The Fifty Chevy

It is now four years later. I have written about our return from the Philippines after about four years. There are other stories to be told about the trip back by freighter with stops in Hong Kong, Yokohama and Tokyo, but those are for another time.

My grandfather, Grandpa Dave, was superintendent of 1100 Union Street in San Francisco, so he had great contacts and access to some classy Cadillacs and Lincolns for tooling around town.

We spent a month in San Francisco. My grandmother cooked food unavailable in the Philippines. It was here that I got my first taste of artichokes and my first and last taste of beef heart. After four years of lean, I experienced plenty, first on the ship, then in the basement of 1100 Union.

The family planned to drive across country again, this time from West to East, stopping to see sights along the way. We would take the "southern route" because it would be late spring and we were not equipped to weather a spring snow storm in one of the passes of the Rockies.

First problem, find a car. As I mentioned previously this would be the first car Mom and Dad would buy. The car had to be reliable enough to get us across country and have room enough for five, since the family had grown to include a third brother. Paul was born in Manila and was less than five months old when we boarded ship for our return to the states.

With the help of Grandpa Dave's contacts, Dad found a used green 50 Chevrolet with a truck engine and transmission and an outline on the door where a California State Seal had been. The car proved to be a find, because it lasted the family for several years. I learned to drive in it.

Second problem, make enough room for all our earthly belongings. Take that literally because all that my Mom and Dad owned were with them. Dishes and silverware had been stored in barrels in Manila and would eventually be given away as we did not return. Even as I write this it seems strange that all of our material possessions would fit in that car. The trunk held a fair amount, but the back seat had to hold three boys. So Dad built a roof rack/box out of 3/4 inch plywood. My Dad was a cabinet maker, among other things, so this was an elegant box that could probably withstand blowing off the car at 50 mph. He found someone who could sew a canvas cover for the box. I have no idea where that car roof box is today, but I would not be surprised to find it in some one's garage still usable. It probably made our gas mileage worse, but it got our belongings across country with us.

Third problem, make a bed for the infant Paul. Dad took some of that plywood and crafted it into a bed for the driver's side back seat. He covered that bed with foam rubber and a sheet. Paul slept peacefully in that bed for much of the trip, even though middle brother Len was sitting right beside him. Remember that there were no seat belts in those days, so a bed in a car was a convenience for all.

So, in a green 50 Chevy we set out across country; family of five including an infant. I looked forward to seeing the rest of my family and whatever wonders we had time to include.

A Proper Forum

Let me state that I have been a fan of Roger Clemens for a long time.

I always thought he was destined to be a first ballot inductee into Cooperstown.

I also urged him to stay home last year and I don' t think a 6-6 record and a 4.18 ERA proved me wrong.

He has just issued a statement denying that he used steroids.

Let me also state that I have always admired Senator George Mitchell who is after all from a state that is as close to "home" as I have. He has made many truly great contributions to his state, to his country and to the world.

Maybe he was put into an impossible situation. Here again everyone in professional baseball has to share some blame. The steroid era existed because Baseball turned a blind eye. From a commissioner who was an owner to greedy owners and equally greedy players, the game that I love was tarnished and will forever have asterisks and footnotes. To try to cover for intentional blindness the commish turned to a highly respected former Senator, but gave him no power. He had no standing with the union and he had no subpoena powers.

I read his report, not all of it, but the nine or so pages that mention Clemens and Pettitte and others. In no other forum would such hearsay be permissable. At least not in our society.

The report cannot be the end of it. There must be a legal setting where Clemens, Pettitte and others can defend themselves.

That's the American way and Baseball deserves nothing less.

Petrified Forest and Figs

Occasionally we stopped to see something interesting during our trip west in 1952. I remember the Petrified Forest best.

Historic Route 66 passed right through what was then a National Monument, one of Teddy Roosevelt's gifts to our nation. I was fascinated with those old quartz tree trunks. I had never seen anything like them and, like much of the west, I was learning something new everywhere I looked. We stayed long enough for Len and me to get a good look, then we drove on.

We stopped for a few days in Pasadena. Again, I had never seen anything like that place. There were palm trees in people's back yards! We stayed with the Roddy's. Clarence Roddy, then a homiletics professor at Fuller Seminary, had been Mom and Dad's pastor in Portland, Maine and his wife was a significant mentor to my Mom. They had a lemon tree and a fig tree in their backyard. I had my first fig. An acquired taste, they are good when they are ripe right from the tree.

Except for being smooshed in the Plymouth, the whole trip was an adventure of discovery.

West of St. Louis

I had been to Chicago by train, so getting to Chicago was no big deal. We stayed with an older woman who was a supporter of the mission. I think we had stayed with her before. I don't know how long we stayed in Chicago, but it was for a few days, kind of a respite from being smooshed in that Plymouth.

We got back into the Plymouth and headed for St. Louis. Route 66! Chicago to LA on one romantic road. When the TV series Route 66 came on many years later, I would watch and could say, "I've been there, I remember that." Route 66 was everything they say it was and more. I have great memories and horrible memories of that road, but I am glad that I experienced what is really a bygone era.

I don't have too many memories of the route between Chicago and St. Louis. At the time Chicago was as far west as I had been, but when we left St. Louis we were going into the unknown, we were going into the wild west. I had read about the homesteaders leaving St. Louis to stake a claim and begin a new life. So, I was full of anticipation as the man or my Dad headed the car west.

Just the high spots. The road took a 90 degree turn in Oklahoma City right in front of the state's capital. And, yes there were oil wells right there on the capital grounds! Lots of them.

Texas is far from my favorite state. I'll tell you why. Route 66 cuts across the Texas panhandle, and at the time it was truly God forsaken country. We stopped at some small town for some of that bologna and bread, but there was no place to have a picnic lunch. So the adults decided to keep driving west; we certainly could find somewhere to stop. After what seemed like hours there was one tree by the side of the road. As the car slowed to a stop, you could plainly see a curled rattlesnake under that tree. Hours (or so it seemed to a ten year old) later we found another tree, this time with a picnic table and no rattlesnake.

I remember Albuquerque, New Mexico and Flagstaff, Arizona. The Plymouth broke down in one of those towns and we spent a pretty long day there while the car was on a lift.

Dry. Texas, New Mexico and Arizona were all dry. Two things stick out. Since the desert was dry and hot, and since cars in those days could be expected to break down, you hung a canvas bag or two of water from the hood ornament. The bag was not waterproof, so the bag would sweat and as you drove along at 50 or 60, the water cooled and was at least somewhat tolerable for drinking. More importantly, you could top off your radiator when necessary.

Dry. Somewhere along the way in the desert we stopped at a gas station. We were thirsty, so Mom or Dad paid 10 cents for a glass of water for us. The water was nasty, so I could only take about 2/3 of the glass. I threw the rest on the ground. This was before CPR, but the guy who sold us the water almost had a heart attack! I learned something about how precious water can be that day. Maybe that's one of the reasons that I don't drink a lot of the stuff. That's another story.

When we got past the desert we were pretty deep in California. Suddenly there was more of that water stuff (never mind that they got it from Colorado) and it was green again. I remember that the carrots in the trucks were as long as my forearm. I swear!

Remember that I was only 10 years old. I stand by my story.

Driving Down Memory Lane

Got a call from my brothers yesterday.

"What kind of car did you drive across country in?"

"'49 Plymouth (or was it a '47?), black." "Which way?"

"Both."

"Chevy, '50 Chevy (or was it a '52?), green."

"Were they 2 door or 4 door?"

"4 Door."

But wait, the Plymouth may have been 2 door, the Chevy was definitely 4 door, green and it was a '50. The Plymouth was definitely black, I didn't think they made any other color, although subsequent research shows that they apparently did.

Memories. That was a long time ago, and I became so distrusting of my memory that I called my children's mother to check to make sure that I had correctly remembered another fact, unconnected to the above.

Later, in the evening my nephew Peter sent me some "This is Your Life" links to the cars my parents owned during my youth. I say youth, because the first car Mom and Dad bought (Mom would not drive until years later) was that '50 Chevy, green." More about that later.

So, I have been thinking about those memories for the last 24 plus hours.

An aside. Its snowing here in Tonawanda, NY. Coming down pretty well right now, though they tell me it is to get worse. Nothing else to do until the Bills game is on, so I find myself remembering and writing. Up here in Buffalo when they talk about snow they talk about the blizzard of '77. I moved here after that storm, so when I think of a blizzard, I think of the blizzard of '52. We were living above the Sunday School building of The First Baptist Church in Portland, Maine. Portland got so snowed in that they had to borrow plows from Scarborough. Congress Street was piled high with snow. My Dad and I walked miles through the storm to make sure Aunt Ruth and Uncle Clarence were OK. They lived off of Back Bay. To get there you had to pass the B&M Bean plant, which always smelled great to me.

So, here's the story:

The blizzard comes into play because it was 1952. Most of the family belongings were shipped in crates and barrels through New York, the Panama Canal and then to the Philippines by ship.

Our ship was to leave from San Francisco in the fall of '52, but my family had no car and the train was too expensive for a family of four living on missionary salaries.

I can't remember the guy's name, or even much about him, just that he was heading west from Portland and was willing to share the ride with family of four. Must have been some kind of hero.

I remember it was a Plymouth. It was also black. It certainly was the shape of the '47 - '49 model, but when I look at the pictures of the 4 door it looks too long. Funny, you would think that I would remember crawling past the front seat of a 2 door. What I remember is that Len and I had about 1/3 of that back seat to share. He was smaller, so he was smooshed against the stuff that filled the other 2/3's of the seat while I was smooshed against the side of the car.

Neither the Mass Pike or the NY Thruway were finished in 1952, so we took Route 20 through western Massachusetts and upstate New York. I remember when we moved here to the Buffalo area that Route 20 through Geneva, Batavia and Pembroke had a kind of eerie familiarity to me 26 years later. I still drive on Route 20, especially when I am out with my camera and it still looks familiar.

I don't remember Buffalo, but I do remember that it was a long trip and we made slow time, when it came time to stop to sleep we would find some "cabins" and for a few dollars we would spend the night. Mom was in charge of food, so we had a lot of bologna sandwiches!

To Chicago and west another time.

Since 1979

After a year of visiting Hamburg High School's computer lab, I brought home an Apple II,

First the lab. Not exactly what you would expect today with rows of computers facing front and wired into a network. With a smart board or a projector or large monitors so that the students can follow the instructor as she demonstrates how to write a macro.

None of that, it was maybe six Apples on the edges of what may have once been a large closet or storage room. There were usually two or three geeks to a computer. The great thing is that the teachers were self appointed and interested in this new phenomenon called a personal computer. The IBM or what we now know as a PC (can you say Windows?) was a year or two away. So, since I visited the school in my role as a youth worker, I also stopped in to see the lab where Bob, a teacher and church member hung out with the students after school hours.

Bob beat me to buying one, but I was not far behind. I brought it home so that I could use it for my dissertation, kind of a glorified word processor, at least that was the excuse. Really I was fascinated by this new technology.

Sure, I wrote my dissertation on software called Magic Window. At first it only had 40 columns, something like half a page, then you had to toggle to the other half. But, my Masters thesis had six drafts, all typed on a Smith Corona (I hope that is in Wikipedia for those who have no idea), all typed by my wife. The last time she touched the Smith Corona was probably when she typed the dissertation proposal on it. I took over from there using the Apple. My dissertation had ten drafts. Of course, the spell checker was pretty bad. It did not know how to spell sex. Don't ask me why I used that as the test, but I hired a proof reader after I found that out.

But the Apple II was more than a word processor. I will never forget when my son and I opened the case and put a memory card in. We now had one meg of memory! We thought we had died and gone to heaven. You no longer had to swap disks (that's another post, those big disks) when you were using AppleWorks. That had become our word processor by that time.

We had fun with that computer playing games like Choplifter (that is in Wikipedia). Not exactly graphics as we now know them, kind of dotted lines moving across the screen. I played with BASIC; wrote a grading program that I used for several semesters in my teaching.

My son got into it a bit more. I had to kick my nine year old off the computer around ten at night so I could work on my teaching or on my dissertation. It gave him a foundation that launched a career (http://www.heynorton.org/).

Why these musings today? We got some new computers at work. My boss and I desperately needed upgrades and I spent most of the day working on the change over. I gave him frequent blow by blow reports and he said, "You really enjoy this stuff don't you?"

I do.

2 Outs? No Problem!

The Red Sox have won the World Series!

A championship team peaks at the right time. Before the All Star break, the Red Sox were clearly the best team in baseball. Then the team seemed to slow down; a slow down that could not entirely be blamed on injuries.

But, after letting the Indians back into the ALCS, the Sox hit their peak, with players who had mediocre years such as J.D. Drew stepping up.

One of the best indicators of their fight up and down the lineup was their tendency to score after there were 2 outs. I got so that I yelled at the TV, "There are two outs, let's go!"

They won without a lot of home runs (3 I think) and they won with smart baseball, stringing singles and doubles together to keep the pressure on their opponent. They also had good pitching when they needed it.

As a member of the Red Sox Nation I see a young team with potential to be great for several years. You never know what The Boss, his sons and son-in-law will do to make the Yankees competitive, but the Sox should hold their own for the near future.

Another thing strikes me. Prior to 2004 the Sox had not won a Series since 1918. Dad was 2 years old that year. He certainly did not remember it. He did not live to see another championship for the Red Sox. He always followed baseball, and since he lived near Philadelphia, he enjoyed the Mike Schmidt years, including a championship.

But, I have lived to see 2 Red Sox championships, twice what he enjoyed.

Go Sox!

Good Bye DJ

Dennis Johnson died today.

No Celtic ever wanted to win more than DJ.

I will never forget the 1987 Eastern Conference Finals game where he scored the winning basket off a feed from Larry Bird. Bird had stolen an inbounds pass from the great Isaiah Thomas. I can see that play like it was yesterday, and when I read he had died, that play flashed into my memory.

Sorry to see you go so soon DJ. My condolences to your family.

Tag in the Slow Lane

Tag! You're It! So I have been told.

Five things people don't know about me?

I have been thinking long and hard about that. Like my Mom, I usually wear things on my sleeve, and those around me pretty much know what there is to know about me. I guess you could say I am not really a private person. So, I may not come up with five, but here is what I have been thinking.

1. I am a "Third Culture Kid," (I am far from a kid anymore, but I was). Among other dysfunctions, third culture kids have close friends, but they expect to lose them when they move. So, I have had a lot of friends in the past, but when I moved on I failed to keep in touch. Only one college friend keeps in touch with me, and he has to work at it.

Maybe that's one of the reasons why I am stubbornly staying in Buffalo and am committed to trying to make a difference here.

2. Who's Body is This? Now I know that I have had more than one body during my life. There was the body of the football player, that of the young swimmer who swam across the lake everyday (and back), and the body of the construction worker who lugged 250 gallons of water a day. There was the body of the runner. I had that body for about 15 years, you could have practically cut paper on my shins. Then a toboggan accident ruined my knees and made me look for another form of exercise, so I took up cycling. There were also in between times, like when I drove buses to finance family and grad school. That body was a bit bottom heavy.

But today? Today I hardly recognize my body. Not because I can't see it because I only have one eye. Certainly not because I can't hear it because I only have one ear. Of course, if you first meet me you won't notice either of those, since both eye and ear look relatively normal. Crazy thing is that neither of the events that took my sight and hearing are really age related. Today my body is pretty heavy with a stomach the likes of which I have never seen. And there is the arthritis; usually 600 mg of Ibuprofen in the morning takes care of that. Oh, and you don't want to know about the prostate!

So, here I am with a body that I don't recognize. I don't really feel old, but this body doesn't do what it used to!

3. How did I get to be a writer? I know, I don't blog as much as I thought I would. A big reason for that is that I sit in front of a computer everyday and write professionally. It is not a career I aspired to in my youth. I write grant proposals, it is my way of seeking to make a difference for at risk children, youth and families in Buffalo.

Not that I think I am a great writer, I just work at it. I like staring at the screen (sometimes at the page) and tweaking my prose to turn a phrase that will engage the reader and get them to see the need. It seems to me that even a grant proposal can be literary and elegant. At my stage in life I care less about getting out and schmoozing and more about using words and language to inform and convince.

As I think back there are at least two influences on my life that I have to thank for guiding me in this direction. Miss Evelyn Hayden was my English teacher in High School. I was far from her star student, but she taught me to love narrative. She signed my High School Yearbook, The Initium (Latin for The Beginning), remarking about the strange questions I asked in class. It was years later that I realized that she had made such an impact on me.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. J. Edward Hakes, my grad school professor and the second reader of my Masters Thesis. He insisted that I had earned an A-, not because my work lacked intellectual heft, but because my grammar was lacking. It motivated me to work hard at writing, especially to make sure that my dissertation and articles that I wrote for publication were more finely crafted.

Thank you Ms. Hayden and Dr. Hakes.

Probably I should also thank my reading teacher from elementary school. I was placed in remedial reading because I was supposedly not reading at grade level. I have no idea what her name was and Mom is gone, so I have no one to ask.

In that class I discovered stories. My reading texts until then were about Dick and Jane and some dog named Spot. Whose dog was Spot anyway? I had absolutely no interest in seeing Dick run. Nor did I care to see Jane run! And Spot? Spot was running too! Who cares? But this teacher gave me real stories! When I "graduated" from remedial reading she gave me a beautiful edition of The Wizard of Oz.

So, I love narrative, not that I read much fiction. But, I read. I read. And, I write.

4. I have gotten back into the water. We have a great pool where I work and I have been doing laps. Not that I get in everyday. Colds have come and gone for me this winter, so I missed some days because of those. I also get concentrating on my work and forget I wanted to take a break at 1:30 or so and swim a few laps. But I am back in the water and it feels good. Won't take the weight off by itself, but it is good for my heart and my body. It's good for my mind too. I am up to 14 laps (round trip). Marcus, the lifeguard tells me that 20 will be a mile. I'll let you know when I swim a mile.

5. When you get to my age, not that I am that old, you begin to have thoughts about the end and your legacy. Of course, your health insurance company encourages those thoughts because they want to know if you have a Health Care Proxy. I don't right now, but I plan to get that done too.

I guess I will be satisfied if at the end people say that I cared for people and that I helped a few.

Now how do I go about tagging the next person?

Thurman Going to Canton!

ESPN leads their story with Michael Irvin, but for those of us from Buffalo, NY the big story is that the little running back who made the Bills go during the glory years is going to Canton.

OK, so they did not win a Super Bowl, do you know any other team that got there four years in a row? Do you think any team ever will?

Thurman Thomas richly deserves this honor and I will be watching his speech this summer. He makes four members of the Super Bowl Bills in the Hall. Marv Levy, Jim Kelly and James Lofton preceded Thurman.

There will be more. Bruce Smith should make it his first year (he retired in 2003 with 200 sacks). Andre Reed missed today, but he deserves to be there too.

I have two candidates that will need some luck and some lobbying. I think that Kent Hull was the nucleus of the offensive line that opened the holes for Thurman, Kent belongs in the Hall as one of the greatest centers to play the game. I also think that everyman, Steve Tasker, probably the greatest special teamer to ever play, deserves his space at Canton.

Congratulations Thurman! Thanks for the memories.