From the Vault: One for Father's Day

Connecticut Defense Council Auxiliary Police ID, probably WWII era

(I found this among some of the things I had written and though it has been out there on the web previously I felt it needed a little edit. So I fixed the writing faux pas’, added a little and thought it was worth re-posting in honor of Father’s Day)

Yesterday, April 5^th, was my dad's birthday, he would have been 107. I've wondered more than a few times what he would have thought of the changes the world's been through in the 40+ years since he passed and the discussions we would have had about them. I’m sure his analytical mind would love the idea of the Internet but the endless posts about where I’m eating a sandwich or the myriads of bathroom selfies would be lost on such a private person as he. I bet he sure would love the animal videos though.

He left home at 14 and hooked on at a number of shipyards up and down the east coast. I still have a piece of paper written in his spare efficient block printing of his "resume', which is just a list of the places and the hourly rates he worked for from 1922 onward. 

He used to tell a story of living in New York during those years. He lived in a 3rd floor walk-up and to help pay his room and board he made horseradish for the landlord. His telling of the story of having to stand by the window and having to grate this gnarly root by hand never failed to produce a laugh from those in attendance. He always told this story with a bit of a grin, as he knew that good times and bad times often overlap and the differences weren’t always discernible in the moment. Onions apparently have nothing on grating fresh horseradish when it comes to making tears. He said you couldn't wipe your eyes because that made it worse, so he'd have to stop periodically to throw water on his face. Sometimes he'd shred his fingers instead of the root and be just a total mess with tears running down his face and bloody fingers that stung like hell from the horseradish  juices. Needless to say he found other accommodations quickly.

He managed to keep working pretty much all through the Depression, which was an uncommon feat in those days. I worked for a while at the same place he and my Mom met and it was also the last job he had right up until he passed. I heard a few good stories about him from some of the guys that were still around from the time he worked there. 

The guys in the shop gave him the nickname “The Gray Ghost” because he had an uncanny knack for walking around the corner just as a group of guys would decide it was goof off time for a few minutes. They said he was a good boss and always fair, though you didn't fuck with him or any of his crew. One day a guy from another department was giving one of his crew a real hard time and preventing him from getting his job done in their mutual work area. When my Dad went down to find out what was going on the guy got pushy and mouthy. One punch later he was on his back, lights out. I still grin when I picture Jonesy telling me that story just shaking his head with his big bugged out eyes, his battered hard hat reversed on his head. "Nope, no sir no one fucked with the guys on Bill Mark's crew ". He was also not without his moments. One day he happened upon Little Charlie B_____ hammering away at something on a workbench, his hand choked up on the handle near the head of the hammer. Dad stopped and said to Charlie, “Don’t you know how to swing a hammer by now, doing it that way will take forever. Give me that.” My Dad took the hammer, gripping it at the end of the handle like one should and took a swing with it. The hammer head flew back over his shoulder and skidded under another bench about 10’ away. My Dad’s face got beet red, he turned to Charlie and handed him the empty handle and told him it was time get a new hammer then walked out of the shop. Hilarity ensued among the witnesses though it took Charlie a couple of minutes to stop shaking.

I wonder sometimes what my Dad would think of the pussification of America, where you can't tell someone, "You're an idiot for doing that" but it's okay to be rude as hell to someone you've asked for help in a customer service position. He always had a good word for the waitress or the checkout person. He always took our cars to the same mechanic, even though he could fix them; he used to say, "Those guys need to make a buck too." I feel fortunate to have put my wrenching days behind me since I found a good honest mechanic too.

The house I grew up in was the first stick built house he'd ever owned. He had always lived in apartments or trailer homes. That house was a bit of a fixer upper and he put a lot of time into improvements after we moved in. I remember him wrestling big rocks out of the ground with a long pry bar on the hilltop in our backyard. Then he'd roll them down the hill where he would split them with a hammer and chisel to add to the stone wall he built to keep the back hill from washing on to the red brick patio he laid. He had most of it done but never was able to finish the wall before he passed. 

He didn't know a lot about playing sports, though he did play golf and do some caddying for a while when he was younger; well before golf became more mainstream. I guess he gave up golf and pipe smoking when he married my Mom. He coached my little league team when I was 12. We spent a lot of time practicing my pitching in the driveway. His shins were always black and blue that summer due to bouncing balls that hit the dirt from what passed as my fastball in those days. We got to share the first ever season of Monday Night Football, though I never got to see the end of games since they ended at midnight on the East Coast. He would stay up to watch the end and leave me the scoring that happened after I went to bed written on small piece of paper on the kitchen table.

                                                             

                                                        Family Friend's backyard 1960's.

My uncle used to tell me frequently that he was the smartest man he had ever known, they did a lot of projects together at my uncles house. He also told me after Dad’s funeral that he'd never seen so many people at a funeral before. Dad's was the first funeral I ever attended and for years after it didn't matter who passed I refused to go. I remember sitting next to my Mom and shook so many sweaty dead fish-like hands that to this day I always look sideways at anyone who shakes my hand that way. That experience really threw up a lot of walls in my young mind and I never wanted to attend another funeral; that attitude changed as I got older, though that is a story for another day.

He left me a tough legacy to follow to be respected by so many. I wonder sometimes what he'd think about what I've done with my life, both the successes and failures and the hope I'd done well in his eyes just to keep on keepin' on. Like most things I write I don't know where this came from, I guess I just fell through the hole in the paper.

Thank you for taking the time to (re)read this and to all the Dads out there, Happy Father’s Day.

The Drought Ended for at Least One Team

The Golden State Warriors just won the NBA Finals; I’ve surprised myself the past several weeks by watching the NBA playoffs and enjoying actually sitting and watching the games again after a long hiatus. This was a good Final series mainly because it was hard to pick which team to pull for with long championship droughts for both teams; with no championships of any kind in Cleveland for 50 years they became my sentimental favorite.

The NBA has been virtually unwatchable for a long time. The former commissioner created street ball with refs and those guys were not very useful either.  Jordan made palming the ball acceptable the way he brought the ball up the floor; it would have been called traveling in the real OLD days, as in pre 1983. I think Kobe should send Mike a couple truckloads of champagne for getting the extra step allowed which helped him score probably 3 to 4,000 more points over his career. I watched Dr. J in his prime; he didn’t need that extra step. Stern oversaw an influx of too many young players not bothering to improve their skills and being more interested in making the Top Ten Plays on ESPN, thus becoming the standard fare the past couple of decades.  The past few years with Miami putting together their Big 3 then making 4 straight trips to the Finals and winning twice was unprecedented; the Lakers have tried that experiment twice and failed miserably both times. When it comes to the Finals, great teams win championships and that’s what the Finals this year was about.

It was fun to watch the way the Warriors moved the ball around; sometimes the ball didn’t touch the floor after the first pass.  Stephon Curry is just a fabulous player and one of the best shooters I have ever seen. Steve Kerr’s championship pedigree paid dividends while he coached his butt off. Even with the team he had he still had to use them right and he did.  This is a young solid team that should be in the conversation for at least another few years.

Cleveland just didn’t have enough left in the tank after going up 2-1; their energy level after that game just wasn’t there the last three games. The Cavs grit and scrappiness got them the lead in the series, but it wore them out. The last three games they had too many shots that hit the front of the rim and would just drop; a glaring sign their legs were approaching jello. Lebron James had to do too much and the other guys just didn’t step up after they won Game 3. Even with Tristen Thompson banging the boards like a boss they just didn’t have the horses.  Cleveland fans are left to wonder what might have been if Kevin Love and Kyrie Irving had been able to play the whole series.

If anyone had told me I would be watching the NBA Finals this year back when the season started I would have choked on my coffee from laughing.  I write the words “I enjoyed it” with more than a dash of incredulity. Only time can answer the question, Will I watch next season?

Finally Another Triple Crown

     Today, I finally got to see another Triple Crown winner in my lifetime; the third and final example of the most exciting 2 minutes in sports.  I don’t think I really fully appreciated the last three since I saw them happen in a span of just five years during the 70’s. Who would have thought it would take 37 years for another horse to do it again?  For my wife it was the first time she'd witnessed a Triple Crown winner live; both of us were both yelling as we watched the horses came down the final stretch and American Pharoah pull away at the end, great stuff.

Last year I was really rooting for California Chrome to pull off the Triple Crown and it really exposed the pettiness behind the scenes in horse racing. It’s hard for a horse to race 3 times in less than two months, especially with the travel involved. With other trainers not really trying to win the Triple Crown but instead working to prevent someone else from doing it is akin to a jealous ex-lover knocking someone off because they don’t want any else to have them. It is way past the stage for a serious look to a change in the timing between races. It wouldn't cheapen it since an owner would still need a hell of a good horse to beat the best 3 times in a row. 

I guess I wonder if horse racing would be as popular if it had been designed around something other than betting. No doubt viewership wouldn’t be as high nor would it also be for the 4 major pro leagues ; teams getting fined for not reporting injuries doesn’t have anything to do with appeasing the oddsmakers in Vegas does it? Nope sure doesn’t and by the way, I am the REAL Easter Bunny.

The past couple years I’ve started to gravitate more and from the major pro sports and toward something different, like bull riding. The rules are real simple: 1. Ride for 8 seconds, 2. Don’t get killed. The riders all root for each other since they all have a common opponent: the bulls. If there is any trash talking it must be in the locker room because you don’t see it on event night, it’s rather refreshing.

Congratulations to American Pharoah’s team for a great accomplishment and a two-fisted one finger salute to the trainers that skipped races and ran their horses only in the Belmont, this year at least it didn’t matter.

Thoughts for a Mother's Day

 Circa mid-50's: Dad and Mom before I came along. Probably at Ocean Beach.

I haven’t celebrated a Mother’s Day with my mom since she took her step in 1985.  Over the ensuing years I have many times thought about who she was, the way she lived her last few years and the things she gave me that I carry today.

My folks were as different as night and day. I”d have to say my Dad was more of a “speak softly and carry a big stick” kind of guy. My Mom on the other hand was a 4'11" firecracker that you never knew if she was going to go off being silly or if she would just fall asleep with her crocheting in her lap. Though I've nurtured my own warped sense of humor, I’m sure I get my goofy, cornball sense of the ridiculous from her. She was a study in opposites. She would tell me dirty jokes as I got older but still wouldn't say the word pregnant.  Whether it was someone we knew or one of their critters the reference was always, “she’s PG” and it always made me laugh.

She was born the 9^th of 10 children in a small New England town. She often referred to the house where she grew up as "14 rooms and a path". Unlike my Dad, who left home at 14, my Mom was the one who stayed at home and took care of both her parents in their last days. I never got to meet either of them.

No doubt coming of age during the Great Depression had a profound influence on how she lived her life going forward. She was a great saver of all manner of things, especially small bits of paper.  She would cut up envelopes or trim any blank parts left on any piece paper she came across; basically any paper that had not been written on was fair game.  She kept them in a small inbox-like container near our kitchen phone.  It wasn't uncommon to find a note from her on the kitchen table cobbled together with these little scraps. I would come home to find a jigsaw puzzle without a solution spread out before me.  I almost needed a decoder ring to follow the narrative from beginning to end while deciphering her left-handed scrawl. This I inherited, the scrawl not the jigsaw notes.

She was a switch board operator for several companies, both large and small and also did clerical work along the way. My Mom and Dad met while she was working the main gate at General Dynamics in the 1950’s. She did some clerical work part-time before I hit school age then became a stay at home mom until I went to junior high. Her last job was as a receptionist at a nursing home and she was there until she got sick.

She hated this motorcycle though still asked me to take a picture.

In 1980 she developed breast cancer. I remember her doctor telling me after the surgery that the cancer had probably made its way into her bones. I didn't find out until after she passed that he didn't expect her to last a year. She hung on for over 5 years. She never lost her sense of humor or her love of good food and friends. She lived those last years with as much dignity and grace as humanly possible. She suffered in silence often and rarely complained about anything except the length of my hair or that I needed to stand close to my razor in the morning. She was pretty close mouthed about a lot of things. Dick, the nice fellow she kept company with the last few years she was with us, filled me in on much of what happened those last few years while I was living in another state.

Anyone who has experienced going through a deceased parent or relatives stuff knows how surreal it is. I kept turning around expecting her to be standing behind me in the door. Her sense of humor outlasted her. She loved to clip stuff from the newspaper whether it was comics,cartoons or Hints from Heloise. I found an envelope with part of her collection stuffed inside a box of filled with plastic fruit. Knowing her I'm sure she left them that way because she knew I would get a laugh. It worked; that find had us in stitches. What is the deal with plastic fruit anyway, I've never understood it. 

Believe it or not I did actually pay attention once in a while and was fortunate enough to gain some useful lessons from her; treat everyone with the respect they deserve but don't swallow bullshit unnecessarily. Keep your cards close to your chest though don't be afraid to love. Appreciate little things and remember that happiness is not about having what you want it’s about wanting what you have.

I have been blessed with a teacher and mentor who decided I would heretofore be known as her adopted son.  I've also been blessed with a mother-in-law that is a great lady even though she repeatedly kicks my tail at Words with Friends. I think she lets me win sometimes just so I’ll keep playing. Any man would be grateful to be as fortunate as I.

If my Mom was around today she’d no doubt be sneaking forbidden people food treats to my cats, loving my pretty little wife almost as much as I do and telling me I need to cut my hair.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s out there for doing what you do. We do appreciate you. My hope is we all make sure we show you that instead of just tell you.

Inside Out Seasons

There is a phenomenon that I’ve experienced twice a year since moving to Arizona that I don’t’ remember experiencing in any other places I’ve lived.  It happens in the spring and again in the fall though the manifestations are complete opposites.  It’s been occurring here again at my abode the past week creating a nightly debate on whether or not to open the windows before bedtime. Spending 6 months stuck in air-conditioning breathing the same recycled air gets tiresome and I always attempt to put it off as long as I can.

During both spring and fall the temperature inside and the temperature outside just don't seem to match the season.  In the fall the outside temp can be around 74, 75 and inside the house it can struggle to hit 66.  If I dress based on the inside temp I’m overdressed.  When spring rolls around it can be cooler outside at around 75 and inside the house my thermometer tells me its 85.  No matter where I’ve lived here apartment, house, and now a trailer it happens, though I’m not sure if living in this trailer makes that discrepancy more noticeable or not.  Either way those occurrences become the best times of year to sit outside with a drink in one hand and a book in the other.

Spring has sprung in virtually every part of the country by this point in the year. Some locales are still experiencing cold nights after a day of glorious sunshine and open windows. Spring in most places means the snow shovel can go back in the garage and it’s time to string up the hammock in anticipation of those lazy days of summer. Spring brings rain that helps trees regain their foliage, flowers to bloom, and can cause flooding if the snowpack was rather deep the past winter. We have those bursts of nature out here in the desert southwest only we have flash floods instead, because drainage is afterthought and water goes where it wants to.

Here in Arizona we experience spring with a daily prayer that we won't have to turn the A/C on just yet. The average first 100 degree day is May 2nd and since we've already hit 100 this year you know the old A/C has been earning its keep. 

We've already prepared ourselves for that boiled owl feeling that occurs every Arizona summer, that time is fast approaching.  Because everything is air-conditioned here one is willing to venture outside, hopefully without burning your hands on the steering wheel before a trip to the grocery store.  The sun so hot I froze to death could very well apply if you work in an office out here. Most buildings here in summer typically have a temperature setting rivaling that of a meat locker; stepping outside will make you shiver.  It is not uncommon to see someone waiting for a bus in 110 degree heat with a sweater over their arm and it just looks odd, really odd. 

Summer here can be like winter in other places; that extreme in temperature you just learn to deal with because you live there. We sure do get some gorgeous sunsets though.

I Bet You Won't Finish Your Popcorn

This first weekend in May 2015 wields a double edged sword. The weekend that essentially started on Thursday could be either sports fan nirvana or the final debacle for a degenerate gambler.

The yearly talent crapshoot known as the NFL draft kicked off the weekend on Thursday. Teams have probed, poked and tested about 2,000 of the young men they see as the top college talent. All that evaluation is done in the hope they will find the next Peyton Manning and not the next Ryan Leaf. After a season that offered as much if not more coverage given to off the field issues than to the play on the field, the word “character” became the hacky sack of every broadcast.  I guess watching Jameis Winston throw the football makes everyone forget about the other stuff.  For every Tyrann Mathieu there are 5 Justin Blackmon’s it seems. Only time will tell if all the character questions had merit, though I will be surprised if more than 3 of the top picks in this draft play out their rookie contract.  The most popular bets available on the draft define insanity; you can bet on where any player will be drafted, who the first running back drafted is and which conference will have the most players drafted. I will bet that any players unfortunate enough to be drafted by those whoopee cushions known as the Redskins and Browns will come to camp stocked up on Prozac to cope with the insanity.

Saturday presents us with the most exciting two minutes in sports followed later by the richest fight in boxing history. The Kentucky Derby is the only “pre-game” that rivals the Super Bowl. At least with the Derby there are other races to watch instead of seventeen human interest stories about a player’s gardener’s dog’s barber. Well, all the pre derby stuff is worth watching just for the big crazy hats isn't it? The races yes, for the hats no, no it’s not.  It was unfortunate that California Chrome missed the Triple Crown last year since it was a neat story of a great little horse, though it only furthered the notion there will never be another Secretariat.  My pick, Carpe Diem, didn’t carpe enough, which is why I don’t bet on horse racing unless I happen to be at the track in Saratoga Springs. I hit the trifecta the last time I went though it sure wasn't enough to retire to St. Thomas.

I hope the Mayweather-Pacquiao fight lives up to the hype after waiting so long for it to happen. Apparently it is already the richest fight in boxing history and at $ 90.00 for pay-per-view in standard def I think I’ll stick with plain old Netflix.  I went to a pay-per-view event for Tyson- Spinks (I didn't buy the tickets) and that was over before I finished my popcorn.  I hope anyone that made the investment on this fight gets to finish theirs. These guys are both long in the tooth for boxers though I expect the fight to go the distance. I don’t see either being able to knock the other out, unless it’s happens to be of the Hollywood double knockout variety.

Behind these big three, the NBA and NHL playoffs are in full swing and into the second round. I’m going on a short limb and wagering these early rounds will have more drama than the finals in either league.  We can’t forget baseball still has over 135 games to go before their playoffs begin. That season seems so long because of the number of games, though time wise it’s really only longer than the NFL.  If you’re a fan of any or all of the sports action this weekend I wish you luck in having the time to finish your popcorn. For all you gamblers out there I hope you managed to hang on to enough gas money to get to you to work Monday. If not, I hope you have a good pair of shoes and a friendly looking thumb or maybe even some leftover popcorn.

When I think of You I Touch My...Screen

A while back I penned a post about the growing fascination with our cellphones wondering if we were heading for a kyphosis epidemic. I’m still convinced that scenario is a possible repercussion of walking around bent over our phones and will manifest eventually, though maybe not in my lfietime.  I just never saw the allure of staring at that little itty-bitty screen so much.  Count me as surprised there aren't more viral videos of someone walking into a signpost or in front of a bus because they just had to finish making that Facebook post.

I think the lack of allure for me was a mixture of my general attitude toward the telephone as necessary luxury nuisance and the various incarnations of phones I packed around while riding the wave of the ever expanding cell phone craze.

I kicked up a fuss at getting my first cell phone about 15 years ago. After carrying a beeper for many years I didn't want to go back to that tethered feeling. I had to acquiesce; I knew the cell phone wasn't going away any time soon.  Back then choices were fairly simple. Did it make calls? Yes, unless you had Qwest and were in NIMBY city USA, Scottsdale; cell towers were frowned upon and there weren't enough of them. During the good old days it took 3 dropped calls to find out I needed to bring home coffee AND bread.

As my thoughts fast forward through the years my face reflects on the seeds of my discontent; the cell phones I've owned. Or did they own me? I remember a Nokia candy bar phone that I liked for its plain, simple design. It was great until the cover started coming off every time I put it back in my pocket.  The first phone I had that held music was a monster of an LG with a full keyboard. More than once that monstrosity reminded me it was in my pocket if I bent over to pick up something off the floor. That phone however, got me hooked on having a full keyboard; fold-out, slide-out didn't matter as long as it had a real keyboard with keys. I've had some crappy phones because that was my thing. I had one phone that was a touch screen phone but it had the full keyboard too. Despite many threats to end its life by pitching it into the street, it just kept being its contrary self. I was not going to get a touch screen phone. Never say never right?

A couple of months ago, prompted by a poke in the ribs from my Mrs, I picked out a new phone. I think she was more tired than I was of hearing me swear at the lousy phone and cell provider I had. I decided on an LG Optimus, my virgin excursion into an all touch screen phone. I must say I am pleasantly surprised. I really like this phone. It may not be as sexy as similar phones out there, though it sure has done right by me; the battery life alone is a big upgrade over my last few phones.

I've spent more time fiddling with this phone just looking at apps or playing games than I ever previously had any desire to with any of my old phones. The touch screen keyboard has some space between letters making it easier to use. It will save words I use a lot too, which are a benefit to whom ever is on the other end of my texts; well most of the time anyway. Surprised yourself didn't you, you ol’ dinosaur?

I’d write more but I just checked my Weather app and it looks like it’s going to be a good day to get out and pull weeds. Right after I go win this game of Trivia Crack.

Still Here

     I’m sure more than a few of you have wondered where my blog posts went. They are still here, though a lot of them stayed stuck in my head.  It’s not like I ran out of subject matter; the news is filled daily with all manner of things to poke with a stick and I have good supply of sticks. My focus changed to a different format. I started putting more down on paper than in the air; mainly in the journal I've had since President Ford was bonking spectators with golf balls. My trusty journal has served me well over the years to help me work through the occasional fork in the road that comes to everyone’s experience at one time or another. Plus I've been going through old things that were only on paper and converting them to digital. 

     A few weeks back I decided to jump off the end of the pier and do something I've wanted to do for a long time;make writing a full time occupation. Like any new venture there is a bit of a learning curve. Writing isn't just about writing there is a lot more to it than that. I find I've spent a lot of time doing research whether it be to find material for something I’m working on, discovering ways to improve my craft with books I've found or finding new avenues to produce income. I still sit in front of computer all day, now I’m my own boss, peon, and IT department. Some days it feels daunting, others float by like a trout fly riding a soft lazy current. My desire is to keep moving that fly down the river.

    I never saw myself as a published author though I did have a couple things put to print in the past. Now all of sudden I realize I am published, self-published I guess, through this little old blog of mine. I've never had any formal training other than what I learned in school and my own research. I've been told I write like I talk, which depending on the venue can have both advantages and disadvantages. Fortunately for me I have support here at home, from family, my friends, and those of you who take the time to read the things that jump off the end of my fingers.

    For those of you who have been reading right along I thank you for your support. Please feel free to post comments. You can do it anonymously if need be. If you liked what you've read share it, please.  I know Blogger is a bit cranky if you read it on your phone. It's even cranky for me; it hates the apostrophe in Microsoft Word. I have to replace everyone I use. I am investigating other places to possibly move this blog to if I find that necessary. If I do you'll be the second to know. Thank you joining me on this journey it will probably be safer than riding next to me in a pickup while plowing snow.

Rasslin' With Death

     When my wife and I saw the promo for Wrestling with Death for the first time, our reactions were polar opposites. This show is essentially about a funeral director and his family who live in the small Arkansas town of Osceola. They run a funeral home during the day and put on wrestling shows on the weekend. No, that’s not a typo. I laughed so hard I gave myself a coughing fit; I knew this was going to be epic something to the nth degree. My dear wife just looked at me and shook her head. 

This program contains scenes of real corpses

and actual mortuary preparation practices.

This disclaimer appeared before the show started

The following conversation ensued:

     “We have to DVR this.”

     “What! You won’t even watch Duck Dynasty!’

      “Yeah, well that’s dumb as shit.”

      “And this isn’t? What the hell is rasslin’? That’s not even a word.”

      “”After almost 5 years with me you should be used to made up words.”

      “I am ,but that word? It just won’t come out of my mouth. No, na na na, no.  I can’t .”

      “I don’t know really where the word came from. It’s just another made up word like the goofy crap in the Urban Dictionary.”

      “ I don’t care, it’s not a word and I’m not saying it and I’m not watching that either.”

     “Okay, fair enough, but you have watch it at least once just for the dumb entertainment value of it.”

     To her credit she did sit and suffer through half of one episode with me and announced that for any further viewings I was on my own. I am of the opinion that all reality TV is really just the video version of artificial flavoring; things are not really what they seem. What this little bit of nonsense flashing across my TV screen did do was bring back some fond old memories.

     Watching the wrestling clips in the promos reminded me of the ring at the wrestling shows I went to as a kid. Seeing the turnbuckles crafted from duct tape, the small arena, and the obvious age of the ring itself blasted me back to a time when i sat in the stands at a similar venue. 
     

     My friend’s Dad worked for the local newspaper as sports editor and he was able to get free general admission passes to the wrestling shows at the little multi-purpose auditorium at Ocean Beach Park in New London. What a great experience for a couple of goofy adolescents; the crazy cast of regulars that attended every show were as entertaining as the wrestlers in the ring. 


      There were a couple of little old ladies at every match that always sat near ring side; one always had a cane that she would wave at the bad guys then bang the hell out of the ring apron with it. The two of them would stand up, yell and shake their fists at the bad guys as they got the better of the fan favorites. More than one bad guy felt the wrath of that cane. Gorilla Monsoon had really a big fan that was there every time Gorilla was on the card. I mean REALLY BIG, like close to 500 pounds kind of big.  He was always perched in the middle of the bench in one section along the top row of the roll-out wooden bleachers. His bulk caused that section to sag like an old swaybacked nag. All through Gorilla’s match you could hear this deep voice yelling, “Heyyyy Gorilla, kick him in the peen.”

     One of the regular wrestlers on the card, Joe Esposito, ran an Italian restaurant when he wasn’t wrestling.  My buddy’s Dad took us there a couple of times for pizza before the matches and we were in heaven. This place was the typical Italian restaurant; the red and white checked table cloths with the Chianti bottle candle holder centerpiece dripping with hardened wax from previous diners gave the place an atmosphere that radiated good food and comfort. The effect was enhanced by the walls that were plastered with black and white photos of pro wrestlers; there were both good guys and heels and most of them were autographed.  It was like a living wrestling history lesson; there were pictures of old timers that we never got to see in person and had only read about in magazine. Outside the ring it was obvious wrestling was a brotherhood like most sports. That idea was further cemented at the end of each show we attended as we watched both good guys and bad guys pile in the same car together and drive off to a local hotel or the next event. 

     Being at a small venue during the years before Vince McMahon made Hulk Hogan a household name gave the two of us access that today wouldn’t be possible. That small auditorium had the concession stand to the left of the main entrance; the entire area was maybe 30' x 60' with 3 sets of panic bar equipped double doors at each end. Directly across from the concessions was the hall leading to the locker rooms. All athletes there for any sports event had to exit that hallway, make their way through the concession area, then through a set of the doors leading to the main auditorium floor. On a few separate occasions we staked out the locker room area and were rewarded for our patience.  


     One night we were lucky enough to get what seemed like almost an hour talking to Captain Lou Albano; I say what seemed like an hour with a memory filled by the skewed sense of time a teenager has. My friend and I were both impressed that Lou actually took the time to talk to a couple of bug-eyed young wrestling fans like we were adults. My sense of time probably stretched out that whole conversation, none of which I can remember, though I walked away with a sense that Lou was a good guy; all the bad guy stuff he ever did in the ring was to sell tickets.If my friend and I ever had a discussion of wrestling at any point during the next few years that night would always end up being part of the mix. I can't speak for my buddy Mike but I can say I always had a warm place inside for Captain Lou. Another memorable evening was the time we were able to spend time talking with Buddy Wolff on the night he was wrestling Pedro Morales for the championship in the main event. He was one of the big name regional bad guys at the time and again we were left with knowing the line between good guys and bad guys in wrestling is pretty much only defined in the ring. 


     The only time I ever saw Vince McMahon  he brought his own particular brand of sunshine with him; as he strode through the door he announced, “All you god damn kids get the hell out of my way”, and then shouldered through people in his path as he headed for the auditorium. What a peach, though the word I usually use to describe him rhymes with stick. Funny thing is he still shows everyone that same sparkling personality today. His car then was the only cool thing about him. A Chevy concept was what I later learned were his wheels for the night It looked something like the picture directly below.

     Every time I watch the Princess Bride I’m reminded of the night Andre the Giant walked by me on the way to the ring; at 14 I was already 6’ tall and I barely reached his armpit, the man was immense.  When he climbed in the ring it looked like a mattress in a cheap motel as it sagged with his weight; those old ring ropes were tight as piano wires.

     I don’t watch wrestling anymore and haven’t in a really long time, mainly since Vince the Stick made the soap opera outside the ring the main focus of the show. Many years ago I stopped longing for the days when venues were small and the wrestlers were approachable and not like the athletic rock stars they are made out to be today. I get the idea they have to protect themselves from the public; too many Mark David Chapman’s out there waiting to come out of the woodwork the past 40 years. I am glad I grew up at a time when celebrities and athletes were more approachable and the concern for crazies in the crowd wasn't as big an issue. The present day worries of our celebrity culture as they are plagued by paparazzi and cell phone cameras at every turn has widened that separation; we have brought that situation upon ourselves. 

This post wasn’t meant as endorsement of the show; it really is just about good memories with good friends. Seeing the wrestling segments on the show, which is obviously staged in a much smaller venue then the one I was exposed to, brought back that small town aspect of how wrestling felt back then.  The cast of characters on this show would fit right in at old Ocean Beach Park Auditorium.  

 ( These links still work since this post first appeared)

     The link below is to the trailer for the shows website on WGN Network. 

  http://wgnamerica.com/shows/wrestlingwithdeath

      On Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4DjIJjLmkw

        It is less than 2 minutes long and is worth a couple minutes even if it's just for laughs and you are not a fan of wrestling. Reality TV is here to stay. 

                

An NFL Experience

     The Super Bowl has come to town for the third time since I’ve lived in Arizona; this time with my wife’s favorite team in tow. We donned our Patriots gear and hopped the Metro to downtown Phoenix for the NFL Experience; a first time experience for us both. We were definitely in the minority in our Pats gear as the train filled up with fans festooned in Seahawks colored garb along the way. A couple times chants of “Sea!” Hawks!” rang out during the trip; we got really tired of hearing it break out inside the venue too.

    We arrived to a sea of people overrunning downtown Phoenix.  This was a huge crowd; a churning mass of humanity milling about seeking football fan nirvana.  Every inch of real estate that wasn’t covered by tents or signs was being tread upon by thousands of feet. We decided to hit Super Bowl Central; they handed us a map and asked if we ended help finding anything. Thus began our typical event staff interactions for the day, which was essentially the same no matter where they were or what they were doing.  When asked a question they’d lift their right arm, point and say, “Go that way.” Not a lefty in the bunch, what are the chances of that?

    While we tried to find the entrance, we wandered by a few exhibits outside like the Street Art Throw-down, which explained why my nose was assaulted with the odor of spray paint; sanctioned graffiti featuring brilliant colors with an Arizona Super Bowl theme. There were also a few strategically placed street corner preachers with headset mics proselytizing through a PA, while others passed out leaflets; only in America, side by side spectacles of such extremes in the same venue.

     We discovered the line to get inside snaked along one entire side of the Phoenix Convention Center and almost to the end of the next; you couldn’t see your destination until you got close to the entrance. The line squeezed us down into lanes created by barriers that allowed only 2 at a time to walk comfortably side by side.  Once inside the staff did the arm thing again and directed us toward the entrance for those who had tickets like ourselves. 

                                               "Go that way"

Finally inside the building

    

     For an NFL junkie this is the place to be, though if you want to experience everything it can’t all be done in one day, because this is just like a huge theme park. The most popular events like the autograph stage and the field activities had ridiculously long lines which will eat up a lot of time.  The event spanned 3 floors in the convention center, with the main activities and the pro shop on the first floor. The elbow to elbow crush of humanity created by the setup made for a lot of bumps and twists to make your way through the crowd; stopping anywhere was asking to be run into by a little kid or someone not looking where they were going. Can you say epic madhouse?  We poked around in the pro shop for a bit then decided to head on inside.

                                         Sensory overload

     The walk into the main venue was pure sensory overload; the panorama shot doesn’t even scratch the surface on the noise, lights, and stuff that sprawled in front of us. We picked the path of least resistance crowd-wise and set off to see what we could find. What we found was akin to a NFL Disney; we found lines, lots of them, and very long too. We also finally found more Patriot fans inside enjoying the festivities in their typical low key New England way; an exchange of “Go Pats” and a smile as we passed were about as rowdy is it got.

One of the Field Event Areas

Funky old team jackets

Program from first ever AFL game

Hall of Fame ring, Strahan's 

     There were NFL films on massive TVs all over the place and they were all playing different highlights. There was a nice display of old pictures, programs and uniforms from the Hall of Fame. The busts and rings from the 2014 class were on display; those rings are HUGE. We wandered through a display where they were making and selling Wilson footballs, got our picture taken next to the NFL draft podium, and met a group of Pats fans that came out for the game.  We were all waiting to put our face on a fully equipped Pats player statue. There was one of those for every team placed throughout the place; some had lines for pictures while others were used by folks to sit and rest tired feet.  The big display on the upper level showed the history of pro football from 1870’s to the present day and had some cool old time pics. There was so much to see, we walked and walked and walked some more.  This was definitely a total immersion NFL experience any fan, whether die-hard or casual, should have an opportunity to be a part of.

Drafted #1

                                              

     We made the Pro Shop our last stop of the day. The checkout line snaked around and through the shop till you reached a mini maze of those airport ribbon barriers. When you arrived at the end of the line the cashiers waved a flag to signal who was next. We took a lot of pictures to document our day, which was a hell of a lot of fun.

                                     " Honey take the picture I"m on my tiptoes!"

                    Time for a brief respite and a selfie before the trip home.

      We hopped the Metro for the ride home, which was standing room only; stand we did all the way home. We had a couple of swings and misses trying to find a place for a decent sit down dinner, though we did witness another fabulous Arizona sunset. 

     

     We were both so tired and hungry by the time we sat down to eat we agreed we would have eaten a tire covered with butter. Everything hurt except my hair by the time we got home, though I wouldn’t have missed it for the world knowing how happy it made my lovely wife. Her smile at the end of the day made it all worthwhile. When Malcolm Butler made a game-saving interception the next day, it tied a nice bow on a great weekend.