the "Relative" part. After boot camp I went to Memphis Tennessee. There was a Naval Air Station about 25 miles from Memphis, in Millington Tennessee. This was the Navy's Technical Training Center. Aviation Electronic Technician! That is what I was going to be. Nineteen weeks of electronic fundamentals and ten weeks of whatever your specialty was; mine was navigation.
It was I recall, May of nineteen sixty four. Our instructor, who likely had been in the Navy for six years, or so, was asking us about numbers. "Is one thousand a lot?" "Sure, one thousand is lot," I thought. "Is it a lot compared to ten million?" "Hmmmm, no it's not," my seventeen year old brain decided "How about compared to one?' "Yes, now it is a lot!" I was right after all! He explained that this is an important concept; being relative to what? In electronics you have little milli, micro and pico numbers. You have large and larger, kilo and mega numbers. This made a real impression on me--it has been part of me ever since. It is all relative!
In recent years I have had a lot of shoulder problems; both right and left. I had the left surgically repaired this past August. The right one needs to be done and is a constant source of pain. Back to the "relative" concept. Who ever is working with me at the time on my latest shoulder event; the Doctor, PA, Physical Therapist, all ask what is your pain number. Pain number? What is that? The reply is, "between 1 and 10, 10 being the worst pain you have ever had, what is your pain number?' I don't know why, but this really makes me crazy. What if I say 6, and it is really a 7; will they over prescribe my Percocets? "Try to be exact," they request. I will say, "It is about a seven point three six five." That doesn't cut it, they don't want decimals; nothing that exact! There is not a way to prescribe pain killers with that precision.
Temperature is also a relative issue. My wife will come home from walking the dog when it 5 below zero out. When she gets in the house she will say, "damn it is hot in here!" "Well honey, it is sixty four in here, and that is not hot--relative to outside, it feels hot, but it is not!" To this she tells me to keep my mumbo jumbo to myself and turn the heat down! ".........ah, it's not on!" I retort. This conversation is going nowhere fast and I am going to lose no matter what!
The point being, you may benefit from my experience without going to a Navy school; "it is all relative!" Relatively hot, cold; rich, poor; relatively stupid, really friggen stupid; stacked, not stacked; happy, sad; relatively tired of the bull shit; the long winter; bad TV; screwed up relationships; relatively bad breath, really bad breath ; and relatively reasonable co-pays!
....and if you can't stand it, move in with your relatives!
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