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.

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.

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.

Mr. Zip is Watching

During any normal day I talk to folks all over the U S of A. One day last week I noticed something that I had never really given much thought to previously.  There was nothing I found that was horribly earth shattering or profound. It was just one of those mundane things that never received any conscious recognition on my part and I imagine most of the rest of you haven’t given more than a passing thought to either. I've had one of these everywhere I've lived since I was in 3 cornered pants, the rest of you probably had one too. The only time any of us really thinks about this is when we’re tossing something in the mailbox. Yep, I am talking about our friend the zip code.

     You may be asking yourself why hell is he writing about the zip code.  All I can say in my defense is this is what I get occasionally when something makes me stop and think, “Hmm, never noticed that before.” When I pull a loose thread on an old sweater I never know what I’m going to get, though occasionally I do have an idea what that pile of thread may look like, but not always.

     I happened to be having one of those days were I seemed to be talking to people from the Northeast, primarily the New England states. For the first time something dawned on me that I had never consciously acknowledged before; all the zip codes for the New England states start with a “0”. I spent a lot of years in the Northeast and had never noticed the connection before; just slap the old zip code on a letter or bill then send it off expecting it to make it to its destination. Who the hell thinks about their zip code or gives much thought to some silly bunch of numbers and wonders why they are what they are? Yours truly that’s who. I've always been somewhat of a numbers nut and as a kid would pour over the box scores in the newspaper on a daily basis just to devour the stats.  Numbers are still tasty, though stats I've come to realize rarely tell the whole story, though this little numbers game lit a spark in me. Thankfully, my pants didn't catch on fire.

     Filled with intrigue, well marginally anyway, I decided to investigate the mystery, which really isn't a mystery, though like any other mystery there were questions that couldn't be answered. The Zip Code was initially established in the early 60’s to help move the mail more efficiently, though they weren't mandatory at that time. How efficient mail delivery was prior to Zip Codes is up for debate. A few years later they were made mandatory for bulk rate mailings and the rest of the country followed along; the rest is as they say is history. 

    The Zip Code numbering system starts with the New England states, though I could not find a reason why they start there. I’d venture a guess it has something to do with the whole Plymouth Rock, Pilgrims, and the first thirteen colonies thing, but I could find nothing to refute or prove that either way. The country is basically divided into 10 zones, numbered 0 thru 9, and the first digit determines the zone.  The next two digits specify a region or city within that zone and the last two are for more specific locales.

     There are several business locations, like General Electric at Schenectady, NY and the Empire State building along with some government locations like the CIA and the main Post Office in Alexandria, VA that are actually assigned their own specific zip code. Santa Claus doesn't have a US Zip code, though the Canadians using there alphanumeric postal coding send all mail to him at Santa Claus North Pole H0h 0h0.

     I had a bit of fun with this little project as it developed and spent way more time on it than I should have; that numbers thing again I guess. I remembered being a kid and seeing the Public Service Announcements on TV with Mr. Zip reminding us to use our zip code. Little did I know at the time it was a relatively new addition to day to day life in the US. The video at the top is from the Library of Congress and runs about 14 minutes. If you can sit through the corny lyrics and goofy choreography the part in the middle with the guy sitting at the desk is worth it for the comic relief alone. It was obvious he was not cut out for being in front of a camera; he looked like he didn't know whether to shit or wind his watch. Thanks for joining me on my little history mystery and remember to use your zip code; Mr. Zip is watching.

Research Links:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZWgioyrmBU

http://www.zipboundary.com/zipcode_history.html

http://www.quine.org/zip-all-01000.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._ZIP

Requiem for a Dinosaur

     A couple of weeks ago the phone book pictured above landed on my front sidewalk. I hadn't really thought about how much these were still used, or wondered how many people still used one. I haven’t kept any of the phonebooks I've received the past several years after I got rid of my house phone, so now when I get them they go straight to the recycling bin, except this one for the time being. We are watching the extinction of another piece of Americana fade quietly into the night. 

     Seeing it sitting there on my desk got me thinking about how out of place it is to see a phone book now, because there was a time when there was always one somewhere in the house; now they just seem to be teleported in and dumped from another time. The days of the poor old battered and abused phonebook are numbered; they were often covered with crazy doodles, had a number or two scrawled on the cover when another piece of paper wasn't close at hand, or had the pages containing your usual take-out joints dog-eared for easy access. They served us well for many a year didn't they? Now with the prevalence of cell phones with internet access they have become an object of wonder almost. The fact that I received this one tells me there are still plenty of land line phones out there, though I imagine there may be more businesses with the then homes. This is the Yellow Pages for the East Valley, which is about 1/6^th the size of the first East Valley Yellow pages I encountered when I moved to Arizona in 1994; that one was actually split into two 3” thick volumes because there was so much in it, an added plus due to its weight was it could serve as a weapon in a pinch. I don’t think selling add space in the Yellow Pages would be such a good gig these days.

     Who remembers when you could just call 1-411 for directory assistance and have an operator find it for you? I guess you can still call it since the cell carriers have it available, though from a land line it’s probably 12 bucks a shot now. When I was in college some of us would drunk dial National Directory Assistance at 1-area code- 555-1212 and talk to operators in exotic places like Hawaii, Alaska and North Dakota. Alas, AT&T put a stop to that in 2000, those dirty buggers: 

http://transition.fcc.gov/Bureaus/Common_Carrier/Public_Notices/1999/da992541.html

Over time the phone companies got a little smarter, and started to give you options to connect the call, for a fee of course. If you've ever had a phone you know how those fees manage to sneak their way onto your bill.

     I have been a numbers nut for a long time and there was a time if I wrote a number down, then used it, I would remember it; I still remember the phone number from my first apartment, odd I know. The trusty phone book or books always managed to find a place in the house , whether they were piled next to the phone or stacked up on the floor nearby for those who were phone book rich and furniture poor like me; in a pinch a stack of them made a decent end table. Nowadays, if I write a number down it’s either to just use it once, or to put in my phone under a name and then I don’t have to remember it, I just find the name in my contacts list. The world has moved on.   

     The old days of paying a fee each month to rent your phone as part of your phone bill seems like such a ridiculous idea now with us having the ability to carry our house phone wherever we go. I managed apartments for many years and would find phones left in apartments when folks split in the middle of the night; they usually were owing rent.  At one time I had so many of those ugly princess phones and hang on the wall kitchen phones, in their lovely gag me with a spoon colors, I was giving them away to friends. Of course, I ran extra lines to every room in the house I could to add a phone; when the phone rang it sounded like the donations lines at a Public TV telethon.  

     When long extension cords for phone lines became readily available I was stoked; I never have been one to sit in the same place while talking on the phone.  Of course one the drawbacks to having one of those long cords is that after a few weeks of walking around the house talking on the phone you have something that resembles a rats nest of Christmas lights without the lights sitting on your floor. Unwinding all the twists and kinks was never big fun, though eventually I’d be back in business to start that ridiculous cycle all over again.

      Those original cheap handsets that didn't need a base were a fine example of a product that should have been extinct before it was ever put on the shelf. I had one that would pick up the Spanish station in Hartford, but only at night; it sure made for some interesting conversations.  “Are you listening to the Spanish station?” “No, it’s my phone, only does it at night.” “What, I couldn't hear you the music got kind of loud there for a few seconds.” Ahh, this new technology is great isn't it?

 I grew up in the dark ages, i.e. the 60’s, and we had a wall phone in the kitchen with a short cord. You had to stand there next to it like you were using a payphone in your own house. My dad finally put in an extension in the basement; after breaking the railing on the cellar stairs for the 3^rd time dashing up from his workshop to answer the kitchen phone.  There were no answering machines or Caller ID, which really didn't matter; when the phone rang you wanted to answer it! 

     That thinking changed over time of course. I learned that if I turned the ringer down and my music up loud I didn't hear the phone ring; kind of like Caller ID before it became available and the best part; no extra fee. There was about a 2 year span where I was pretty much subsisting on berries and bark and it wasn't in my budget to have a house phone. I really didn’t miss it much and came to see having a phone as a luxury not a necessity. That was back when you could still find a payphone somewhere besides a grocery store, an airport, or some other mass transit location. Those phonebooks at those pay phones really took a beating didn’t they? How often did you find one that didn’t have a chunk of pages ripped out of it? Who can say they never ripped a page or two out of phonebook at a payphone; if you have never seen one then you can’t count that as a never.

     What’s it all mean? Do I long for the days of phones on the wall, with a stack of phone books standing by at the ready to let my fingers do the walking? Hell no,now I have room for the detritus of my daily existence to fill the space created by the phone books absence. I like that my phone can go in my pocket, I don’t need an alarm clock and it’s a great little flashlight to save my toes from finding malicious furniture in the dark.

     .