It was the Spring of 1958 when "Nel blu dipinto di blu" won the San Remo Music Festival In Italy. Few Americans had ever heard of the Festival. In August of that year, the song reached America. It was number one on the music charts for five weeks. It's the only foreign language song ever that won a Grammy. It was known to all as "Volare".
I was thirteen years old in 1958 and about the only thing I knew about Italy was that it was shaped like a boot.
One day my Dad came home with a 45 record in his hand. I had two brothers and two sisters, but he gave the record to me. He didn't understand what it was about, but he thought it was funny. Up to that time, I don't think I had even heard the song.
We played it again and again.
I have heard about how a single happenstance can change someone's life.
Over the next 11 years of my life, I had about a dozen happenstances that ended up with my being in Italy, meeting an Italian girl, and getting married. My Dad had given the Italian record to me. I still have it.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Net Worth
My first employment after being discharged from the military was with a Finance Company. You don't see those kind of companies around now like back then. They had a legal limit on their loans of $2500. . In the business they were called "stick note" loan companies. Reason for the name was that they often took furniture as collateral and the furniture was the "stick"
It was a brutal business and I didn't stay in it very long, but I have to admit that it taught me a lot about personal finances. The following happened one day.
A well dressed man entered and I sat down with him in one of the customer cubicles. In a arrogant manner, he said he needed $2500.00 . I slide over a credit application and he pushed it back and said he already had accounts there and didn't need to fill it our. So I asked him to just fill out his name and I would pull out his account.
This was before the age of computers , and I searched the file cabinets till I found his name.. He was correct, he did have an account, in fact, he had 14 accounts.! The 14 accounts were in different stages of being paid off and all were being paid perfectly. I stopped by the managers desk, he looked at the Customers name, and said without hesitation that the loan was approved.
I prepared the paper work and started learning more about the customer. He was the brother on an internationally know singer. He and his wife were talent agents and had a combined income of around $60000. a year. (1970) They lived in a luxury high-rise apartment. They both had expensive foreign cars. Their Apartment and auto's were leased. They had no children.. The loan he was getting now was for a Club Med trip they were taking with some of their friends. I finished the paper work and the man left with his money.
A short time later, an older Hispanic man came in. We sat down in the cubicle and in a humble and almost apologetic manner, he asked if he could get $700. to buy a color TV for his wife's birthday. Their 20 year old black and white had been broken for over a month. I started to ask him questions to fill out the credit application. Where did he live.. He owned his modest home. He owned his 8 years old car. He had no outstanding loans anywhere. He worked for the School District as a janitor . Had worked there all his life and was making $10000. a year.
As I went through the application , I found out that he had five children. He Proudly told me they all had good jobs as he had insisted that each had taken technical training out of high school. They all were married with children and were all buying their own homes. On checking his credit, I found it to be perfect. I finished the paper work and he left with his TV money.
As I drove home that day, I was reflecting on the two customers and what different life styles they had.
The couple that had a huge income had virtually no net worth while the minimum wage earner had property and a great family. The lesson learned... it's not how much you make, but what you do with it.
©2010
It was a brutal business and I didn't stay in it very long, but I have to admit that it taught me a lot about personal finances. The following happened one day.
A well dressed man entered and I sat down with him in one of the customer cubicles. In a arrogant manner, he said he needed $2500.00 . I slide over a credit application and he pushed it back and said he already had accounts there and didn't need to fill it our. So I asked him to just fill out his name and I would pull out his account.
This was before the age of computers , and I searched the file cabinets till I found his name.. He was correct, he did have an account, in fact, he had 14 accounts.! The 14 accounts were in different stages of being paid off and all were being paid perfectly. I stopped by the managers desk, he looked at the Customers name, and said without hesitation that the loan was approved.
I prepared the paper work and started learning more about the customer. He was the brother on an internationally know singer. He and his wife were talent agents and had a combined income of around $60000. a year. (1970) They lived in a luxury high-rise apartment. They both had expensive foreign cars. Their Apartment and auto's were leased. They had no children.. The loan he was getting now was for a Club Med trip they were taking with some of their friends. I finished the paper work and the man left with his money.
A short time later, an older Hispanic man came in. We sat down in the cubicle and in a humble and almost apologetic manner, he asked if he could get $700. to buy a color TV for his wife's birthday. Their 20 year old black and white had been broken for over a month. I started to ask him questions to fill out the credit application. Where did he live.. He owned his modest home. He owned his 8 years old car. He had no outstanding loans anywhere. He worked for the School District as a janitor . Had worked there all his life and was making $10000. a year.
As I went through the application , I found out that he had five children. He Proudly told me they all had good jobs as he had insisted that each had taken technical training out of high school. They all were married with children and were all buying their own homes. On checking his credit, I found it to be perfect. I finished the paper work and he left with his TV money.
As I drove home that day, I was reflecting on the two customers and what different life styles they had.
The couple that had a huge income had virtually no net worth while the minimum wage earner had property and a great family. The lesson learned... it's not how much you make, but what you do with it.
©2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Just A Few Words
There were three people in my life that played major parts in forming my successful career. They were my high school Principle, my Uncle that lived in California, and a guy named Hank. I feel lucky that I was able to thank the first two before they passed away. This story will be an attempt to thank the third.
It was in the 70's that while working on my business degree, I found myself working for my brother. I had been attending school full time and was working nights and weekends at a fast food restaurant. It was tough on my young foreign bride being left alone in our tiny apartment.
One day, my brother, who owned a used car lot, called and said he had just fired his porter and wondered if I might want to come work for him as a porter. The pay would be better, and I could work between classes and be with my wife evenings and weekends. It was a no brainier for me and so I went to work for him.
The arrangement worked well for me and continued for several years. My duties expanded from just being a porter to what amounted to managing the lot. A tragic event changed everything. My brothers partner was diagnosed with cancer and died within a few months. This created a huge void in the company and my brother asked me to start working full time. I was almost finished with my degree so I was glad to accommodate him. I finished up my degree taking evening classes.
During those years , I had become acquainted with a guy named Hank. I never knew if he had a regular job, but he was always coming around buying or selling cars. In the business he was called a "wholeseller" . I always enjoyed talking to him as he was intelligent and knowledgeable in a lot of areas. His personality was sometimes abrasive, but overall, he was a breath of fresh air in the area of used car business.
It was several years after I had completed my degree, that Hank came by one day. I wasn't busy, so we were having a conversation about various topics. He asked about my plans. I had always dreamed about owning my own business, but had fallen into a comfortable rut. My pay was good, I had purchased a home and had a young son. We continued to talk, then he looked me straight in the eyes and said "You know, Your Stupid" . I was shocked and at a loss for words. He continued "Your a smart guy and you should do something on your own, because you will never get anywhere working for your brother" . I was hurt and really felt like hitting him. I told him I had to get to work, and he left.
I thought of nothing else the rest of the day and during my long drive home. I told my wife about it when I got home and while she consoled me she said that Hank was just being honest.
A few days later, I asked my brother if he would ever consider taking me in as a partner. He said that he really liked me working for him , but a partnership would never happen.
A year later, my wife and I, held the Grand Opening of our Ford Dealership. The Dealership that we purchased had been on the brink of bankruptcy and turned out to be the proverbial "bird nest on the ground" for us.
Thank You Mr Hank!
©2010
It was in the 70's that while working on my business degree, I found myself working for my brother. I had been attending school full time and was working nights and weekends at a fast food restaurant. It was tough on my young foreign bride being left alone in our tiny apartment.
One day, my brother, who owned a used car lot, called and said he had just fired his porter and wondered if I might want to come work for him as a porter. The pay would be better, and I could work between classes and be with my wife evenings and weekends. It was a no brainier for me and so I went to work for him.
The arrangement worked well for me and continued for several years. My duties expanded from just being a porter to what amounted to managing the lot. A tragic event changed everything. My brothers partner was diagnosed with cancer and died within a few months. This created a huge void in the company and my brother asked me to start working full time. I was almost finished with my degree so I was glad to accommodate him. I finished up my degree taking evening classes.
During those years , I had become acquainted with a guy named Hank. I never knew if he had a regular job, but he was always coming around buying or selling cars. In the business he was called a "wholeseller" . I always enjoyed talking to him as he was intelligent and knowledgeable in a lot of areas. His personality was sometimes abrasive, but overall, he was a breath of fresh air in the area of used car business.
It was several years after I had completed my degree, that Hank came by one day. I wasn't busy, so we were having a conversation about various topics. He asked about my plans. I had always dreamed about owning my own business, but had fallen into a comfortable rut. My pay was good, I had purchased a home and had a young son. We continued to talk, then he looked me straight in the eyes and said "You know, Your Stupid" . I was shocked and at a loss for words. He continued "Your a smart guy and you should do something on your own, because you will never get anywhere working for your brother" . I was hurt and really felt like hitting him. I told him I had to get to work, and he left.
I thought of nothing else the rest of the day and during my long drive home. I told my wife about it when I got home and while she consoled me she said that Hank was just being honest.
A few days later, I asked my brother if he would ever consider taking me in as a partner. He said that he really liked me working for him , but a partnership would never happen.
A year later, my wife and I, held the Grand Opening of our Ford Dealership. The Dealership that we purchased had been on the brink of bankruptcy and turned out to be the proverbial "bird nest on the ground" for us.
Thank You Mr Hank!
©2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Under Budget
The memo came for the ship’s Executive officer. I was working in communications, so I saw it first. The ship was nearing the end of its financial year and we were under budget by $60000. The memo from the XO asked each department head to check all supplies and equipment to see if anything was needed and could be purchased at that time. Other wise, next years budget would be cut.
The Chief of communications ask me to go with him to the supply depot to see if there was anything we could use.
We walked around the depot that would have dwarfed a Wal-Mart. We located the section that had communication equipment and came across an item that we could use. We had four Teletype machines on the ship. When we were “running ops” all four machines were spitting out messages a line at a time. This was during the height of the Vietnam War and we were undermanned, so the single seaman assigned to read the messages and tear of the ones addressed to us, could not keep up. The paper would start piling up between the machines. What we found at the depot could solve the problem. It was an auto-winder.
It was really a nice stainless steel devise. Mounted above each Teletype, it would gently roll up the paper as it was printed to a reel. When the seaman wanted to read the rolled up messages, the reel would slide apart and the paper could be removed.
We bought 4 at about $200. Each.
A few days later the Chief told me to install the machines. I removed one from its box and proceeded to do what I was told. It only took about 2 minutes to see that there was not enough room between the bulkhead and the printers to mount the machine. I call the Chief and he looked and said some French words. The he told me to put the thing back in the box and put it with the others in the Transmitter room. I asked him if I should return them to the depot and he responded with more French.
The four boxes sat there, in the way, until the next time we went out to sea for operational exercises. I got off of my shift one night at midnight and they were still there, in the way. The next morning I came back in and they were gone. I asked the chief what happened to the machines. He answered with more French and told me not to “make waves”
Later that day, the seaman who had relieved me the night before came in. I took him aside and asked him what happened to the machines. He said, “ Chief told me to take the machines and throw them overboard to see if they will float, and to make sure, no one would see me.” They didn’t float...
©2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Getting to Know Edward
It had been the talk of the town. The old doctors widow had married a man she had just met while on a cruise. It wasn’t just the fact that she had quickly married this man, but that he was different. He had a beard and goatee. The first time I saw him, he reminded me of a diminutive Mitch Miller. I was living in the small town when I first met Edward.
Years past before I got a chance to know him. He would come to my dealership once a year to get his vehicle inspected. I would try to start a conversation, but he was reserved and we never got past the small talk.
Our relationship changed after I made a service call to his home. It was just a dead battery. I jumped the car, replaced the battery and returned it to him. A week later he came in with his wife and ordered a new car. I hadn’t seen the doctor’s wife in years. I was in the same class as her daughter in high school and attended a party or two at their home. She always impressed me, as she was one of the few adults that didn’t talk down to younger people.
Now she was sitting across my desk with her new husband. It only took a few minutes to see that she was in an advanced stage of Alzheimer's. She just sat there smiling. The car was ordered and delivered a month later. It wasn’t long after I delivered the car that Edward stopped by my office in an obviously disturbed state. He had to have his wife placed in an assisted living facility. He had passed his 80th birthday and just could not take care of her any more. For the first time we talked at some length and he was obviously depressed about being alone. My wife saw how he was feeling and invited him to our home for dinner.
That evening at dinner, we began to understand what a gem of a man he was. He had traveled and read extensively. Unlike most tourists that only travel so that they can brag to friends, Edward had traveled to study and learn. His mind stored data far greater than any computer.
After that first dinner, our friendship blossomed. Our business was in a decline and we had time and Edward started coming to our office several times a week. Each time he would come in with a little notebook with notes about things he had read about since our last meeting. My wife was suspicious that he was just memorizing some tidbits of information and then coming to impress us with the newly found facts. One day, as a test, she brought up a different, totally unrelated topic to see how he would react. To her and my surprise, he gave a delightful and knowledgeable commentary on that topic. He started having dinner with us several times a week. Other days my wife would cook extra and I would take the meal to his house. One winter evening he had been gone for about half an hour, when we got a call from the local police. He had stopped on a street in town and was lost. I took him home and after that, we would pick him up when ever he came to eat with us.
We had many wonderful evenings together. He got to where he stayed later and later. After some h
After many months we started learning about his personal life. His work as a graphic artist for the Methodist church.He had created the Methodist Logo.
He had joined the local Rotary Club, but found their conversations shallow. He frequently thanked us for being his friends.
I will never forget the day we told him we were closing our business and planning to move away. He normally had a sparkle in his eyes but now it was gone as he asked. “If you leave, what am I going to do?” I didn’t know what to answer, but my wife quickly said. “You can move to Indiana where your daughter lives”. He looked shocked. We talked a little and then he left.
He came in early the next morning and he was unusually agitated. “ I didn’t sleep all night!!” he exclaimed. “You know I think your right and I can move!!”
The next few months got busy. He would fly to Indiana, so his grand daughter and son in law came to pick up his two vehicles. We helped him pack and contact a mover. We drove him to the airport for his flight to Indiana. He thanked us and the last thing he told me was that he felt like he was escaping.
We took a trip to Missouri to visit an aging aunt later that year, and then decided to extend the trip to Indiana to see how he was doing. Edward had rented a small apartment near the University and was enjoying participating in cultural events there. His daughter lived near by and it was a comfort to him.
He only lived a few more years, but they were happy years for him.
©2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Looking
I have to a admit it. I still like to admire pretty girls. Some might say that makes me a dirty old man. I say if a man stops looking, he’s dead.
The best girl watching I ever experienced was when I got drafted into the military and was stationed in Italy.
They were the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I fell in love the first day I was there. A guy that had been stationed there for over a year invited me for a ride down to the local bar. The open patio with umbrella-covered tables was crowded. We sat down, ordered some Peroni beers and then I saw her. She was leaning in the doorway and was engaged in a heated argument with her brother inside. I was unaccustomed to the intense emotions of Italians and her intensity captivated me. She was lean, with dark eyes and long dark hair. She was the owner’s daughter. I saw her several times during the next few weeks and then her family shut down for the winter. I didn’t really have a chance to get to know her. I was warned not to get involved as Italian fathers and brothers were protective to a fault.
During the rest of my stay in Italy the sheer number of beautiful women constantly overwhelmed me. Everywhere I looked they were there and what was great was that they looked back. Italian women didn’t feign disinterest like American women. Needless to say, I had a great two years in Italy.
Recently I returned to Italy for an extended stay. Immediately, I notice a difference in the women. The dark and lean are hard to find.. The junk food culture has spread to Italy and I was hard pressed to find a young women who didn’t have a little “tire” around her waist. Another disappointment came from the fact that they no longer looked back. Not because of culture change, but only that now, I am over 60 years old.
I was walking around downtown Naples one day going no place special. As I turned a corner I spotted a real beauty coming my way. When we were about 30 feet apart, she looked up and flashed a heart-stopping smile. I returned the smile and when we had almost met, she raised he hand and shouted, “ Ciao Armando!” She sped by me like I was invisible. That was a short life for a fantasy. In life, nothing stays the same.
Good thing for me.
That dark eyed, beauty that I had seen leaning in that doorway many years ago… I’ve been waking up next to her for over 40 years..
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Porches
My grandfather had a favorite story that he loved to tell. It was actually from a program that he had put together and presented to his Rotary Club. It was about "the good old days" and why he didn't think they were really so good.
As a child, he had walked several miles to school no matter what the weather was like. Shoes were at a premium so if the weather permitted, he went without. He thought school buses were a great improvement. He had grown up without electricity, so electric lights and refrigerators were still a wonder. He didn’t think there was anything nostalgic about waiting in line on Sunday mornings to buy a block of ice. Air conditioning. While he was impressed by it, he wouldn’t use it. He had high blood pressure so the doctor had told us that he should get air conditioning. He would run the window unit only when we were there. We didn’t realize what he was doing until one Sunday when he had had lunch with him. His living room was nice and cool when we arrived. After lunch we left to return home. About half way home, one of us remembered that something had been left at grandpa’s house. We turned around and when back to his house. He already had all the windows open and the window unit off, and was sitting in his undershirt sweating. He had lost almost everything in the depression, so He was afraid of wasting too much electricity.
His program about all “ the good old days” had won the "best program of the year" award at his club, and for him, it was the high point of his life. To his family, his high point became a boring story that we had all heard hundreds of times. I loved my grandpa and it saddened me to have to fake interest in the story that I had heard so many times. It exposed the only frailty I had ever seen in him. It also reinforced my growing desire to get out of that dull little town where such a simple event could be the high point of someone's life. Years later the song, "I thought happiness was looking at Texas in the rearview mirror" describe exactly how I felt about my hometown. I graduated from high school and went to college. However, I wasn’t ready for the transition from small town school to a major university. I still wanted to stay away and my local draft board was glad to accommodate me.
I did get away.
Fifteen years later, after traveling in Europe, Africa and all over the States, I found myself moving back to my hometown. One old friend laughed in my face when I told him I was moving back. It was poetic justice to him that after having always talked about wanting to leave, I was returning. I had to justify that it was mostly out of concern for my young son that I was moving back. The years had mellowed my attitude towards my hometown. While I still remembered this small town as being boring, I knew that is was a safe place to raise a child. After all, I hadn’t really become bored with the town until my teen years.
It didn't take long, after moving back, before I started remembering my "good old days". My grandfather’s story had focused on advancements in technology. School buses, electricity, refrigerators, were the thing that he marveled about. My “good old days” were about the lifestyle I had enjoyed as a small child. I cherished the memories of days I stayed with my grandparents in town. I had lived a mile out in the country, so being able to stay in town was always a thrill. Those pre-TV evenings were spent on their front porch and yard. After supper my grandparents would move out to the front porch. They had a large bench swing and a few metal lawn chairs. Their house was in the path of families walking to town to see a movie. Most left home at least a half-hour early, so they would have the extra time to stop and chat along the way. There was a large Chinese Tallow tree we called "china berry” in the drainage ditch in from of the house, and I loved to climb up and hide. It was the perfect place from where to ambush anyone passing by. The summer breeze carried the sounds of life. Children could be heard blocks away playing hide-and-seek.
All of these memories are passing through my mind as I stand in front of my home this summer evening. Twenty years has passed since I moved back. My son has grown up and left home. I can’t see or hear any children playing. All I can hear are all the air-condition units battling the heat. Even if there were no air conditioners, I still wouldn't hear anyone, since no one is outside. I guess they are all glued to the TV watching some mindless sitcom. No one is sitting on their front porch waiting for passers by. Most homes built in the last thirty years don’t have any front porch! I like to imagine what would happen if we had a power failure for a few hours. What would everyone do? Would it flush everyone out in the open and force them to talk with their neighbors?
Forty years later I have my own "Good old days" story. My story is completely different than my grandfathers. His was about things gained. Mine is about things lost. I'll try not to tell my story too often.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Good Deed
I was hurrying from the shop to my office when I noticed an elderly gentleman looking at one of our new cars. It surprised me, as I had not seen him drive in and had no idea how long he had been there. I quickly walked out and greeted him and asked him if I could help him. He asked a few vague questions about the car and then walked to another.
I looked around and could not see a strange car anywhere, so I asked him where he parked his car. “I didn’t” he replied, “ I’m on foot”. He looked for a few more minutes and then asked if there was anyone available to take him to the bus station. I was very busy, but I told him I would be glad to and directed him to my car. I drove him to the bus station, he thanked me several times, and I returned to work.
An hour or so passed and then a professionally dressed lady. obviously distressed, came in. I asked here if I could help her and she said.” I am the director of the rest home”. (There was a rest home about 500 yards behind the dealership) “Have you by any chance seen an elderly gentleman walking around?” “ He has been missing for several hours”
Monday, October 18, 2010
Who's Going To Lead The Country?
It was a Saturday and as we often did, we closed our business at noon and went out to my mothers to have lunch. Lunch was not ready, so I sat down on a comfortable chair and grabbed a magazine from a stack and opened it to the first article. “Who Will Lead Our Country?” I had to smile to myself, as I had been asked that same question that morning at work.
The evening before, three local youths had gotten drunk and turned over their car. Luckily they were not hurt seriously, in spite of the fact that non-had been wearing seatbelts. This was a small town, so everyone that had come in that morning to my shop had offered some comment on the accident. The sum of the comments was that the youth of today were out of control and would never amount to anything and whom would we have to run our country.
Now, sitting in this comfortable chair at my mothers, I had this article asking the same question.
The writer of the article really blasted the youth of the day. They were lazy and spoiled and disrespectful of their elders. They were only concerned with having a good time and gave no thought to the future.
I read through the pessimistic article until I began to notice that some of the wording seemed dated. I closed the magazine to look at the cover and the date.
April 4, 1917.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Final Cut
For at least ten years, Umberto has been my barber during my summers in Italy. It’s almost been a ritual that I get a haircut upon arrival and a day or two before I leave. There was always a cut or two in between, depending on how long I stayed.
I have never received a better haircut. He never used an electric clipper. With scissors in hand, his motion never ceased .He took his time, never rushing, even though he had other clients waiting.
It was a two-chair shop with one chair never being used. The marble counter top had hundreds of burns attesting to his nasty habit. All ignored the “No Smoking” sign.
Like the barbers where I grew up, Umberto knew my life and I his. On my last trip, He had just married off his only daughter whose biological clock was almost complete. He didn’t have much hope for grand children.
This morning I arrived at his shop before he opened. After 15 minutes and still not open, I walked a few doors down to the coffee bar. Pepe, the hardware store owner, was enjoying his coffee and I asked him what time Umberto opens. He looked up and said ,“ He won’t”, “He’s dead”.
He was younger than me.
He won’t see his grand children, if there are any.
I have to find another barber.
©2010
I have never received a better haircut. He never used an electric clipper. With scissors in hand, his motion never ceased .He took his time, never rushing, even though he had other clients waiting.
It was a two-chair shop with one chair never being used. The marble counter top had hundreds of burns attesting to his nasty habit. All ignored the “No Smoking” sign.
Like the barbers where I grew up, Umberto knew my life and I his. On my last trip, He had just married off his only daughter whose biological clock was almost complete. He didn’t have much hope for grand children.
This morning I arrived at his shop before he opened. After 15 minutes and still not open, I walked a few doors down to the coffee bar. Pepe, the hardware store owner, was enjoying his coffee and I asked him what time Umberto opens. He looked up and said ,“ He won’t”, “He’s dead”.
He was younger than me.
He won’t see his grand children, if there are any.
I have to find another barber.
©2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Old-Timer
I don’t know how old he is. It’s easy to see in his walk that he has had a tough life. No one can tell me how long he has been coming around. This establishment where he “works” is a worse case scenario of too many chiefs and not enough Indians. Workers are hired and fired by one without the knowledge of the others. Days could pass and someone might query. “What happened to Luigi?” and the response might be, “He was fired last week”. No one admits to allowing this old timer to work. He was probably self-appointed as parking lot watcher. It has happened before.
He receives no salary and is content to get only food and drink. He knows how to stay out of the way when it’s best to do so
He stays away from groups of customers, but makes himself available as a good listener to a customer that is alone. . He seems to sense when an unwanted approaches and springs into action. His stern look is enough to discourage any intruder with malicious intent.
How old could he be? My guess would be 10 to 12 years. Let see, if the accepted ratio of dog/human years is 8 to 1, that would make him about 90.
©2010
He receives no salary and is content to get only food and drink. He knows how to stay out of the way when it’s best to do so
He stays away from groups of customers, but makes himself available as a good listener to a customer that is alone. . He seems to sense when an unwanted approaches and springs into action. His stern look is enough to discourage any intruder with malicious intent.
How old could he be? My guess would be 10 to 12 years. Let see, if the accepted ratio of dog/human years is 8 to 1, that would make him about 90.
©2010
Have You Known Joy?
A few weeks ago I heard something in a movie that really caught my attention. The two characters, which were both terminally ill, were discussing what their lives had meant. One made a statement that I have yet to be able to verify. He said that Ancient Egyptian Mythology told this story of what happened when a person died and arrived at the entry to eternity. The gatekeeper asked two questions.
“ Have you know joy?”
“ Have you given joy?”
Two yes responses were required for entry.
I don’t know if this really came from Egyptian Mythology, but it seems like a simple way to quantify the quality of ones life.
©2010
“ Have you know joy?”
“ Have you given joy?”
Two yes responses were required for entry.
I don’t know if this really came from Egyptian Mythology, but it seems like a simple way to quantify the quality of ones life.
©2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Small Towns
What are the best and worst things about living in a small town? The best thing is that you know everybody. The worst thing is that everybody knows you.
Having lived in a small town for many years, I have experienced many of these best and worst, but this is an instance that stands out.
We owned a small auto dealership in this small town. We worked five and a half days a week, closing at noon on Saturdays. My mother lived about a mile out of town and on many Saturdays, she would prepare a lunch for us.
We were having a lunch one Saturday when the phone rang and it was for me. A traveler had car trouble and needed a part. The traveler was very polite and apologized for disturbing my lunch. He would wait for me, if I could come and sell him the needed part. I agreed to meet in an hour or so.
As I hung up the phone, I became curious as to how he had found me, not at my home, but my mother’s house.
We finished lunch and I met the traveler and sold him the part he needed. As we were walking back to our cars I asked him how he had found me at my mothers house. This is what he told me.
He saw the dealership was closed and asked a worker at the Dairy Queen if they knew the auto dealer and where he lived. They gave him my phone number, which he called, but I was not there. They then gave him the general directions to my home. He drove into town and stopped at a convenience store on the main drag. He asked the convenience store owner if he knew where I lived. This is what the store owner said “ Well, he lives on down that street a ways behind the ball park, but he ain’t there, cause I saw him drive by a half hour ago and he usually has lunch at his mothers on Saturday”
©2010
Having lived in a small town for many years, I have experienced many of these best and worst, but this is an instance that stands out.
We owned a small auto dealership in this small town. We worked five and a half days a week, closing at noon on Saturdays. My mother lived about a mile out of town and on many Saturdays, she would prepare a lunch for us.
We were having a lunch one Saturday when the phone rang and it was for me. A traveler had car trouble and needed a part. The traveler was very polite and apologized for disturbing my lunch. He would wait for me, if I could come and sell him the needed part. I agreed to meet in an hour or so.
As I hung up the phone, I became curious as to how he had found me, not at my home, but my mother’s house.
We finished lunch and I met the traveler and sold him the part he needed. As we were walking back to our cars I asked him how he had found me at my mothers house. This is what he told me.
He saw the dealership was closed and asked a worker at the Dairy Queen if they knew the auto dealer and where he lived. They gave him my phone number, which he called, but I was not there. They then gave him the general directions to my home. He drove into town and stopped at a convenience store on the main drag. He asked the convenience store owner if he knew where I lived. This is what the store owner said “ Well, he lives on down that street a ways behind the ball park, but he ain’t there, cause I saw him drive by a half hour ago and he usually has lunch at his mothers on Saturday”
©2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Searching for Whit
If I hadn’t been eating raw seafood and picked up Hepatitis, I never would have met Whit.
I was on the sixth floor of the Naval Hospital in Naples Italy. The entire
Floor was filled with an ever-changing number of young servicemen with Hepatitis.
As luck would have it Whit was assigned a bed next to mine.. It was a Godsend for me.
We were alike in so many ways. We had the same interest and we had both immersed ourselves in the Italian culture. We both had Italian girlfriends that we planned to marry.
I was released from the hospital a few weeks later, Whit was released a short time after that. I had a few more months in Naples before I was transferring to a ship home ported in San Diego. Whit was in the Coast Guard stationed on the island of Sardinia.
We corresponded for a while, but with the transfers.. We lost touch. That was 1968.
I was discharged in 1969. Went back Italy and got married. We moved back to Texas.
I thought about Whit from time to time, but all I knew was his Nick Name "Whit”, his last name and that he was from Kentucky. We were so busy starting our new lives. Going to school, working, moving several times. I only had his Coast Guard address and tried sending several letters. They all were returned. I tried contacting the Coast Guard, but got no help.
Years past and from time to time I would wonder what happened to Whit. This was still before the Internet and long distance calling was still expensive. My curiosity got the best of me and so I started to call Kentucky information on the weekends when it was less expensive. I would get a long distance operator and tell her what I was doing and she would give me the numbers of 5 or 6 people in Kentucky with the same last name. I did this on and off for at least a year with no positive results. Then, one Saturday, I called another number and a girl answered. I explained who I was looking for and she said she married her husband who had that name. He was not there, but she thought she remembered his saying one time that he had a cousin who was in the Coast Guard in Italy. She told me that if I could call back in a few days, she would have found out for sure.
I waited till the next weekend and called. She gave the number of a person she thought might know my friend.
A women answered the phone. I introduced myself and explained who I was looking for.
I heard a gasp and then silence. After a few moments she said, “Whit was my son”. I asked how he was and where was he. She replied. “ Whit was getting his mail one evening and a drunk driver came by and ran him over… he died instantly” We were both silent for a while and then she asked me to tell her more about how I met Whit. We talked at length and then she asked if I by chance had any photos of Whit. I told her that I might, but would have to do some searching. She also told me that Whit had two children and that after his death, his wife returned to Italy with them.
Later I did find one photo and sent a copy to her. She sent me a card thanking me for thinking of her son and for the photo. . I never talked with her again.
In the card she sent me, she gave me the names of Whit’s Children. I did a search and found the daughter. She answered my email and was happy to hear from someone that had known her father. She owns a villa in Sardinia that she rents to tourist.
©2010
I was on the sixth floor of the Naval Hospital in Naples Italy. The entire
Floor was filled with an ever-changing number of young servicemen with Hepatitis.
As luck would have it Whit was assigned a bed next to mine.. It was a Godsend for me.
We were alike in so many ways. We had the same interest and we had both immersed ourselves in the Italian culture. We both had Italian girlfriends that we planned to marry.
I was released from the hospital a few weeks later, Whit was released a short time after that. I had a few more months in Naples before I was transferring to a ship home ported in San Diego. Whit was in the Coast Guard stationed on the island of Sardinia.
We corresponded for a while, but with the transfers.. We lost touch. That was 1968.
I was discharged in 1969. Went back Italy and got married. We moved back to Texas.
I thought about Whit from time to time, but all I knew was his Nick Name "Whit”, his last name and that he was from Kentucky. We were so busy starting our new lives. Going to school, working, moving several times. I only had his Coast Guard address and tried sending several letters. They all were returned. I tried contacting the Coast Guard, but got no help.
Years past and from time to time I would wonder what happened to Whit. This was still before the Internet and long distance calling was still expensive. My curiosity got the best of me and so I started to call Kentucky information on the weekends when it was less expensive. I would get a long distance operator and tell her what I was doing and she would give me the numbers of 5 or 6 people in Kentucky with the same last name. I did this on and off for at least a year with no positive results. Then, one Saturday, I called another number and a girl answered. I explained who I was looking for and she said she married her husband who had that name. He was not there, but she thought she remembered his saying one time that he had a cousin who was in the Coast Guard in Italy. She told me that if I could call back in a few days, she would have found out for sure.
I waited till the next weekend and called. She gave the number of a person she thought might know my friend.
A women answered the phone. I introduced myself and explained who I was looking for.
I heard a gasp and then silence. After a few moments she said, “Whit was my son”. I asked how he was and where was he. She replied. “ Whit was getting his mail one evening and a drunk driver came by and ran him over… he died instantly” We were both silent for a while and then she asked me to tell her more about how I met Whit. We talked at length and then she asked if I by chance had any photos of Whit. I told her that I might, but would have to do some searching. She also told me that Whit had two children and that after his death, his wife returned to Italy with them.
Later I did find one photo and sent a copy to her. She sent me a card thanking me for thinking of her son and for the photo. . I never talked with her again.
In the card she sent me, she gave me the names of Whit’s Children. I did a search and found the daughter. She answered my email and was happy to hear from someone that had known her father. She owns a villa in Sardinia that she rents to tourist.
©2010
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