tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30764577145830405322024-03-12T23:52:16.278-07:00Allotropic LucubrationsBurning midnight oil, turning dross into goldWalt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.comBlogger190125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-24092522733669735472021-01-04T11:29:00.000-08:002021-01-04T11:29:09.416-08:00The Best State in America<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChM3vJ2BU-qJUSYh_Cfq04mAveUICuXMiqt7-DOZ0yUa_K3CvrH1ww-thEDj3WfPbHAsbKgqxG-Gc0lwQM68w-rJDFwKezov3eBUldbHr_3JtiH_scTAOyoSjuYvkhyphenhyphenp7ECg7mGWMo5Xu/s250/Paddle-to-the-Sea.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChM3vJ2BU-qJUSYh_Cfq04mAveUICuXMiqt7-DOZ0yUa_K3CvrH1ww-thEDj3WfPbHAsbKgqxG-Gc0lwQM68w-rJDFwKezov3eBUldbHr_3JtiH_scTAOyoSjuYvkhyphenhyphenp7ECg7mGWMo5Xu/s0/Paddle-to-the-Sea.gif" /></a></div> I was probably in the fourth grade when our wacky
teacher (the one who regaled us with stories of his epic drinking in the Navy)
asked the class to write a short piece about “The Best State in America.” Everybody but one chose Oregon; one student
wrote about California. I was ostracized
for a week.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Thing
was, our family traveled every summer in the 1940s, driving throughout the
Northwest or cross country in our ’39 Buick (later a '48 Cadillac).
None of the my classmates had ever been farther than Idaho or
Washington. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We
eagerly anticipated summer vacation as the family plotted a route to Glacier
National Park (where we had a snowball fight on the Fourth of July), or the
Grand Canyon (where my kid brother and I skipped along the wall a mile above
the canyon floor). And because Dad was
in love with the American Way of Life we hit every state capitol on the way.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> We
didn’t have money for motels, but camping in parks was virtually free. My folks had invested in Army surplus wooden
cots from World War II (cost: one dollar each), down-filled mummy sleeping bags (at 75 cents each) and
a tarpaulin that once covered a deuce-and-a-half truck. We’d tie a clothesline between two trees, my
big brother would throw the tarp over the top and peg it down with more
rope. There was no privacy, but we’d
look the other way when Mom and Grandma would change into pajamas.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">This
was life at its best. In Yellowstone, we
scrambled into Dad’s Buick when a mama bear and two cubs tore into a
neighboring campsite and emptied a carelessly-left ice chest of its meat and
fruit. In another park, we heard a
scream at midnight when Mom and Grandma found a porcupine occupying the outhouse
they wanted to use. At an empty ranger’s
cabin in Colorado, someone had left a magnificent collection of soda bottle
caps that I desperately wanted to have but dared not steal. The downside to that overnight occupation was
the porcupine chewing at the cabin logs, keeping us awake all night long.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">These
real-life adventures meshed perfectly with the Holling Clancy Holling books we
read: <i>Paddle-to-the-Sea</i>, <i>Tree in the Trail</i> and <i>Minn of the Mississippi</i>. Holling was a Michigan boy who, in the ‘20s,
became a writer, artist and naturalist.
He canoed and camped, found edible foods in the wild and devised a
breathing tube so he could lie under the Mississippi River to record turtle
activities. </span> Sadly,
today the glaciers are melting, there are traffic jams at the Grand Canyon, and
no one seems to camp without microwave ovens and portable TVs. The bears in Yellowstone have even been
herded off for fear the tourists will get mauled.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">Memories
of this earlier time prompted me to create a Web site (<a href="http://hollingcholling.blogspot.com/">http://hollingcholling.blogspot.com/</a>)
to memorialize Holling and his wife Lucille. I
love sharing the anecdotes about them paying for their vacations in Texas by
painting murals in a resort, about showing a Chamber of Commerce group how to
make a fire using two dry sticks, and even teaching some Native Americans
skills they’d forgotten. I’m especially
gratified when strangers e-mail me saying they believe they found a small
picture Holling painted or the Army jacket he once wore or hand-forged knives
given to Holling. My mentor is a woman
in her 70s in Leslie, Michigan, who curates a museum devoted to Holling, his
writing and his art. And the Holling
artifacts that my Web site uncovers often end up in that museum. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> Thinking
back to my fourth grade assignment now, I’d have to say there are 50 best
states.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span><br /></p>Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-61318701676188021082020-05-15T11:49:00.000-07:002020-05-15T11:49:00.113-07:00Vacationing with the Pilgrim<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I always had a creepy feeling about being a
tourist—buying a vacation, standing like a stranger in a new city, acting gawky
and “untanned.” Perhaps it’s because I always
scorned the clots of people standing at Fifth Ave. and 50<sup>th</sup> Street,
holding maps and looking up at New York’s Rockefeller Center as though God were
going to direct them like a Gray Lines tour guide.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rushing uptown or down on some mission of capital intensity,
I’d have to stop and go around them. I
was in coat and tie while they had blousy sports shirts and khaki shorts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also remembered, self-consciously, walking through
Edgartown on Martha’s Vineyard when I was a college kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some obvious vacationers looked at me with
the same scorn and muttered, “Tourist!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For God’s sake, I waited tables there the entire summer!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For these reasons, I prepped that year before landing at the
Honolulu Airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I signed up for e-mail
offers, I browsed the Web sites, I was inundated with brochures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, one particular incident made this
first-time visit to Oahu memorable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My mother had spent three decades
researching a history of the Oregon Territory, tracking the missionaries who
came West to save the “benighted heathen.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">One pilgrim and his wife stood out in my memory as I worked recently to
have her manuscript published.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I remembered that George Henry
Atkinson passed around Cape Horn in 1847 and up through the Sandwich Islands –
a.k.a Hawaii – on his way to Oregon’s Tualatin Valley.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Atkinson was a representative of the
Congregational Home Missionary Society.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">But he and his wife, Nancy Bates, missed the boat—literally—to
Oregon.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My presumption was that he spent
those three months waiting for passage at the Mission Houses in Honolulu.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I love a mystery – a clever cover
for my discomfort at being a tourist – so I invited my wife to come with me to visit
the Mission Houses Museum across the street from Honolulu’s Princess Iolani
Palace (which, incidentally, is the only palace in United States).</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">What connection could I uncover by visiting
the place where Atkinson presumably twiddled his thumbs for three months until
the next ship came by?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The cluster of houses and church
were cool and quiet in the morning hours.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Walking through the rooms brought me back to Connecticut and Vermont
homes, where Atkinson and the other Congregationalists had hailed from.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">After the tour, I buttonholed the
guide and put my question to her: Did she think there were any records of the
Atkinsons’ visit?</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Fifteen minutes later,
I was introduced to Judith Kearney, librarian at the MHML.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">After telling her my story of this wanderer
who ended up a trustee of Pacific University, successor to the Indian orphans’
school, we went through her catalogue of correspondence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She immediately confirmed that my
presumption was true.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Atkinson may not
have left any significant impact during his short, unplanned “vacation,” but
she reported their archives contained three letters written back from
“Portland” to Honolulu circa 1859.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Case closed!</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My wife and I then had a wonderful time
wandering the city where an international festival and parade was taking place,
circumnavigating the island and learning sadly that 2007 was the last year
pineapples would be grown commercially, sharing sadness at the Pearl Harbor
Memorial, drinking fruity concoctions at the Sheraton Moana on Waikiki and
watching the sun set.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">What a wonderful
place, and our friends insist it’s nothing compared to Maui, Kauai and the
other islands</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Final closure to the detective
story, however, came a week later.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In
Taiwan, our next stop, I borrowed a friend’s PC and sent an e-mail to Pacific
University’s archivist.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Alex,” I wrote,
“the Mission Houses Museum and Library has letters that were written 150 years
ago from your very own George Atkinson.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Get in touch with Judith Kearney there.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Perhaps I don’t hate being a
tourist as much as I let on, but the adventures are so much richer when you
have an ulterior purpose for vacationing.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There simply must be some quest satisfied or insight gained in order for
a vacation grow beyond the level of a Kodak moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Before leaving this episode,
however, I’d be remiss if I didn’t pass on this advice to future tourists: Back
then, cigarettes were $5.50 a pack at the ubiquitous ABC convenience stores,
but only $2.50 at the Duty Free Shop.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Conversely,
the wise vacationer will note that Duty Free sells only high-priced booze and
the good prices are on Kalakaua Street!</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /><!--[endif]--></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-41395285666804603852020-03-04T07:40:00.001-08:002020-03-04T07:41:46.645-08:00The Day the World Ended<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOjgKhhM3S4FG0vjnpgszPiv5pc0P4VOJ9pOpK5XM8DZcKq-0UmsPXF8Ml3OS8qm-uIcnEBrBqBWUaRivyq20G0zpqBbNxSnk0FB68JNr5IXKbrENySobhkL1R_ZHRgze7PM8vAi-Uwvr/s1600/Forest+Grove+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="1000" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOjgKhhM3S4FG0vjnpgszPiv5pc0P4VOJ9pOpK5XM8DZcKq-0UmsPXF8Ml3OS8qm-uIcnEBrBqBWUaRivyq20G0zpqBbNxSnk0FB68JNr5IXKbrENySobhkL1R_ZHRgze7PM8vAi-Uwvr/s640/Forest+Grove+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Forest Grove, Oregon, back in the day when everything was larger.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
My world had no endings when I
was 13 in that Oregon farming and logging town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Only beginnings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fields and
groves were endlessly green, streams flowed forever and asphalt roads led to
new sights. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life was a page of Dylan
Thomas’s poetry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Mornings began at 6:00 when I pedaled
my Schwinn down to the Shell station for my pile of newspapers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But first, I dropped quarters in the machines
to extract a Milky Way and a Coke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now
fortified, I gave each copy of the Portland <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oregonian</i>
two practiced folds and dropped it in the canvas bag draped over the
handlebars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the next hour I’d pedal
miles to stuff them in paper boxes for my 50 customers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was getting rich, at $20 a month, in spite
of having to hector customers who wouldn’t answer their doors when I went to
collect.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Life was good, and eighth grade
was a cinch with a really funny teacher who regaled us about his drinking
episodes in the Navy and a strange food called pizza.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
But one April morning a headline
caught my eye as I folded papers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
Dad’s name leaped from the <i>Oregonian</i>'s front page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was a story about Pacific University that I couldn’t understand, a complicated
story about the faculty in rebellion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Accusations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hatred exposed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Something had happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The faculty had given my Dad, the college
president, a vote of no confidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
explained it to my two brothers and me over dinner as we sat in dumb
silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom was trying to hold back her
tears. “I’m resigning,” he told us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“We’ll have to think about moving.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Moving?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was at the point of telling Judy
Bristow I loved her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon, I’d find the
courage to kiss my 11-year-old girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Moving meant I’d never again see my pal, Frank Dunham, who double-dated at
the movies with his girlfriend and had actually kissed (he said).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Our house was emptied that summer
as boxes and furniture went into the Allied Moving Van.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accumulations of papers and magazines were
thrown from the attic window to the driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dad’s library and Mom’s manuscript of Oregon history were carefully
boxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my Red Ryder BB gun, Schwinn
Black Phantom and Erector Set disappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Too soon our family and the cat
were piled into our used ’48 Cadillac sedan and we headed south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too soon to properly say goodbye to Judy and
Frank or copy their addresses with promises to write.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Finding myself in South Pasadena
was a shock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a year behind
academically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were curious
classmates — Mexican-Americans — who wore pegged pants and called themselves
Pachucos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the girls in our church
youth group were all blonde and unapproachably sophisticated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
My two new friends were geeks who
read L. Ron Hubbard and J.R.R. Tolkien and wore clothes from J.C. Penney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My only achievement was writing my
autobiography by hand, pasting in Kodaks, then binding the single copy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got an A from my 9th grade teacher.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
My brothers and I, Mom and the
cat, crowded into our rented bungalow and took each day as it came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some aberrant reason, I ate only
lunchtime sandwiches of Wonderbread and Kraft Sandwich Spread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I didn’t die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad soon found work as a fund-raiser with the
Volunteers of America before landing a position with the headquarters of the
Congregational Church in New York City.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
I didn’t write except for that
handwritten autobiography.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Science fiction, <i>Reader’s Diges</i>t Condensed
Books, the Hardy Boys and other mysteries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But two things became clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One,
I was Heinlein’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stranger in a Strange
Land</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like Valentine Michael Smith,
newly sent to Earth after being raised on <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mars. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Among
different people for the first time, I struggled to understand the social practices
and prejudices of human nature that often still seem alien. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Second, an internal universe of
words appeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writing, absorbing new vocabulary
and explaining things articulately were easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Numbers came harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This default
writing ability made me an English-Journalism major at Grinnell College in Iowa.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A career epiphany occurred the summer of
my junior year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was invited to be a
staff reporter for a Chicago suburban weekly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I covered fires, the police blotter, sports, rewrites, even weddings,
taking my own photos with a Speed Graphic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At last, it seemed there was an escape into the real world.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
My first job after graduation was
writing copy for new <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mobil Travel Guides</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, it was a humdrum task — until I got an
unsolicited letter from a woman who said she was home-bound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She read the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Guides</i> to escape into a world that was out of her reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At last I had an audience, and every piece I
wrote was directed to my secret spectator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Then Uncle Sam called. Three years of serving as an Army
Security Agency analyst took me to Korea and Taiwan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taiwan brought me a wife and some great
source material I filed away for 30 years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
For the next three decades I soldiered
on in corporate communications, creating, writing and editing employee publications;
writing press releases; managing exhibits; crafting senior management’s
speeches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I embraced it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each day at The Dun & Bradstreet Corp. was different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one knew my job description, which allowed
me to define my position and interact with everyone from the CEO to the clerk
or bench worker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were my audience
that I worked to reach on some level of understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Upon early retirement I ruminated
on why I was drawn to write two anthologies, short stories and articles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was simple:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere there was a person who would read
my words and say, “Yes, I know <i>exactly</i> what you mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve felt the same way but wasn’t able to put
it into words.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could help that person
leave his or her couch or bed and enter another world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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In the process, I would discover
meaning in the world that had turned me upside down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s why I write.</div>
<br />Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-1215443166202374122020-02-17T12:24:00.000-08:002020-02-17T12:25:17.835-08:00Who Took the Man Out of the Mannequin?<div align="left" class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3076457714583040532" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3076457714583040532" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3076457714583040532" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3076457714583040532" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><img border="0" height="176" src="file:///C:/Users/Walter/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image002.jpg" style="cursor: move;" v:shapes="_x0000_i1025" width="234" /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlL5UUzy-GCyTIveT4jetl-Uriwbf8TWIrsMX-nY94-ZL9M7Y9VIl9ps8synuBjJ3mrIO4UpmiPjQzt3i9u344wVuSjXhJOS2LsCi0oxeNVn9D-V3YQ5oW-c0wnJwjfn_L7eFWafaJPJw3/s1600/worn+denim+jeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">The only thing left in his bureau was bluejeans, cuffs falling into a tangle of loose threads, patches on both knees – one red and the other pink – from mill ends my wife Judy used to make a quilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finished off with yellow work boots, it was a utilitarian outfit for a six-year-old to go conquer the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His school wasn’t like my schools were.</span><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="796" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlL5UUzy-GCyTIveT4jetl-Uriwbf8TWIrsMX-nY94-ZL9M7Y9VIl9ps8synuBjJ3mrIO4UpmiPjQzt3i9u344wVuSjXhJOS2LsCi0oxeNVn9D-V3YQ5oW-c0wnJwjfn_L7eFWafaJPJw3/s320/worn+denim+jeans.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some five decades ago, my
six-year-old son Billy howled that his pants scratched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was 8:24 a.m. and we had to be out of our
apartment on the Lower East Side and on New York’s Avenue B bus in ten
minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No point in arguing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had to change the pants and get to school on
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His Montessori school was crazier
about punctuality than scholarship.<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Back in rural Oregon, my mother
forbade me to wear bluejeans to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No, they weren’t “denims” or “dungarees.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were bluejeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One word, unhyphenated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the middle class ethic dictated against
wearing “play clothes” to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom
insisted, “If we don’t set an example for the rest of the town, who will?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At 8:24 that morning I was
wearing a button down Oxford-cloth shirt, a rep tie and a blue wool suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My pants scratched too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Wear the jeans,” I told
Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That made him happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I envied him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I envied the people who
passed by my Midtown office on Third Avenue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Back then, their Levi jackets were an artist’s canvas of embroidery,
probably sewn lovingly by barefoot hipsters on Bleecker Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their clothes didn’t scratch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The U.S. Army had taught me,
painfully, that you salute the uniform, not the officer wearing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nagging question that stayed with me
during those years was: Were they defensive about producing better uniforms
than officers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the Bell System’s
Western Electric Co., people wore a company uniform, just as I’d worn a uniform
at school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One respected the uniform,
not the student.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the employee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the officer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the person concealed in those clothes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went home that night of the
scratchy pants incident, and I hung up my Macy’s suit on a varnished wooden
hanger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I pulled on my bluejeans
and a blue T-shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stuck my feet into
a pair of engineer boots that had cost me a buck in the summer of 1960 –
hand-me-downs from a fellow landscaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was eminently comfortable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Somewhere in Westchester County
at that very moment there was a business acquaintance who’d also changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the treasurer of a large, century-old
corporation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he came home, he
changed out of his five hundred dollar suit and into cowboy clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A real costume, not just bluejeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I suppose he sat down to read his mail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perhaps his pants also scratched
at work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I mentioned this to my wife Judy,
and she said we were both looking for lost innocence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe, but I’d say the cowboy executive had
psychological issues I don’t share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
least people can’t say they don’t recognize him when he’s in the front yard
looking like Roy Rogers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I’m in jeans the jeans are
me, a blueprint of my character, a silhouette portrait of all my faults and perfections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No pretense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wear them and the psyche doesn’t itch.</span></div>
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<br />Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-39654315973506449842020-02-17T12:21:00.000-08:002020-02-17T12:21:17.716-08:00You Speak My Language?A little language can get you to
strange places. I know, because using
language to get things done worked better for me than hitting a baseball or finding
girls who worshipped me. Words came easy
in school, and being curious (and lazy) I signed up for foreign languages when
I was a kid.<br />
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It started with Spanish in the 9th
grade in Southern California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed
easiest and a large percentage of the kids were Latino — except they called
themselves <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pachucos</i>, wore pegged
pants, and made believe they were Mexican hoodlums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spanish class was a piece of cake with an
easy A on my report card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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But our family moved to Jersey the
next year and I signed up for a second, then a third year of Spanish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Playing to the grade point I also enrolled in
a first and then a second year of French.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The words were all pretty similar; only the accent was different.</div>
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I managed to graduate and my dad
introduced me to a summer job at a church-related work camp in Yuquiyu, Puerto
Rico.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bought my own machete for about
two dollars and was ready to turn second-growth jungle into future farm
land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was great meeting <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Puertoriqueños </i>— and Yankees — my
age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when I’d ask a simple question,
like “How far is the beach from here?” they were mystified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I realized my Castilian pronunciation
(with Jersey accent) was totally alien in Puerto Rico.</div>
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I let the languages go in college,
except for a disastrous year wrapping my tongue around German.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no genetic advantage being half
German.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Confronted four years later with
military conscription, I beat the system by enlisting; I traded an extra<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>year of service to avoid going to Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the way, I was given a language test.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That turned out to be nothing more than Esperanto,
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">an artificial language created as
an international medium of communication based on European languages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a problem, except that period had a high
cutoff score so the Army sent me in a different direction. </span></div>
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Well, I thought, getting off the
plane in Korea, maybe I could learn <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">something</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The little kids shouted at our platoon, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“[expletive] you, G.I.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Meeting local ladies in a bar, “I’d ask, would you like to see a
movie?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sweet lady named Pyongtaek Peggy, would answer, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Machts nichts</i>, GI.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Machts nichts?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are you saying?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is your language, GI.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not mine.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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The military had created one world
that spoke a hodgepodge of Japanese, Vietnamese, Chinese. English and
German.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a year, I moved on to
Taiwan, the Republic of China, because I couldn’t survive in America on my corporal’s
pay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved Taiwan and ended up
marrying a woman who was raised speaking the Hakka dialect, grew up speaking
Taiwanese, remembered a bit of Japanese from the wartime occupation, learned to
speak Mandarin after 1949, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and finally English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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On our first trip to Quebec, Canada,
years later, she whispered, “How do you say ‘How are you?’ in French?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the rest of our vacation, she asked
everyone she met, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Comment-allez vous</i>?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Canadians loved her, and so did I.</div>
<br />Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-74643461453672278932019-06-27T08:08:00.000-07:002019-06-27T08:08:11.737-07:00Where Has the Music Gone?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJTtiCBLVY_GFL3B3nNhI1PJHIrOVK3NPloOxiojEe4jpkid6_1NYx_z9Pa6gA74-1ukXKsKXyUfSAQKCAue7uoUjauudGiFsjL2yZAWS7yKWWUTn_WUO-5Uy0iTDmYblYwVfFbA5hG1Q/s1600/American+Graffiti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJTtiCBLVY_GFL3B3nNhI1PJHIrOVK3NPloOxiojEe4jpkid6_1NYx_z9Pa6gA74-1ukXKsKXyUfSAQKCAue7uoUjauudGiFsjL2yZAWS7yKWWUTn_WUO-5Uy0iTDmYblYwVfFbA5hG1Q/s1600/American+Graffiti.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I was watching Ron Howard and
Richard Dreyfus in the 1973 film, <i>American
Graffiti</i> the other night. I noticed how music set the theme of the high
schoolers’ last night together. There
was the coffee shop jukebox, the car radios and the 45 rpm records playing such
hits as “At the Hop.” Where are they
now? Not the students, but the records
and jukeboxes?<br />
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Today’s kids have their phones in
hand and plugs in their ears to stay connected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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I grew up listening to music on 45
rpm discs, snorting at my folks’ old RCA 78 rpm record player in a giant piece of
furniture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then we were all saved by
the cassette tape back in the ‘60s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh,
there was the eight-track tape cartridge that disappeared rather quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Singers who were recorded only on eight-track
were soon orphaned, never to be heard from again. </div>
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This is the speed of
technology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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In 1965, I was working at Western
Electric up in the Kearny, NJ, Meadows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>AT&T introduced the Touch Tone while I was there, and asked visitors
how much quicker they could use the new technology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, for me, I found I was making three
wrong numbers in the time it used to take to make one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Later I wondered why we continue to say
we’re “dialing” a phone number?)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
My trouble is that I like old stuff
and feel a kind of loss when those objects disappear,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandmother’s mechanical carpet sweeper with
a wooden body was an architectural beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My Dad’s brace and bits are still terrific for drilling boards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Mom’s cast iron frying pans are good for
another century.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
I know this dates me, but I started
working as a cub newspaper reporter using a Royal manual typewriter and a Speed
Graphic camera that could have been the property of Superman’s Clark Kent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
It’s difficult playing catch-up
when the world is accelerating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried sharing
my CDs with my daughter, knowing she liked certain artists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she said, “No more CD player at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No phonograph either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stream everything from our phones.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
Okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understand, and I can get with the
program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I have to do is get one of
the kids to bail me out when the computer acts crazy and files disappear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I go back to my old-timey music and
typewriter.</div>
<br />Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-76249339145085635152019-06-11T07:24:00.001-07:002019-06-11T07:24:33.650-07:00Talking the Tawk<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHd_DIW0TSjK6yBuOyMLEcLI7gq3R_z4NglgeyjaNdUvSDTc8rWdWTnOsAjbDu7uBVSAmMxGz_D8sXv5hL_57DE2sZEfjVhMiIMLpEKhaBmb9we2fClYQRgGqpGi0k98fdiMyCUqrMlVoJ/s1600/accents+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="125" data-original-width="125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHd_DIW0TSjK6yBuOyMLEcLI7gq3R_z4NglgeyjaNdUvSDTc8rWdWTnOsAjbDu7uBVSAmMxGz_D8sXv5hL_57DE2sZEfjVhMiIMLpEKhaBmb9we2fClYQRgGqpGi0k98fdiMyCUqrMlVoJ/s320/accents+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
I knew I was no longer home when
I moved to New Jersey and asked a clerk to give me a sack for my purchase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sack?”she almost shouted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“D’ja mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bag</i>?<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wherja come from?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Jersey has an identity problem, lying
between Phil’delphia and N’yawk, both in its distinctive accent and the words
we choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It starts with the little
things, like telling someone “I’m going down the shore.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or looking curiously at the bennies (from
Brooklyn, Elizabeth, Newark and New York). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or believing jug handles are part of the
natural order of road intersections.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
There’s a bit of both Philly and
the City in the way we talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oops, I
meant to say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tawk</i> when you ask for a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cuppa cawfee</i> at a diner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Linguist Ann Şen (pronounced Shen) at the
University of Rochester suggests the “aw” sound <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for “o” is a carryover from the Revolutionary
War when Tories wanted to sounded more Brit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So we have the towns of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fai-uh</i>
Lawn and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fawt</i> Lee on Route <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Faw</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
You can see distinctions between
north and south Jersey accents divided somewhere along the line that separates
the 201/908 and 609<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>area codes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re in 732 country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you won’t hear anyone call the state <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Joisey</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s an invention, says Rutgers linguist Fay Yeager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our state may be a punch line in the Midwest,
but we’d drop the r and say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Juh-sey. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If someone makes that joke, you tell him or
her, “Pah-don me, but you ahn’t pr’nouncin’ it right.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She says our talk is distinctive because we
drop the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">th</i> diphthong and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">r</i> sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Curiously, we began dropping the r’s back in the 1920 to sound more
upper class, like the British — saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">finga</i>
instead of finger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
There also were waves of
immigrants who brought their own pronunciations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to a market and ask for half a pound of
capicola and the deli clerk will repeat <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gabacoal</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your mozzarella becomes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mutzadell</i>, ricotta <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ree-goat</i>,
prosciutto <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pruh-zoot</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a carry-over of southern Italian
reinforced by TV episodes of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sopranos</i>
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jersey Shore</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My German-American Dad once asked a cop for
directions to the “Gettals Bridge.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
officer gaped and said, “You mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gothals</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
The th sound is unusual in many
languages, so it disappears or becomes a d sound, as in “We been tru dis tree
times already.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuhgeddaboudit!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The German-Pennsylvania Dutch influence in
northwest Jersey does use the th sound as it was intended.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Linguists are even trying to
pinpoint county word choices, noting that Monmouth and northern Ocean say
downspout (the pipe carrying “war-der”— water— off the roof), sprinkles instead
of jimmies, and sub instead of hoagie or hero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You might also identify a firefly and not a lightning bug if you’re in
south Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Atlantic County, you
won’t hear about the bennies as much as you will the shubies — those tourists
coming in on the A.C. Expressway with picnics in a “shoe box.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
TV and our mobile population are
wiping out these small, but beautiful, differences in accent and language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marketers have us calling the Era laundry
detergent <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Air-a </i>and not<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Eer-a</i>, while the McDonalds folks in
their Illinois headquarters advertise breakfast hotcakes — not pancakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Pretty soon, tawking Joisey will
be a thing of the past.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<br />Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-28787348308791388772019-01-19T11:39:00.002-08:002019-01-19T11:44:48.616-08:00Can't We All Just Get Along?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfY1_5u-QLHjBQl5qF4C0PtZxcw3wH8UDvh8zj5QsQ6sxlKHWeO7SKeRYUEDRyil-AQCf7tBC_-Ukw5eaIEEMMbud-ZH0jRe9E7_NWQEfWCDe_p2sDNJwf5ah9_Ad4n0Qn26x_9VyN1qMl/s1600/Forest+Grove+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="1000" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfY1_5u-QLHjBQl5qF4C0PtZxcw3wH8UDvh8zj5QsQ6sxlKHWeO7SKeRYUEDRyil-AQCf7tBC_-Ukw5eaIEEMMbud-ZH0jRe9E7_NWQEfWCDe_p2sDNJwf5ah9_Ad4n0Qn26x_9VyN1qMl/s400/Forest+Grove+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Forest Grove, Oregon: My Hometown c. early 1950s</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nicholas Kristof wrote a
horrifying op-ed piece in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York Times</i> last August, describing
teenage racial bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A high school
student, he writes, tells a Mexican-American girl, “We’re going to deport your
ass [when Trump is elected].”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they
chant “Build a wall!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The divisiveness
is only part of my horror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worse,
Kristof was writing about the small Oregon town where I grew up.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His descriptions challenged my
memories because I was a product of Forest Grove Oregon’s Central elementary
school and Harvey Clark middle school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Clark was founder of the town’s Pacific University and, ironically,
created the first school there in the 1840s to educate Native Americans,
mixed-race children and orphans.)</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In the 1940s and ‘50s I saw no
prejudice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, Forest Grove had no
blacks, no Latinos, no more Indians and — possibly—just a handful of Jews or
Asians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was accepted knowledge that
these people were not allowed to spend the night in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mexican migrants could work the fields, but
no one knew where they stayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the
first and only blacks when we drove into Portland 20 miles away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pacific had a number of Hawaiian and Japanese
students, but they weren’t “townies” so they didn’t count.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p>While Mom was descended from over
200 years of New Englanders, Dad was German-American, which raised a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tiny </i>bit of local skepticism during
World War II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left this white utopia
when my family moved in 1954 to the Los Angeles area, followed by another move
to New Jersey “back East.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had left
the provincialism of that farm and logging town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to see the world in all its beauty
and diversity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grew up and married a
Taiwanese woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My younger brother
married a non-observant Jew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A cousin
married a black, but she was a folk singer who ran away to Greenwich
Village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my grandson has just
married a Mexican national who is a dentist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Will Forest Grove ever be exposed
to people who are “different”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oregon
has its legacy of the black exclusion law enacted in 1844 that ordered whipping
of blacks — 39 lashes once every six months — until they left the
territory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, African-Americans make
up only 2 percent of Oregon’s population, Latinos 12 percent and Asians 4
percent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Perhaps in the more progressive
parts of our country, we’ve answered the question, “Can’t we all learn to get
along?”</div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-23370852082867499162018-02-05T08:34:00.000-08:002018-02-05T08:34:28.925-08:00Welcome to the New Age (Thank You and Move On)
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I went into a RiteAid drugstore
recently to find those mini Bic lighters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to interrupt a
clerk chatting with an octogenarian lady about her health to ask where I’d find
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She walked me to the candy and
food aisle and there they were, three for $3.99.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And some good-looking chocolate to go with a
wonderful Bordeaux I’d found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When I checked out, the clerk
asked what year I was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why?” I
asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We have to ask everyone.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For buying Ghirardelli chocolate?”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lighters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Didn’t you see the sign on the door?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We check age for cigarettes, lighters, all that.”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Look at me! Do I look like a
teenager?”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What year were you born?” she
demanded.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“1939.” Satisfied, she took my
money.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Back story:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to replace the Bic insert in my
favorite lighter, a promotional piece given to me by a niece who works at
Tourneau.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I went to an air show at
McGuire Air Force Base last summer the Air Police wanded me, along with the 10-
and 11-year-olds I was with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the AP
(we used to call them Apes) asked suspiciously, “What’s this?”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“A lighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For lighting cigarettes.”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’ll have to take it.”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Why?” I asked.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We have jet fuel here.”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I replied, “I think I’m smart
enough not to smoke around jet fuel.”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We have jet fuel
everywhere.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">poof</i>, my lighter disappeared into his pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turned out all of us tourists and gawkers
were stuck behind 100 yards of Jersey barriers, and another hundred yards from
the planes, which kept flying back and forth, from the left and then the right,
upside down and right side up,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very
loudly.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I hate to be a grumpy old
geezer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should have been proud that
the Air Force was protecting me against terrorists with cigarette lighters and
that RiteAid was shielding the health of geezers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, I wonder what the immigration
requirements are for moving to California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is becoming a very scary place to live.</div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-21018652790488026972017-10-29T11:43:00.001-07:002017-11-01T11:37:48.995-07:00Immortality, Version 2.0<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Grandma Fisk, lecturer and cartoonist.</strong></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">My family treated our ancestors the way you’d set extra places at table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom and grandma passed along centuries-old advice and anecdotes like they were something seen on the Six O’clock News.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(“Yes,” one would exclaim, “William set a trap to catch the thief stealing his firewood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told the children he’d drilled the wood and put gunpowder inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, children can’t keep a secret….”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, “The worst thing Great-Great Grandpa Pierce’s second wife would say is, ‘Well, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pity</i> him.’”) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ancestors hovered
in our house like so many ghosts on vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because my family were New England hoarders I’ve had a lot of their trunks
to unpack, boxes to sort and albums to review.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s not unusual now to straighten up a room and stop to examine Great
Grandpa Ballou’s letters from his Civil War regiment, read postcards from
Grandma Fisk postmarked from towns across America where she lectured, or trip
over the candlesticks Great-Great-Grandpa Pierce played with as a kid in 1816.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My limited religious ruminations stop at the thought that
we’re immortal until our last acquaintance passes on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given this dollar-store theology, I opt for
saying you’re “alive” until you’re no longer remembered by anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me suggest the Internet is a gateway to
immortality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span lang="EN" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma Fisk, for example, lectured on the Chautauqua
Circuit before talking movies came along, traveling the country as “America’s
Foremost Cartoonist.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By Googling her
name, I discovered the University of Iowa had a digital collection of
Chautauqua information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called the librarian
there, who exclaimed, “We have the programs and schedules, but we had no idea of
the actual <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">content</i> of their talks!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was happy to donate her papers, photos,
notes and stories, which are now online.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I like to think she’s been given a longer lease on life as students use
her materials to research women’s liberation.<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A
poignant search for unfading, eternal life compels me to store school photos, snapshots
and Daguerreotypes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those “Kodak
moments” are a way to store time in an album.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Internet now gives them greater immortality.<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We
can waltz through a live-for-the-moment future till the devil demands his
due.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the materials from the past
become precious commodities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s good
news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our images and words can be archived,
repeated and shared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their spirits can
be invited to the dinner table.</span> </span></div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-5599407491919305132017-07-02T11:46:00.001-07:002017-07-02T11:46:25.635-07:00The Worst and Best Jobs in My Life
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8-YUEijvU3pXJMftwHpZJVB9-n3DJcjjRfkCyMq0YbGeGQgeNDssMWkOFT7iKQJ52U3l1yDUimbCSry6hULJNfEHP2bmAcFl_Lckb-kXuf616aqo14p-p3JgPYRA8fRFDu0itPxlBpTg/s1600/Wesley+House+MY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="400" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8-YUEijvU3pXJMftwHpZJVB9-n3DJcjjRfkCyMq0YbGeGQgeNDssMWkOFT7iKQJ52U3l1yDUimbCSry6hULJNfEHP2bmAcFl_Lckb-kXuf616aqo14p-p3JgPYRA8fRFDu0itPxlBpTg/s320/Wesley+House+MY.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Every
kid should work, even if he and she is studying like mad for an education.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Or
it may just be that I worked every year I was a small liberal arts college in
Iowa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lived for my $17 Grinnell paycheck
from working 20 hours a week at $.85 an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, I was proud that I had the highest paying job on campus, 20
cents more than waiters got at the dining hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I washed pots and pans for a contracted food management service in the 1960s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This paid for my daily quota of coffees at
the student union and my 3.2 percent beers at the Rexall bar on the highway that
ran through town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Iowa law prohibited
bars serving anything stronger than 3.2 percent beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the nearest state liquor store was
in Newton, 20 miles away.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">When
there was an opening for another pot walloper, I invited my roomie, a nice guy
who had run away from Geneva, Switzerland, to join me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fifty years later, after his retirement as a
professor of French at SUNY-Albany, he said, “Walt, that was the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">worst</i> job I have ever had!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The work wasn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> bad, except when the cook made scalloped potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I needed a putty knife to clean pans of
baked-on food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they’d given me
anything sharper, we’d have had a mortally wounded cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Kitchen
and dining room work might be infectious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The summer I was 18, a college chum from Massachusetts said, “You’ve got
to see Martha’s Vineyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>C’mon up and
work there for the summer.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the
summer of Patti Page’s hit song, “Old Cape Cod.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You remember:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">If you're fond of sand dunes and salty air /
Quaint little villages here and there / You're sure to fall in love with old
Cape Cod.”</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I
was hooked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The owner of a rambling old
wreck called the Wesley House in Oak Bluffs hired me to wear a hot, ugly green
uniform and serve three meals at day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But when those days were over, oh boy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All the summer workers were in their late teens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Best of all, I had a fake ID that said I was
21.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could buy beer for the beach
parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could dress sharp and hang
out at neat clubs in Edgartown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
beaches were free and the girls were fantastic.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It
was the best job I ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
only two downsides to my temporary career: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came away that summer earning only $300.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I went to get a haircut, the barber
would smell me and say, “You work in a restaurant, don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-19058574312420064142017-05-30T11:12:00.000-07:002017-05-30T11:12:45.272-07:00Sing It Again for Me
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbz0QA4WBojSKpFRWVakuWOR5uG-GfONxHq_SrwCuIIZTnWYozl-jX1FuPJpS3ymF5J17uhqr7cYXnV52NegOtHuaiLh2DxUwyvxvsnn7QhuVx5bSz2koFO20WvtYRQ_Fc3xXUrZyErYq/s1600/Gene+Autry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="497" data-original-width="620" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbz0QA4WBojSKpFRWVakuWOR5uG-GfONxHq_SrwCuIIZTnWYozl-jX1FuPJpS3ymF5J17uhqr7cYXnV52NegOtHuaiLh2DxUwyvxvsnn7QhuVx5bSz2koFO20WvtYRQ_Fc3xXUrZyErYq/s320/Gene+Autry.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">My daughter called me up to ask me querulously, “What is the
'Frozen Logger'? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was singing to Zeke
(my grandson) last night and he said Grandpa always sings ‘The Frozen Logger.’”<br />
<br />
First, I was overjoyed that this seven-year-old liked my singing enough to
remember it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second, that he liked the
song, since he rarely laughs at my jokes and this song is one extended bit of
humor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zeke does his best to appear
sophisticatedly unamused. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(He did laugh as
a four-year-old after he saw the garbage truck, and I said “Tell them we don’t
need any more garbage.”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br />
“Well,” I told my daughter, “it goes like this. ‘As I sat down one evening /
within a small café / a 40-year-old waitress / to me these words did say.’”<br />
<br />
“That’s the song?”<br />
<br />
“It gets better. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I see that you are a
logger / and not just a common bum / ‘cause nobody but a logger / stirs his
coffee with his thumb.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I
memorized this song because (a) the lyrics were funny and (b) I remember my Dad
knew the song writer James Stevens up in Oregon or Washington.<br />
<br />
I don’t know if I need to memorize more than one or two songs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a couple seems to do just fine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few years ago I was at a wedding in Taiwan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reception was held along several blocks
of a street covered with tents and with a stage for karaoke. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The emcee saw me as the only white guy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">meiguo ren</i> at the affair and asked in
Chinese if I’d like to sing a song. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
demurred, mostly because I’m not sure I remembered all the words to Gene
Autry’s “Back in the Saddle Again,” the only other song I’ve kind of memorized.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m back in the saddle again / out
where a friend is a friend / where the longhorn cattle feed / on the lowly
jimson weed / I’m back in the saddle again.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I think those are the words, but I’d better check because it’s
important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">When I was six years old, I was seriously thinking of changing my
name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked my dad how you do this, and
he said you go to a judge who will make the change legal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And by the way,” he asked. “What would you
like your new name to be?” </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“Gene Autry,” I answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
all, a man should know more than one song when he has a name like Walter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-15855458043267845822017-04-07T07:31:00.000-07:002017-04-07T07:31:06.389-07:00Hollywood on the Hudson<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS641DrWTY-yHVQ3gmOYTBRcAzRQLDUsyJ0Dcs8GOUGaWAceiE_eAUEuRRuOhjh-0Bg8MJ4Ez8-dZk_ApDPGJWp1qOHqWLaOyacJ2ptMwdNzarEEhHDxmvS3aehbWCA6zvdAW-mONUdSky/s1600/Movies+House+of+Hate+1918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS641DrWTY-yHVQ3gmOYTBRcAzRQLDUsyJ0Dcs8GOUGaWAceiE_eAUEuRRuOhjh-0Bg8MJ4Ez8-dZk_ApDPGJWp1qOHqWLaOyacJ2ptMwdNzarEEhHDxmvS3aehbWCA6zvdAW-mONUdSky/s320/Movies+House+of+Hate+1918.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: small;">Pearl
White in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The House of Hate</i></span><span style="font-size: small;">, filmed in
1918 in Fort Lee.</span></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sad to say,
fewer people are going into a dark theater to watch movies as more people channel
surf the TV or even cut the cable and pull up an on-demand film through
Netflix, Hulu or Amazon.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And with it, a part of our state’s history may be disappearing
too. The film industry started here. We were <span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">the movie capital of the
world, and it started in West Orange. William Kennedy Laurie Dickson was an
employee in Thomas Edison's Orange laboratory, and it was Mr. Dickson who invented
a camera and projector called a Kinetograph. A peephole on top of the large
cabinet, called a Kinetoscope, allowed a viewer to look at moving pictures.</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By 1892, Dickson and Edison had finished versions of the
products. They used flexible 35-mm film from the Eastman Company (Kodak) to
take the pictures.</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Edison and his assistants then needed to produce things to
show. In December 1892, the Kinetographic Theater, opened in West Orange. Only
sunlight was strong enough to allow images to be seen on movie film at that
time, so the roof of the studio opened to let in sunlight. Inside was a stage,
barely 12 square feet.</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Movies
Move Out to the World<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The following year, Edison demonstrated the Kinetoscope at
the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences. To his joy, the public loved it. The
first Kinetoscope parlor opened in New York, followed by similar openings all
over the country.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quickly, some 75 films were made, each lasting about 20
seconds. They filmed many different people and actions , including vaudeville
acts, plays, magic tricks, and dancing. The “stars” were Buffalo Bill,
gunslinger Annie Oakley, and strongman Eugene Sandow.</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then came <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Great
Train Robbery</i> that viewers could see on a screen instead of a peephole. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 14 scenes were shot on location in and
around Patterson. (You can see this wonderful 116-year-old drama online through
the Library of Congress at </span><a href="https://www.loc.gov/item/00694220"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">https://www.loc.gov/item/00694220</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.)</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stars
Are Born<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In addition to Buffalo Bill and Annie Oakley, moving
pictures created “stars.” People like Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Pearl
White and Harold Lloyd built their reputations in New Jersey and called Fort
Lee home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, Will Rogers, Mary Pickford, Dorothy and
Lillian Gish, Lionel Barrymore, the Keystone Cops and Rudolph Valentino could
be seen strolling through town.</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 1907,
Edison’s company came to Fort Lee to shoot “Rescued from an Eagle’s Nest,”
featuring D.W. Griffith in his first starring role. The cliffs of the Palisades
and the town’s boulder-strewn woodlands offered a dramatic background for the
short silent film. Competing motion picture companies quickly followed suit, finding
that Fort Lee’s diverse landscape could double for a range of settings from
exotic Algeria to Sherwood Forest. By 1918, 11 major studios were operating in
the town, according to the Fort Lee Film Commission.</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">World War I spelled the decline of movie-making in New
Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>California’s climate was too
inviting, and there was cheap land. New Jersey is still a popular film location,
and c</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">hoosing New Jersey as a
place to film a production will result in a 20% tax credit on production
material purchased within the state. B</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ut. our state still had one
more claim to fame coming.</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From the Comfort of Your Car<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On
June 6, 1933, motorists began parking their cars on the grounds of Park-In
Theaters, the first-ever drive-in movie theater, on Crescent Boulevard in Camden,
New Jersey.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Park-In
Theaters (the term “drive-in” came later) was the brainchild of Richard
Hollingshead, a movie fan and a sales manager at his father’s company, Whiz
Auto Products. Reportedly, he was <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>inspired by his mother’s struggle to sit comfortably
in traditional movie theater seats. His idea was for an open-air theater where you
could watched movies in the comfort of your own automobiles. “He experimented
in his driveway with different projection and sound techniques, mounting a 1928
Kodak projector on the hood of his car, pinning a screen to some trees, and
placing a radio behind the screen for sound,” according to the website, ‘This
Day in History.’</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hollingshead
was issued a patent in May of 1933 and opened Park-In Theaters, Inc. less than a
month later. He charged 25 cents per car and 25 cents per person, with no group
paying more than one dollar. The idea caught on, but Hollingshead’s patent was
overturned in 1949. The craze had taken over, however, and drive-in theaters
began appearing all over the country.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This
medium ran its course until the rise in suburban real estate, more walk-in
theaters, color TV, and — finally — the introduction of video killed the
drive-in concept. <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">As of 2014, there
were about 348 drive-ins still operating in the U.S.</span></span><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’re Still Creating Movie Stars<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can’t
escape the fact that some of the most popular film celebs come from the Garden
State. <span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Meryl Streep was a Summit
native<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>James Gandolfini hailed from Westwood.
John Travolta was an Englewood boy. Then there’s Bruce Willis from Penns Grove,
Queen Latifah from Newark, Tom Cruise from Glen Ridge, Kevin Spacey from South
Orange. Oh, heck, find your own favorites at the website <a href="http://nj1015.com/top-20-famous-actors-from-new-jersey/"><span style="color: blue;">http://nj1015.com/top-20-famous-actors-from-new-jersey/</span></a>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-66133274043645688652017-02-12T10:20:00.000-08:002017-02-12T10:20:00.763-08:00Ghost Towns of the Pine Barrens
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm on the
edge of the Pine Barrens that make up almost a quarter of New Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet few outsiders know about the dwarf
forests, ghost towns, and the forests that rely on fire in order to generate
new growth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend and celebrated
Pine Barrens author Louise Barton told me<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">,
“T</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">he Pine Barrens is unique, with different vegetation, trees and
wildlife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The vegetation rots as the
rain percolates down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even today, the
water in the many lakes is the shade of murky, iced tea.”</span></span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This may have influenced settlers, beginning in 1674.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The settlers used to collect rain water that
pocketed at the tree roots and use it as a medicine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Due to the rotting vegetation, the natural
waterways often ran the color of blood and mists blanketed the forests. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This supernatural setting helped stir the
imagination, and the Jersey Devil was conceived. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Further skullduggery was accounted for by the
Moonrakers — land pirates who posted lights to lure ships onto the shore — and
sea pirates and privateers prowling offshore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Witch hunters were quick to accuse the early settlers, and Ben Franklin
mentioned the witch trials held at Mt. Holly.” </span></span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Towns like Atsion, Chatsworth,
Batsto, Double Trouble, Harrisville, Martha, and Whitesbog Village were once
thriving industrial and agricultural centers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now, except for a few residents’ homes, you may only find building
foundations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s estimated there may be
as many as 100 deserted towns in the Pine Barrens.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The earliest
permanent European settlers began occupying the area in 1674.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hamlets and coastal towns were based on
shipbuilding, commerce and timber-based trades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For a century after 1760 iron, charcoal, and glass industries flourished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By 1830, there were 655 sawmills in the
state; today there are about 75 sawmills here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it all
has virtually disappeared except for small towns and “Pineys” who share a
unique culture. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On a summer
day, try exploring the ghost town of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friendship.</span></b><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the heart of a 3,000-acre cranberry
farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It</span><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> was founded in 1869 on the site of a sawmill dating back
to 1795.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a time, the cranberry
business here was the largest in the area, but it declined and was sold to real
estate speculators in the 1950s. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
one-room schoolhouse is the only surviving structure, and it’s somewhere
else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today,
foundation ruins of the abandoned town can be found in the field to the east
side of Carranza Road and south side of Friendship-Speedwell Road. </span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVXhKuVMWZpSz90iEiZQ_u89h_AwKb8A7c5t2FF-1ZxfvQCa3d0jqvqP-PUgsRa-tczVB0VfILOcHwzRyAUIjW_0YH7gEJ1GBzTPprut5nChLeaifdVzA873NMV0c3bUC0ncbM7l5nxNS/s1600/Hampton+Furnace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVXhKuVMWZpSz90iEiZQ_u89h_AwKb8A7c5t2FF-1ZxfvQCa3d0jqvqP-PUgsRa-tczVB0VfILOcHwzRyAUIjW_0YH7gEJ1GBzTPprut5nChLeaifdVzA873NMV0c3bUC0ncbM7l5nxNS/s320/Hampton+Furnace.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All that’s left of the Hampton Furnace
operation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #343434; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Isolated deep in the Pinelands, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Harrisville</b> is a genuine ghost town from the 1800s. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once a flourishing village, it was abandoned
in 1891 after the great paper mill, the driving force of the community, closed.
Today the mill’s evocative ruins can be seen, but are fenced off for safety and
preservation reasons<i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></span><span style="color: black;">Harrisville
is about 8 miles northwest of New Gretna, where the highway crosses the east
branch of the Wading River.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span style="color: black;">Almost
nothing remains except for a few crumbling foundations and canal remnants. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span style="color: black;">The area is covered with dense undergrowth. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<span style="color: black;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #320000; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Travel down to <b>Hampton
Furnace</b> to find the r</span></span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">uins
of a late 18th century furnace and, later, cranberry operation along the Batsto
River.</span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Information on the Hampton Furnace is scarce,
but it was opened about 1795 and was in operation until about 1850. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The furnace smelted bog iron found in nearby swamps
and bogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This site may also have produced
cannonballs and shot for the War of 1812. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span>To find Hampton Furnace, make
your way to Hammonton and travel northeast out of town on Route 206 to Atsion
(Route 206 at Atsion Rd.). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go slightly
beyond the town and take a right on Hampton Rd. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Follow this road for two to three miles until
you get to Riders Switch and Glossy Spung Rd/High Crossing Rd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The remains are in that area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: #343434; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="color: #343434; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></o:p></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
this is just an introduction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are
other “ghost towns”, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">like <strong>Hermann</strong>, site of a late 19th century glass factory on the Mullica River; <strong>Martha</strong>, and the ruins of the bog iron smelting furnace that flourished from 1793-1845; <strong>Pasadena</strong> or <strong>Brooksbrae</strong> and the extensive runs of a brick-making factory amid the encroaching forest; and <strong>Weymouth Furnace</strong>, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #343434; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">where t</span><span style="color: #343434; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">he Great Egg Harbor River runs by grand stone arches, a towering
chimney stack, and moss-covered foundations from the old mill – all that now
remain of this historical landmark.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Sources
for this article can be found at </span><a href="http://www.sitesofnj.com/index.html"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">http://www.sitesofnj.com/index.html</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, </span><a href="http://www.e90post.com/forums/showthread.php?t=1109136"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">http://www.e90post.com/forums/showthread.php?t=1109136</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><a href="http://www.pinelandsalliance.org/history/places/"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">http://www.pinelandsalliance.org/history/places/</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">)</span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Arimo; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Warning</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">: If you choose to visit the
Pine Barrens off-road, be aware of “sugar sand” in such places as Friendship<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">.</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sugar sand consists of tiny grains and can be very slippery even when
dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your vehicle may get stuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>M</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ore important, warns
Louise Barton, “If you are lost in the woods, you may get no cell phone signal
to call for help. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hikers and hunters may
wander aimlessly for hours, and two grown men cried with relief when I was able
to direct them to the road just two miles down.”</span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-72177677513809965282016-11-29T08:06:00.000-08:002016-11-29T08:06:05.720-08:00Where’s the Misery on Mount Misery?
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigT7csGUieud0ekDswrW6rzvX0mOCjj7yQkJYtwnl1_c6o6s8Oz4B8HP5Ln7z24aQX7iI2jiCgwZRwEFdkDxzNCYfqRr6-OjlkZRe3Ax1sm8daKUsBhVmO7qL5Q8d4efCuuD8gwmwkTByA/s1600/Mt+Misery-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigT7csGUieud0ekDswrW6rzvX0mOCjj7yQkJYtwnl1_c6o6s8Oz4B8HP5Ln7z24aQX7iI2jiCgwZRwEFdkDxzNCYfqRr6-OjlkZRe3Ax1sm8daKUsBhVmO7qL5Q8d4efCuuD8gwmwkTByA/s320/Mt+Misery-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Travel west in New Jersey on Rt. 70 to about
mile marker 28 and you’ll see a sign for Mt. Misery Rd. on your left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may not have driven this two-lane asphalt
before, but plenty of teenagers are reputed to take their dates down the creepy
road that gets narrower and narrower as the trees form an overhead canopy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></div>
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And then the kids begin to tell
ghost stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, many report strange
tales like this one on chat rooms like AlienHub.com:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">As I was driving…I
didn’t realize how deep I had driven. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
a result of my stupidity, we became lost, trying all different ways, but could
not find anything that pointed us in the right direction. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when I noticed my three-quarter full
gas tank was now was empty to a point where the E-light was on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were all starting to panic a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we saw this huge, slow-moving object in
the night sky. </span><span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“This
giant thing in the sky was quieter than silence itself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My two friends kept telling me to go, but I
was not about to jet away from this amazing experience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I stopped the car (but left it running,
totally disregarding the E-light), and stepped out to get a better look. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was breathtaking. It was even bigger than I
had originally thought and it was moving towards the car. </span><span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“The
underside was beautiful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four bright
blue lights and two or three white lights. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shape of the object…kind of looked
circular, but not flying saucer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever
that thing was it was moving too slowly and too silently to be anything
manmade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it was time to leave. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gas supply was running really low at this
point. Eventually, we made it back to the main road, and started on our journey
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the tree tops we were still
able to see whatever it was [until] it finally disappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at my gas-gauge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was once again three-quarters full.”</span><span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Weird New Jersey</span></i><span style="color: #141414; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">
magazine has written of similar experiences.</span></div>
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Curious thing is that there is no
mountain and no misery on this stretch of road. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the 18th century, according to the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pine Barrens Tribune,</i> French Huguenots
settled in this part of the Pine Barrens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They named it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Misericordia</i>, a
place of mercy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fast forward to 1947,
and the Pinelands Center summer camp was established at the end of the
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The United Methodist Church of New
Jersey owned and ran the camp, open to everyone regardless of religious
affiliation<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 150-acre site is <span style="color: black;">surrounded
on most sides by cranberry bogs and preserved forestland, including miles of
trails in Brendan T. Byrne State Park. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s now a place for </span>camping, retreats
and a conservation center.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Year round, the Center offers
camping in contemporary cabins with electricity and water, outpost cabins that
are a bit more primitive, and field camping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nestled in the Green Cathedral is an area for worship or
contemplation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, there are a range of
activities, from swimming and boating on the lake, miles of nature hikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></div>
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The Pinelands Center is at 801
Mount Misery Rd., Pemberton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The main
office can be reached at 609-893-3352, and their Internet site is at <a href="http://www.pinelandscenter.org/"><span style="color: blue;">www.pinelandscenter.org</span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s worth your time to take a look, but
there’s no guarantee you’ll encounter any ghosts or UFOs.</div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-1208791695954341012016-10-15T08:21:00.000-07:002016-10-15T08:21:42.352-07:00Last Stop on the Underground Railroad
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Imagine
running for your life, hoping the man whose wagon you’re in was an abolitionist
and not a slave-catcher, not knowing where you were heading except it was
north.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Away from family, friends, the
plantation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And finally you’re out — free!
— in Timbuctoo.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The place half
an hour south of Trenton, in Westampton Twsp., was sanctuary to <span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">runaway slaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beginning in the 1820s, freed and escaped
slaves formed a town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They survived
there </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">through the end of slavery in New Jersey, the Fugitive Slave Act and the
Jim Crow era.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last families didn't
leave until the 1950s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At its peak,
Timbuctoo was home to more than 150 people.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">But it wasn’t a total sanctuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1860 the “Battle of Pine Swamp” took place
in Timbuctoo, as reported in the <i>New Jersey Mirror</i>, a local
newspaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It involved armed residents
of Timbuctoo preventing the capture of Perry Simmons, a fugitive slave living
in Timbuctoo, by a southern slave catcher. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Today, Patricia Markert
of Temple University and about a dozen other archaeologists are digging and
cleaning the site to confirm that slaves, and a few immigrants and native
Americans settled this area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one
knows if the name, “Timbuctoo,” was chosen by the blacks or by the Quakers who
offered them assistance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">So far, Markert and the
diggers have found bricks that were cast off from a nearby Quaker brickyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And bottles, tools and toys dug up from the
ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Near the dig is a van that has
become a temporary museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ziploc bags
sit where the van’s seats would be, full of categorized artifacts, waiting to
go to Temple University for cleaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The National Public Radio profile reports a lot of those artifacts are
bottles for household products, like Listerine and Vaseline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the brand names on the bottles are
national, because white-owned local stores rarely sold to the people of
Timbuctoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Residents ordered supplies by
mail so vendors wouldn't know they were black.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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The Westampton
website notes the village was located on the North Branch of Rancocas Creek in
Burlington County, making Timbuctoo easily accessible from the Delaware
River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And made it a strategic location
for the Underground Railroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Settlers
there had access to tidal waters and wetlands for fishing and hunting as well
as fields for farming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two major
brickyards nearby offered employment.</div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">National Public Radio profiled the recovery
effort, noting o</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">ne local volunteer is 75-year-old Mary Weston, who lives
just down the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She says, “My
great-great-great-grandfather actually purchased the land for, what was it, $38
dollars and 50 cents?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was one of the
original inhabitants of Timbuctoo.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
her home,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she shows off her favorite
piece of Timbuctoo history: her family Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“It was passed down to me from the 1800s,” says Weston. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I keep it together with a belt,
because….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am determined that my
children and my grandchildren will know a lot more about not only their family,
but about their heritage, who they are, where they came from.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Westampton's mayor, Sidney Camp, was instrumental
in getting the dig started and frequently visited the clearing before he knew
it was Timbuctoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When I was having a
bad day, I would come out here and just stand in the middle of this field,
because it’s so peaceful and so serene,” he says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“To come out now and see what I've been
standing over for so many years — it's amazing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's indescribable.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Westampton
celebrates Timbuctoo Day each May. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During this town-wide celebration, guests are
invited to explore the original village site; a Civil War reenactment by the
Sixth Regiment U.S. Colored Troops; walking tours of the 19th century village;
visits to the church’s burial grounds with graves of Civil War soldiers; and an
archeological exhibit and music by local church groups.</div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-17545843881666701082016-08-31T10:44:00.001-07:002016-08-31T10:44:54.531-07:00Horrors in My Oregon Hometown <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhjOZ2Ed6SQ3IeV0nOmaMNNzKbuphJLmyxrDNp53peKJTBDaW210dSjc1DXNJ_XISmOqby4zOGiRlA7ihuoE3TZTqcbXcq2qvK-oEXyogmzunFXLCU3gVm25l3IdO3KD1bVUQRgeskBvz/s1600/Forest+Grove+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhjOZ2Ed6SQ3IeV0nOmaMNNzKbuphJLmyxrDNp53peKJTBDaW210dSjc1DXNJ_XISmOqby4zOGiRlA7ihuoE3TZTqcbXcq2qvK-oEXyogmzunFXLCU3gVm25l3IdO3KD1bVUQRgeskBvz/s640/Forest+Grove+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Forest Grove in the 1940s</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nicholas Kristof wrote a horrifying op-ed piece in the Aug.
14 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York Times</i>, describing teenage
racial bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A classmate tells a Mexican-American
girl, “We’re going to deport your ass [when Trump is elected].”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they chant “Build a wall!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The divisiveness is only part of my horror; worse,
Kristof was writing about the small Oregon town where I grew up.<o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His descriptions challenged my memories because I was a
product of Forest Grove’s Central elementary school and Harvey Clark middle
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Clark was founder of the town’s
Pacific University who, ironically, created the first school to educate Indians,
mixed-breed children and orphans in the 1840s.)<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the 1940s and ‘50s we saw no prejudice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, Forest Grove had no blacks, no
Latinos, no more Indians and — possibly — only a handful of Jews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was accepted knowledge that these people
were not allowed to spend the night in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mexican migrants could work the fields, but no one knew where they
stayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the first and only blacks when
we drove into Portland 20 miles away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pacific
had a number of Hawaiian students, but they weren’t “townies” so they didn’t
count.<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4820VR1RTX7MNdald8KJ0wmntbBubxiil3nzEZ_zx_EemSO0oIxzozcjlFe9UIgTpYh2ZSSNUeee3UQSCzBYPJmrqtqdQtX3mujGTLfz_ZSgTXJPso8UKsX9R797YFJoH6PesVDoKb8H/s1600/Forest+Grove+today.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4820VR1RTX7MNdald8KJ0wmntbBubxiil3nzEZ_zx_EemSO0oIxzozcjlFe9UIgTpYh2ZSSNUeee3UQSCzBYPJmrqtqdQtX3mujGTLfz_ZSgTXJPso8UKsX9R797YFJoH6PesVDoKb8H/s320/Forest+Grove+today.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Forest Grove's Pacific Avenue today.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While Mom was descended from over 200 years of New Englanders,
Dad was German-American, which raised a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tiny
bit</i> of skepticism during World War II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This white utopia ended when my family moved in 1954 to the Los Angeles
area, followed by another move to New Jersey “back East.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we all do, I grew up and married a
Taiwanese woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My younger brother
married a non-observant Jewish girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
cousin married a black, but she was a folk singer who ran away to Greenwich
Village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had left the provincialism
of that farm and logging town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had
begun to see the world in all its beauty and diversity.<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Will Forest Grove ever be exposed to people who are “different”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oregon has its legacy of the black exclusion
law enacted in 1844 that ordered whipping of blacks — 39 lashes once every six
months — until they left the territory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today,
African-Americans still make up only 2 percent of Oregon’s population, Latinos 12
percent and Asians 4 percent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-4236913796378731022016-07-25T07:37:00.002-07:002016-08-21T13:34:11.299-07:00A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Vote<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Elections seem to get more
baffling each season, but this isn’t the first time New Jersey has run into
some curious situations.<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Biting the Voter in the Neck? </b>One of the most
controversial candidates was Jonathon “The Impaler” Sharkey, who filed to run
for President in 2004 and 2008 as an Independent candidate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was familiar to Jerseyans, however, as
reported by </span><a href="http://www.livescience.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">www.LiveScience.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had run for Congress in New Jersey as the
Republican candidate in 1999, in Indiana with the Reform Party in 2000, and
once again as Republican in Florida in 2001, and governor of Minnesota in 2006.<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sharkey
proclaimed himself to be a Luciferian, vampire, professional boxer and <span class="vm-hook6">wrestler</span> under the name of Rocky "Hurricane"
Flash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He founded the Vampires, Witches
and Pagans Party in 2005, a </span><a href="http://www.livescience.com/32632-do-third-party-candidates-ever-win.html"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">party
officially recognized</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> by United States Federal Election Committee.<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During his 2006
run, when asked about violent criminals during a press <span class="vm-hook6">conference</span>,
Sharkey told reporters that he would impale murderers, rapists and other
dangerous offenders on the capitol lawn, just as Vlad the Impaler supposedly
did in Romania during the mid-1400s. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Honest Abe Never Carried the
State </span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Democrats met in April 1860 amid great turmoil to select their candidate for
President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Northern Democrats felt that
Stephen Douglas had the best chance to defeat the “Black Republicans” and
nominated him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Southern Democrats
considered Douglas a traitor because he wanted to let territories choose not to
have slavery, and stormed out of the convention. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At a separate convention, southern Democrats
chose then vice president John C. Breckenridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But troubles were only beginning, according to the </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Independence Hall Association in Philadelphia.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Republicans met in Chicago and recognized that the Democrat’s turmoil actually
gave them a chance to win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They needed a
candidate who could carry the North with a majority of the electoral votes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To do that, they needed someone who could win
New Jersey, Illinois, Indiana and Pennsylvania — four important states that
remained uncertain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abraham Lincoln
emerged as the best choice as the symbol of the frontier, hard work, the
self-made man and the American dream. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His debates with Douglas in early 1860 had made
him a well-known national figure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A
number of politicians and citizens calling themselves the Constitutional Union
Party nominated John Bell of Tennessee, a wealthy slaveholder. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were for moderation, deciding the best
way was to take no stand at all on the issues dividing the north and the south.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With four candidates in the
field, Lincoln received only 40 percent of the popular vote, but garnered 180
electoral votes — enough to narrowly win. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abe Lincoln failed to carry New Jersey, losing
to Douglas in 1860.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(He lost again, four
years later, to George B. McClellan.) </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A few weeks after the
election, South Carolina seceded from the Union.</span><br />
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYwkPz4SuTzVKDI61DQV5fW022zoZcGNLlNSNRAsDnOC4Y7XNwMbxSUzW2l5OOQR_XV7kIdbTA3qMXlffeAxryQ2hOWnfhdiNq1hVwkhcMUg-iI_NowbL4tGkBnz6If7UsLwAePA2fJ5sY/s1600/Elections.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYwkPz4SuTzVKDI61DQV5fW022zoZcGNLlNSNRAsDnOC4Y7XNwMbxSUzW2l5OOQR_XV7kIdbTA3qMXlffeAxryQ2hOWnfhdiNq1hVwkhcMUg-iI_NowbL4tGkBnz6If7UsLwAePA2fJ5sY/s400/Elections.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">The states that Lincoln won are shown in red, Breckenridge
in green, Bell in orange and Douglas in brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In 1864, Douglas won only New Jersey, Kentucky and Delaware.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
</div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
</div>
<div align="left">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Nominating the Birthday Boy </span></span></span></b><span style="font-family: "open sans"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of the unlikeliest of host cities for a
party convention was also the scene of one the most unusual moments in
convention history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">Democratic delegates
attending the 1964 gathering in Atlantic City were greeted with the usual pomp
and spectacle, but with one special twist, according to the History Channel
website </span><a href="http://www.history.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">www.History.com</span></a><span style="font-size: small;">.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">President Lyndon Johnson, never one to shy away
from public adoration, had arranged for the final night of the convention to
fall on his 56th birthday. His acceptance speech was followed with a rousing
rendition of “Happy Birthday” from the crowd, and topped off not just by balloons
but fireworks.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">There’s no record of birthday cake being served to the thousands of
attendees.</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Oops, There Goes a Vote </span></span></span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because of the 2010 Census Reapportionment, </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">New Jersey lost one electoral vote, giving it
14 through the 2020 presidential election, according to the political website </span><a href="http://www.270towin.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">www.270towin.com</span></a><span style="font-size: small;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">New Jersey, one of the 13 original colonies, joined the Union in
December 1787 and has participated in all 57 presidential elections. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">Thanks to the density of our population, the
state has more electoral votes per square mile than any state except Rhode
Island. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">Our 14 electoral votes make it a
rich prize. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">New Jersey has gone
Democratic in the last six elections, after voting Republican in eight out of
the previous 10. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">Barack Obama won the
state over Mitt Romney by a margin of 58 percent to 41 percent in 2012. </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: small;">Back When New Jersey Women
Voted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">Really. </span></span></span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">The Founding fathers’ electoral
college didn't do much for the Founding mothers, wrote </span></span><a href="http://writ.news.findlaw.com/amar"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Akhi Reed Amar and Vikram David Amar
in a legal analysis, “History, Slavery, Sexism, the South and the Electoral
College.”</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"> </span><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">In a system of direct national election, any state that chose to
enfranchise its women would have automatically doubled its voting power in
presidential elections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">The era of
universal white manhood suffrage in the early 19th century saw many other
restrictions on voting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">New Jersey was
the one state that had allowed women property holders to vote.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">Women lost that right in the early 1800s with
the introduction of universal white manhood suffrage. </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Under the electoral college, each
state got a fixed number of electoral votes based on population, regardless of
how many or few citizens were allowed to vote or actually voted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As with slaves, what mattered was simply how
many women resided in a state, not how many could vote there.</span> </span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-91530581658010289902016-07-03T11:29:00.001-07:002016-07-03T11:29:38.789-07:00Greenwich Gathers for a Tea Party<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ljm8bD8hTYA6d7TKa6vpEbi7c6Uj7YqMqxMtHwk713O3dkHjteNVBWlI3qFXmDiRBfmdQx77nsMY3Mb4NEdZ1xyUG-ZJrvtirVkj70TueX8cOSY57yCFNUi4zGsGJm9IsKJHWLwGVMca/s1600/Greenwich+monument.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ljm8bD8hTYA6d7TKa6vpEbi7c6Uj7YqMqxMtHwk713O3dkHjteNVBWlI3qFXmDiRBfmdQx77nsMY3Mb4NEdZ1xyUG-ZJrvtirVkj70TueX8cOSY57yCFNUi4zGsGJm9IsKJHWLwGVMca/s320/Greenwich+monument.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">A local monument lists
the colonists who participated </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">in the “tea party”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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On this Independence Day commemorating our own "Brexit," it's worth remembering an earlier break-up.<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Everyone knows about the Boston Tea Party when the colonists dumped
British tea into the harbor to protest King George’s taxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But did you know the little town of Greenwich
(pronounced GREEN-wich), N.J., had its own gathering on the night of Dec. 22,
1774.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was almost exactly one year
after the famed Boston incident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In fact, “</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There were five incidents up and down
the East Coast where they destroyed tea,” says Bob Francois of the Cumberland
County Historical Society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charleston,
Annapolis and Princeton also sabotaged imported tea.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On that night, a group of about 40 South Jersey patriots
braved the cold to protest British taxation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The villagers stole a shipment of tea, hauled it to the town square and
set it ablaze to express their defiance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The tea that arrived in Greenwich came on the second
attempt to deliver the shipment,” said Jonathan Wood, former president of the
Cumberland County Historical Society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“The first attempt was hindered by a group of Philadelphia
patriots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said, ‘If you will turn
the ship around, there will be no problems at all. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you decide that you will not turn the ship
around, you have never seen as much trouble as you are about to see.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ship simply turned around and went back
to the European port.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A year later, the British tried to deliver tea
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Greyhound</i> sailed four miles up the
Cohansey River and hid its cargo in Greenwich, a peaceful settlement of
Quakers, Baptists, Presbyterians and Episcopalians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They intended to secretly hold the shipment
in Greenwich until it was safe to move it overland to Philadelphia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">John Fea, associate professor of American history at Pennsylvania’s
Messiah College, researched the incident through Philip Vickers Fithian’s
diaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fithian returned to Greenwich
just before the tea burning and wrote, “Last night the tea was, by a number of
persons in disguise, taken out of the house and consumed with fire,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Violent and different are the words about
this uncommon manoeuvre among the inhabitants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some rave, some curse and condemn, some try to reason; many are glad the
tea is destroyed, but almost all disapprove the manner of the destruction.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The East India Tea Company, owners of the tea, weren’t
happy and appealed to Gov. William Franklin for justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Franklin told Sheriff Jonathan Elmer to
arrest the participants, some of them being Elmer’s own relatives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sheriff Elmer brought the men to trial, but chose a jury
of sympathetic Whigs and his own nephew as foreman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The verdict: “No cause for action.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gov. Franklin promptly removed the sheriff
and appointed Daniel Bowen, the loyalist who had stored the tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second jury also found no cause for
action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tea owners and governor gave
up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The tea party participants went on to lead very public
lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most that took part in the
burning enlisted in the Continental Army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Four would give their lives for freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sheriff Elmer was elected one of the first two senators from New
Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Richard Howell, in whose home
they assembled on that night, became governor of the state in 1792.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joseph Bloomfield, defense attorney at both
trials, succeeded Howell as governor, and the town of Bloomfield is named after
him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We don’t know a lot about what actually happened that
night,” admits Fea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In Cumberland
County, there were no Revolutionary War battles. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tea burning was a major happening in our
county, and even though it happened back in 1774 it’s still in the forefront
and the locals really celebrate it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The lesson of the tea burning is important even if
details are missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a story of
revolt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The central characters are
ordinary individuals rather than war heroes or politicians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fea says, “The tea burning is what the
Revolution looked like in a local town.”</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Greenwich faded as a major commercial hub in the early 1800s, and its
population now stands at just over 800 residents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The buildings that once were businesses are
now homes along Ye Greate Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
two-m</span>ile long main avenue’s course hasn’t changed since 1684.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In its heyday, Greenwich had
11 taverns where people would gather and gossip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a thriving port, and by 1701 was one of
only three official ports of entry for New Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(The other two were Burlington and Perth
Amboy.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Foreign ships unloaded their
cargoes that were then hauled to Philadelphia or Burlington overland or on
smaller boats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today’s commercial life is largely
limited to the Greenwich Country Store & Deli and Aunt Betty’s Kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along Ye Greate Street is the Gibbon House, a
1730 replica of a London townhouse that houses the historical society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">While time may have forgotten
this south Jersey town, visiting Greenwich is like stepping pleasantly back
into the 18th century.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-62147230588369723972016-05-24T11:21:00.000-07:002016-05-24T11:21:10.743-07:00Welcome to the New Age (Thank You and Move On)
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtW3oO_Mb17KzQ-5suvlXHCytwSL8p8GdK4UVZbpqUDCgThY0X2Szti23dIPhbwQ0wsOsjzli5ve2AkDqRu-D7yJA64IJ7KTGeqqyt3XBLHWPos9KuL_XyeJ8iHBCWngXeZllnbz-QvWqf/s1600/Terrorist-Screening-Center.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtW3oO_Mb17KzQ-5suvlXHCytwSL8p8GdK4UVZbpqUDCgThY0X2Szti23dIPhbwQ0wsOsjzli5ve2AkDqRu-D7yJA64IJ7KTGeqqyt3XBLHWPos9KuL_XyeJ8iHBCWngXeZllnbz-QvWqf/s320/Terrorist-Screening-Center.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went into a RiteAid drugstore this morning to find those
mini Bic lighters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to interrupt a clerk chatting with an
octogenarian lady about her health to ask where I’d find them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She walked me to the candy and food aisle and
there they were, three for $3.99.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
some good-looking chocolate to go with a wonderful Bordeaux I’d found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I checked out, the clerk asked what year I was
born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We have to ask everyone.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For buying
Ghirardelli chocolate?”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lighters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t you see the sign on the door?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We check age for cigarettes, lighters, all
that.”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Look at me! Do I look like a teenager?”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What year were you born?”<o:p> This pit bull was not going to give up.</o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“1939.”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back story:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed
to replace the insert in my favorite lighter, a Breitling watch promotional
piece given to me by a niece who works at Tourneau.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I went to an air show at McGuire Air
Force Base last week the Air Police wanded me, along with the 10- and 11-year-olds
I was with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the AP (we used to call
them Apes) asked suspiciously, “What’s this?”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“A lighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
lighting cigarettes.”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’ll have to take it.”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Why?” I asked.<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We have jet fuel here.”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I replied, “I think I’m smart enough not to smoke around jet
fuel.”<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We have jet fuel everywhere.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">poof</i>,
my lighter disappeared into his pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turned
out all of us tourists and gawkers were stuck behind 100 yards of Jersey
barriers, another hundred yards from the planes, which kept flying back and
forth, from the left and then the right, upside down and right side up, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very loudly.<o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hate to be a grumpy old geezer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should have been proud that the Air Force
was protecting me against terrorists of all ages, and that RiteAid was shielding
the health of geezers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, I wonder
what the immigration requirements are for moving to Canada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The U.S.A. is becoming a very scary place to
live.</span><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-24908110204633423602016-05-19T07:11:00.000-07:002016-05-19T07:17:23.144-07:00Upwardly Mobile<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJYC_3fB2i2XPFoxLGt1uwBPrR0DS3L36aYQaXDzXnIDKQ47XmELbpu1vFhudDI-gsGsv1EuNsplCOwb9nz7zg3mnR5yRgiqGrMGcgbovE4V8HkAuAM18Jm2LRwR7yLEi04Q7IEEigZSG/s1600/Elevator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJYC_3fB2i2XPFoxLGt1uwBPrR0DS3L36aYQaXDzXnIDKQ47XmELbpu1vFhudDI-gsGsv1EuNsplCOwb9nz7zg3mnR5yRgiqGrMGcgbovE4V8HkAuAM18Jm2LRwR7yLEi04Q7IEEigZSG/s320/Elevator.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I worked my way up in the corporate world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Literally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After starting on the ground floor at the Western Electric factory in
the Jersey meadows I spun off to the canyons and peaks of Manhattan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first office was next to a Xerox machine on
the 5<sup>th</sup> floor at an east side building, then gaining career momentum
I segued west to division headquarters and a 9<sup>th</sup> floor office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a decade, I had clambered up to the 23<sup>rd</sup>
floor at the parent company, followed by a shuffling of the deck that landed me
on the 26<sup>th</sup> floor of a midtown skyscraper on Park Avenue—ground zero
for the captains of industry.</span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="postbody1"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Full Car</span></b></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My daily meetings with the bosses took me to
Mahogany Row on the 34<sup>th</sup> floor where the elite sat in their offices
guarded by their gray-haired watchdogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I discovered then that I was spending more time traveling vertically
than horizontally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This introduced me to
elevator situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I was elevating up from the lobby one morning when a
man rushed toward the closing doors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
only other occupant in my car, a vice president standing near the control panel,
vainly punched the button to hold the doors as they closed silently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shock and embarrassment crossed his
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I saw his finger had been
nowhere near the hold button.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sorry
about that,” he told me, staring at the ceiling.</span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="postbody1"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Stinky Car:</span></b></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a proofreader who came to my office
monthly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm was one of the most
knowledgeable guys in the business, so good he could tell you whether a period
was in roman or italic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His brother was
our corporate counsel and both had graduated Yale, but there the similarities
ended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm was about five-feet three
inches tall, his clothes were tattered, he smoked Gauloises and he exuded an
odor that triggered the gag reflex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
some point, Malcolm was banned from the bank of elevators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He suffered the ignominy of being ordered by
the building guards to take the freight elevator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wouldn’t accept the insult, and after
proofing our annual report he announced proudly he could no longer accept us as
his client.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His career lurched downhill
because of an elevator.</span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="postbody1"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I Spy:</span></b></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was chatting about elevators with Susan, my
secretary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“These rent-a-cops on Park
Avenue can be mean,” I told her, and she answered that they always looked at
her and smiled when she passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told
her she was being self-conscious, and that “They’re busy staring at the
monitors to see that no one gets mugged in the elevators.”</span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“How would they know that?” she asked.</span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Cameras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
can’t see them, but every elevator car has a camera.”</span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Susan’s face went white. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, my Gawd!” she whispered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When there’s no one in the car I pull up my
skirt and straighten my pantyhose!”</span></span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Punch Line</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my favorite amusements was to get on
an elevator with a friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the car
filled up, I’d start a monologue, usually something about a girlfriend and a
horrifying episode that had taken place over the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The story would build in intensity and people
would stop talking to listen—to eavesdrop!—on my drama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we neared the lobby, I’d reach the climax
with, “…And then she smashed her wineglass on the floor, reached into her
handbag and pulled out a pistol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You’ll
never say that again,’ she said, and then….”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As the doors opened, I’d step out and say, “I’ll tell you later what
happened.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Skyscraper Legends</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New York is full of curious tales.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask me about the Amish guy and the elevator. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The colleague who was trapped overnight in an
elevator with a Czechoslovakian cleaning woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or about why there’s no 13<sup>th</sup> floors in New York.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or…but this is my floor and I have to get
off. </div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-8783419150267115152016-05-17T08:02:00.001-07:002016-05-17T08:02:43.446-07:00Comfort Food Came from the Can<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A
curious thing took place at our dining room table sometime in the late 1940s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our meat-and-potatoes supper changed into
something my mother called “creative cooking.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even though I was just 10 years old, and a boy at that, I sensed every woman
was out to prove she wasn’t a boring cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When my mother wasn’t exchanging 3 x 5-inch recipe cards with her
friends, they were promising each other recipes or were collecting recipes for
a new church cookbook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, church
dinners were a command performance that made me dread the experimental dishes —
Mexican tamale pie or Italian sausage and mushroom casserole — placed in front
of me.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s
clear now what was happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>World War
II was finally over, anything was possible, and miracles could emerge from the
kitchen — amazing dishes like Indian curry that were previously unknown in our
small Oregon town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ll
never know where my mother learned about shrimp curry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her exotic dish consisted of one can of
Campbell’s frozen condensed shrimp soup, thawed, heated, laced with curry
powder, and poured over rice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another
night, her quick and simple entrée might be Porcupine Balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leftover Uncle Ben’s rice was mixed with
ground beef, shaped into balls, drowned under a can of Campbell’s condensed
tomato soup, and baked in an oven.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Campbell’s
was a staple in our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Condensed
mushroom soup was poured over pork chops before baking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Condensed tomato soup was served as a time-saving,
nutritious spaghetti sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On
special occasions — after church or when relatives came to visit — dinner
started with cocktails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since my parents
were teetotalers, cocktails consisted of a quart can of Campbell’s tomato
juice, liberally splashed with Worcestershire sauce and a very small dash of
Tabasco, and served up with Ritz crackers and onion dip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dip was a touch of class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It meant buying a container of sour cream and
mixing in a package of Lipton instant onion soup. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This
cozy tradition lasted until after I was married with children and began
substituting wine for tomato juice.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Memories
of these meals flooded back when I found three metal boxes where Mom stored
her recipe cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had almost forgotten
what a basic commodity Jell-O was in the late ’40s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An entire section of one box — dozens of gummy
recipe cards — were dedicated to gelatin salads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were Perfection Salad (gelatin with
peppers, pimentos, chopped cabbage and diced celery) and Fruit Salad (gelatin
with a cup of unnamed dressing, cherries, pineapple and marshmallows).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there were Stuffed Eggs in Gelatin
Mayonnaise, Shrimp and Swiss Cheese Gelatin Salad, Cranberry Orange Mold, and
Crunchy Corned Beef Salad Loaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1B5imfIoXtL_Tre_ZmBvYxIUNAb1R8HzXW0B5TnbeXcDSwF66y2jBSxWWJQ0ZugjODQ82L-IvISFEWHzZ3P1UlAtrs8c5V3by3toQv-pdpOh5BpSrF-i_ulwrD2wo4rwm5iHn8fKuMxMo/s1600/Judy%2527s+bookcase+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1B5imfIoXtL_Tre_ZmBvYxIUNAb1R8HzXW0B5TnbeXcDSwF66y2jBSxWWJQ0ZugjODQ82L-IvISFEWHzZ3P1UlAtrs8c5V3by3toQv-pdpOh5BpSrF-i_ulwrD2wo4rwm5iHn8fKuMxMo/s320/Judy%2527s+bookcase+%25282%2529.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Judy's recipe library.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though
Mom passed away years ago, her recipe box is an archeological treasure of how
Jell-O sustained our family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As
I recalled those meals, I realized this was my definition of comfort food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bland, often mysterious, but probably
nutritious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The period marked a
transition from cooking with raw materials to using processed
food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tin recipe boxes also offered
an insight into how hard women worked to be inventive and to change food
presentation after a long war and years of rationing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Before
Julia Child there was Betty Crocker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before Rachel Ray there was an underground exchange of family-tested
recipes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The early ’50s was a time when
a new dish could be invented and called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Something-something</i>
Surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Creativity lay in the
naming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was Feathered Lemon Delight (fried chicken), Snip
Doodles (cookies), and Snickerdoodle (coffee cake).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before Hamburger Helper,
there was the slice of bread crumbled into a pound of ground beef to make
meatloaf stick together and go farther.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before
the Nabisco and General Foods snack foods, there were Mom’s Gizzies, a
Christmas treat made in vast quantities with Wheat Chex, Cheerios, pretzel
sticks, and nuts, all laced with Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco and celery salt,
and baked for one hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For kid treats,
there was our all-time cavity-inducing favorite: Rice Krispie cookies made with
marshmallows.</span></span></div>
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<s><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></o:p></span></s></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">P<span class="postbody1"><span style="mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">izza was another
novelty first mentioned by my sixth-grade teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had my first taste of pizza — oh, the
rapture — when I was 13 years old and had moved to New Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></span><s><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></o:p></span></s></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When
my wife, Judy, spotted Ming Tsai’s honey-roasted poussin on horseradish beet purée with
soy butter sauce on Food TV, she told me to run and download it from the Web
site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, she cut back on one
ingredient, added another condiment, or substituted an item.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“This
is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> comfort food,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve never eaten a beet in my life.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at dinner that night the honey-roasted
poussin was so mind-numbingly good that I grabbed my camera to record it for the
cookbook we wrote for our children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Creativity
was alive and well in the 21<sup>st</sup> Century.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Often,
she and I went back to Mom’s old tin recipe boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It still held comfort food for a new
generation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it’s time for me to
make another few cubic feet of Gizzies for snacks before a baseball game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have the strangest craving for
raspberry cookies, almond crescents and lace cookies when holidays
approach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our children and grandchildren
demand them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span> </div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-34233255705866145222016-04-05T07:47:00.000-07:002016-04-05T07:47:00.407-07:00Letter from Taipei <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YD0muQ0CAd9hSTT4Dw31FaRRZ42newi68UWv0faecNhAXH-qsWiOvAu3_SdOkKDqMKaq4c_J2FK5IIGwLQnc1s5JUvCaEFiTzKw2tBa3tX4KZvc_dYEWkjpX8_MFjcU8il24B9_sAWsP/s1600/Motorcycles_in_Taipei.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YD0muQ0CAd9hSTT4Dw31FaRRZ42newi68UWv0faecNhAXH-qsWiOvAu3_SdOkKDqMKaq4c_J2FK5IIGwLQnc1s5JUvCaEFiTzKw2tBa3tX4KZvc_dYEWkjpX8_MFjcU8il24B9_sAWsP/s320/Motorcycles_in_Taipei.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
No one says, “See Taipei and die.” Naples, yes. The capital of Taiwan, not really. Dying while on vacation is not a good slogan, but it’s a distinct possibility. <br /><br />In May 2006, six years since I had previously visited Taiwan, the pace of traffic and people in Taipei increased exponentially. Scores of dusty scooters swarmed in packs of mechanical insects like a Ridley Scott movie. Crowds of shoppers were thicker and more erratic as they darted around stalls. Sounds were louder and more intrusive. (The irritating, repeating melody in the street made me demand, “Can’t anyone shut up that ice cream truck?” I was told that was the trash pickup alerting people to bring their garbage down to the street.) Live rock bands were amplified over the heads of hip students ambling through Peddlers Alley in Hsimenting. <br /><br />“Be careful,” my host Ming-tse Chen warned, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from harm again. <br /><br />I’m cautious about crossing streets in London and Paris, but in Taipei the pedestrian needs another set of eyes to spot scooters driving against traffic, zooming onto the sidewalk to park or dodging to the head of the cars at a stop light. The Taipei Times reported a 74-year-old man was run over and killed by a scooter during my visit; an 80-year-old woman was run down the day before. <br /><br />There’s an edge to being outdoors that I’ve never experienced in Europe or New York. The cab driver who picked us up coming back from dinner near the Taipei 101 tower had a DVD player on his dashboard and was watching soft core porn. We told him to turn it off. He answered defensively, “I’m not watching it,” but complied. Weaving in and out of traffic, he clipped a scooter a block further on and continued driving. <br /><br />I pointed at cars driving at night without headlights, and asked Ming’s daughter if there wasn’t a law about headlights. Nancy had just received her Master’s degree from Drexel University in Philadelphia. “Probably they can see okay,” she said. “They don’t think they need headlights.” But what about me when I crash into a darkened car? The last time I drove in Taipei I only had to watch out for ox carts and pedicabs. <br /><br />Today, this is truly the city of the quick and the dead. <br /><br />Sidewalks, except on the main thoroughfares, are about eight feet wide, with half of that space filled with scooters parked handlebar to handlebar. The walkways are often a foot or more above the street, and between shops the sidewalk can make a sudden drop of a step or two. Looking down from the rooftop of Ming’s house across the Hsin Tien River from Taipei I notice the sidewalk has a two-foot-high drop-off at the corner. <br /><br />I’m not a nervous person, but I began noticing things. The balusters on Ming’s staircase are wide enough apart that a curious child could crawl through. And, at six feet tall, I had to duck my head going down staircases. <br /><br />There’s no smothering life preserver over every aspect of living in Taipei. Quite the opposite. I’m expected to be twice shy when I’m once burned. This is why the people of Taipei are very, very alert. <br /><br />It's not that no one recognizes dangerous situations. For example, friends refuse those single-use chopsticks from China now because there’s a bleaching agent in them that poses a hazard. An issue of the China Post reported legislative action to prohibit shoddy and dangerous PRC imports that are “dumped” in night markets like Shihlin Yesheh. And, the law requires seat belts when sitting in the front seat of a car — even in a taxi with the driver watching DVDs. <br /><br />I don't want to break my neck on a sidewalk in Taipei, and nothing could be more ignominious than being run over by a cabbie watching a skin movie. But daily life here has impact, noise, and elements of confusion, conflict and chaos. <br /><br />I can almost see the dice roll when I step out the front door. Taipei is a pinball machine with the pedestrian in play. <br /><br />Over the chaos stands Taipei 101, currently the world’s second tallest building, looking like a serene scepter from a Buddhist temple and just as other-worldly.Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-53759267623021716622016-03-29T08:04:00.001-07:002016-03-29T08:04:25.295-07:00Take Me Back to the Ball Game<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OtTgOf7o9wCjXGhwbqRt8kbBNt0_ehTGXXoRx8llDbzt2HYytmCxY8ZNJcLl0dicnFhF0J6POvnzSIhxu1UJEDNxA4tEBI38Y_Fc7gK14k8t0nnqOfzi_O8tJzSTtMuOuX1HknlvubgI/s1600/Currier-Ives-Baseball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OtTgOf7o9wCjXGhwbqRt8kbBNt0_ehTGXXoRx8llDbzt2HYytmCxY8ZNJcLl0dicnFhF0J6POvnzSIhxu1UJEDNxA4tEBI38Y_Fc7gK14k8t0nnqOfzi_O8tJzSTtMuOuX1HknlvubgI/s320/Currier-Ives-Baseball.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="ircsu"><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span class="ircsu"><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Early </span></span>baseball game played at Elysian Fields, </span></span><br />
<span class="ircsu"><span lang="EN" style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Hoboken (Currier & Ives
lithograph)</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ready for an argument?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell your buddies that Abner Doubleday did <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> invent the game of baseball in
Cooperstown in 1839.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first official
game, you say, was played by the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club at the Elysian
Fields in Hoboken, N.J., on June 19, 1846.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
New York Base Ball Club defeated the Knickerbockers 23-1. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s how the City of Hoboken reports the
first officially recorded match played under Alexander Joy Cartright’s rules,
and he was an umpire.<o:p> </o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Well, no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A story in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York Morning News</i> reported on a game on Oct. 21, 1845, between
the New York Ball Club and a Brooklyn team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>New York won 24-4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So there!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
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But, wait a minute, the same news
story refers to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">earlier</i> games played
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It stated, “A friendly match of
the time-honored game of Base was played yesterday at the Elysian Fields,
Hoboken.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a rematch on Oct. 24
at the Star Club on Myrtle Avenue in Brooklyn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(New York won that game too, 37-19.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If you go looking for the Elysian Fields, the area is now occupied by a
Maxwell House Coffee plant.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
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What the heck?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The game probably evolved from a number of
enthusiastic players and fans in the mid-1840s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>According to Dr. David Q. Voight in a three-volume history of baseball,
the game probably came from the 18th century English game of rounders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rounders was also played by soldiers at
Valley Forge when they weren’t fighting the Redcoats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So let’s establish our history by
the rules of the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York Times</i> story in 1990 reported,
“Box scores for the two October 1845 games, played with eight men a team,
follow the categories of cricket, reporting only the number of runs and ‘hands
out,’ or number of times a hitter made an out.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Cricket lost its popularity only after the Civil War.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There’s been little serious historical
research until recent decades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
there’s still room enough for lots of argument.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
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As for General Abner Doubleday in
1839, well, he was a cadet at West Point<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>when he was supposed to have laid out the first baseball diamond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he never took credit for anything having
to do with baseball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This poses a
problem for the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Historian and author John Bowman said, “They
want to play it both ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They want to
be known as serious historians of the game, but they can’t undermine their
tourist business.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And Cooperstown has copyrighted
the phrase, “Birthplace of Baseball.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
there!</div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076457714583040532.post-6923900247224820772016-03-12T09:52:00.000-08:002016-03-12T09:52:02.949-08:00That Moving Experience<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBjpTf_jGNLKbW6PyoDR6wxt3TTzr6LHIlkytwRK7HtVRhnqZaXOTmMtzncvi-gVBDUWcewH9bA8pxwJfjONiLN26bv3VghTPIf3uh-FJRqVPQTT2BqkCx5eZ0CyajFB23z68mzz2tY8O/s1600/Zeke+swings%2521+004+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBjpTf_jGNLKbW6PyoDR6wxt3TTzr6LHIlkytwRK7HtVRhnqZaXOTmMtzncvi-gVBDUWcewH9bA8pxwJfjONiLN26bv3VghTPIf3uh-FJRqVPQTT2BqkCx5eZ0CyajFB23z68mzz2tY8O/s320/Zeke+swings%2521+004+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Judy and I had gone through the ritual of seeing our
daughter and son-in-law begin their life together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There had been the wedding shower followed by
the ceremony on Cape Cod, some financial help in their buying a condo, and the
baby shower — all proceeding in natural order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We eagerly awaited the birth of the baby and were at the parents’
bedside when Zeke Addison Kramer was born in Cambridge in early January of 2007.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Judy asked suddenly on an unnaturally warm winter day, “What
do you think of our spending a year in Cambridge, helping them care for the
baby so Lisa can go back to work?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zeke
was then a week old.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Out of the question,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No way will I babysit for a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re 67 years old.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Massachusetts was a two-and-a-half hour drive
from our center hall four-bedroom colonial in Connecticut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll visit Cambridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regularly.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When I told a friend I might leave Connecticut to babysit a
grandson, she shouted, “You’re out of your effing mind!”<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Judy rolled out the arguments in the coming days as my heart
sank: “This 2,500-square-foot house is too big for empty-nesters,” and Bethel
taxes are outrageously high, child-care is unaffordable, one doesn’t put a
new-born in the care of a commercial institution, and Lisa’s career will
otherwise be jeopardized. <o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I’m sensitive to the plight of American Career Moms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve written <span style="color: black;">sympathetically
about women in their mid to late </span>thirties, filled with wisdom and
maturity and character to make intelligent choices, who have to halt their career
to raise a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that when these
women are in their forties they can try to regain the momentum of their
careers, but will they still be interested in what they were trained for two
decades earlier, and will their career fields have left them behind?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So they find a job, work for fifteen more
years or so, then spend the final twenty years in retirement before dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This may be overly dramatic (hey, I’m a
writer!), but it was a solid (to my wife) reason to help out at this stage of
the game.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I made a mental list of the pros and cons of moving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the credit side was the altruistic
rationale, plus a large amount of money from selling a priced-up house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the debit column were the loss of friends,
a writing group that was like a second family, a bucolic yard surrounded by
woods where I’d stroll with a beer at sunset, a cat that would have to be
re-adopted by her original mistress, a home that was also two and a half hours
from our son’s family in New Jersey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
of my reasons were daunting — and irrelevant.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Three months later, we moved into a 20<sup>th</sup> floor
apartment across from the town reservoir and park, trading space and
environment for a two-bedroom rental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was a step back forty years to our first apartments in New York City, except we
were substituting a concierge for cockroaches.<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Cambridge’s reverse 911 calls began reminding us to move any
cars for the street cleaners or be towed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cracked pavement in front of century-old “triple-decker”
houses required Judy, me and Zeke to traipse single file in our little convoy of
baby carriage and market basket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
faced the bureaucracy of getting new licenses and plates and auto inspections
from angry clerks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Voting privileges
were granted, but did I care?<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And then, wondrously, we began feeling like new
parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zeke was the charming baby who came
to us every morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was enchanted
that he liked my grapefruit (and, with his perfect eyesight, the olives in my
martini at night).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a joy putting
him in his first swing at the park, buying baby clothes on Arsenal St.,
strolling with him to the Bryn Mawr used book store, story time at the library,
and lunching at Whole Foods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
What I discovered was everything I'd missed when our own children
were growing up and I was commuting two hours in and out of Manhattan for 25
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I have traded it for being
a stay-at-home dad?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps not, but in
Cambridge I didn’t feel like a visitor to my own home town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And being a new parent was an adventure.</div>
Walt Giersbachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06326037798233835128noreply@blogger.com0