Book Report
Being a long time NPR listener, I first remember fearing the author of this biography reporting on the Iran/Contra controversy during the Reagan Administration. She and her NPR colleague Daniel Schorr reported on this event. She inappropriately described an Episcopal priest testifying at the hearing as a reverend “wearing his priest uniform with his collar turned around” as his clergy’s clerical garb. But later she became known as a credible reporter of the Supreme Court for National Public Radio and still is today. The book mentions she befriended Ruth Bater Ginsberg and became close friends years before RBG was nominated and confirmed to the Supreme Court.
The title is “Dinners with Ruth; Memoir on powers of friendship by Nina Totenberg, biography bestseller, 2022.
Library of Congress annotation:
“Four years before Nina Totenberg was hired at NPR, where she cemented her legacy as a prize-winning reporter, and nearly twenty-two years before Ruth Bader Ginsburg was appointed to the Supreme Court, Nina called Ruth. A reporter for The National Observer, Nina was curious about Ruth’s legal brief, asking the Supreme Court to do something revolutionary: declare a law that discriminated “on the basis of sex” to be unconstitutional. In a time when women were fired for becoming pregnant, often could not apply for credit cards or get a mortgage in their own names, Ruth patiently explained her argument. That call launched a remarkable, nearly fifty-year friendship. Dinners with Ruth is an extraordinary account of two women who paved the way for future generations by tearing down professional and legal barriers.
Call the library or download to your Kendal or iPhone. If you obtain the audiobook, it is read by the author. Read it or listen. My personal thoughts are it’s a good book and you’ll like it.
This is where he was buried?
Under an oak tree.
We were passing through Wilson, Oklahoma 1964. On our way to my third year of college. We stopped in to see my dad’s mother, my grand mother who we just called Granny. She was Omie Ayers to her neighbors in Wilson.
My dad and I decided to stay a few days and rest a bit after the long road trip from Los Angeles. So, I decided to go down to the local drug store and buy a few paperbacks. One of which was Dr. Strangelove and read it non-stop for one day while laying atop a squeaky framed bed with an oscillating fan humming from across the room. It must had been at least 90-degrees outside. And almost the same inside.
But anyway, I finished the Strangelove book and was starting on a second when my Dad asked me if I would like to go with him to see where his dad, my grandfather Charlie Ayers was buried. Later we got in the car and my Dad told me his father is buried in a small area of Carter County called Simon. So, we drove south out of Wilson on a Countyline road for about 15-minutes and came to a gravel road, turned left, and proceeded to a spot which looked like a cow pasture. We passed through a wooden gate on foot, walked a few yards and came to another gate and made our way up inside. Then walked up a slight knoll to the shade of a large old Oak tree. I looked around and saw nothing that looked like headstones or burial monuments. We suddenly stopped and my Dad pointed straight down at a big rock half way buried in the ground. Then my Dad said here it is as he pointed at the rock. This is where my father was buried after he died back in 1933 during the great depression.
I must confess myself it is in a very peaceful setting. Almost sacred and like something John Steinbeck would describe in a novel. God rest my grandfather’s soul.
It was the organ that made me skate.
The marvelous Wurlitzer organ.
Some of the older and larger downtown movie theaters had a mighty Wurlitzer organ. Put into service back when movies were silent and needed some underlying musical theme to carry the action. The bigger and older ones were huge as they are today. About the size of a Volkswagen beetle.
A Wurlitzer had Multiple tears of piano-like keys and dozens and dozens of buttons. It also had about A Dozen foot pedals. However, as far as I can remember, the Wurlitzer had no pipes. Yes, it was not a pipe organ but a standalone instrument. In today’s parlance they must had cost an arm and a leg.
Many ballparks and sports arenas today have Wurlitzers. Played to engage the audience with the momentum of the game. A few larger and long-time established churches also had Wurlitzers. Especially those congregations who could not afford or have the room for a mammoth pipe organ.
The Wurlitzers organ could produce a sound like a flute or piccolo. Or make a low frequency sound such as an upright double base fiddle. Played with any combination of brass and wind instruments. All creating a reverential religious orchestral sound.
But anyway, when listening on the radio to a Dodger baseball game, you could hear in the background the organ player playing “The Mexican Hat Dance.” Or the bugle-like Charge sound. And the fans would either clap with the Hat Dance tune or in unison say, “Charge” after the familiar bugle charge.
None the less, my favorite Wurlitzer organ and it’s player was enclosed behind a wall of glass inside the Moonlight Roller drome in Pasadena, California. A roller-skating rink we kids frequented during our public-school years.
The gentleman behind the glass spoke over a public address system. He had a tenor like voice such like the Muppet character, Miss Piggy. He would announce the tempo of the tune and possibly meant for either men or women or all couples skate.
When it was time for couples to skate only, the lights would dim and the revolving mirrored ball high in the ceiling would start turning creating sparkles of light dancingd all over the skating rink. The music he played would be some slow romantic tune such as “Old Cape Cod” or the “Tennessee Waltz.” Each couple had this forearm and back of the waist arm and hand hold while skating the rink oval. Then the pace would pick up quite a bit when it was time for men and boys only. Resulting in a roller-derby like pace. Sometimes a bit frenetic. Then when the women and girls only skate was announced, the tempo slowed a bit and them guys left the floor.
There was an older woman we kids rode with to the skating event. Well, she was in her mid-twenties. She obviously was a true amateur skater. She owned her own shoe skates and had a cute short skating outfit. So, what scared me to death was when she asked me, a 12-year-old knucklehead skating beginner, to skate with her during the next couple’s skate. Me? Me skate with You? A couple skate? I can’t do that. But she insisted. So off we went, skating with proper hand and arm holds. It was so embarrassing. It took all her balance and strength to hold me upright. But we went round and round seemingly a hundred times. As soon as the couple skate was over, I headed straight for the boys room and stayed in there for a good while. While in the boys room I would stay in until others out on the rink would forget I was even here.
Has anyone seen Butch? He’s in the restroom and hasn’t come out for half an hour. Well, it’s almost time to leave. Tell him to get out here.
Look who’s waving at us guys.
Seen at the ball park.
There were Wayne, Rich, Warren, and me. All headed to Dodger stadium Warren, the guy with connections had box seat tickets about 10 or 12 rows back from the expensive dugout seats behind Homeplate. As far as I could tell our seats were better seats to view a baseball game.
I and others, on a previous occasion, have sat in the cheapest seats behind center field wall. And at that time costing about fifty-cents each. Not bad seats but one does get lost in the general buzz going on around that section. Usually, a section filled with working class dads and their sons with fielder mitts. All coming and going to the hotdog stand or men’s room. If you were sitting way out in and behind the center field wall the behind pitcher and second baseman, it would sometimes be a bit difficult seeing what the batter was doing.
At another game, I and others have had seats back about a dozen rows along the first base line near first base. Good enough seats to see most any play and especially in the infield.
Then one time, my wife and I had seats back a ways and in the second level along the third base line somewhere between third and home plate. Tickets given to us by one of L A’s county supervisors.
But back to Wayne, Rich, Warren and me sitting behind the umpire and catcher. The Dodgers had just finished the first of a doubleheader. It was over in a flash and was pitched by a guy named ‘Mudcat’ Grant. Probably one the fastest game pitchers. Meaning he did not fool around at the rubber and pitched them quickly one after the other. And this was back in the late 1960s. Long before major league baseball thought of the so-called ‘Pitch Clock.’ Zip pop zing. It was over.
Now it was more or less half time and the field crew was grooming the dirt infield and we guys just got back from buying drinks. We were sort of at a lull between games as nothing was going on. You could hear the voice of Vin Scully over the stadium broadcast system.
Then suddenly this guy in a dark tailored suit climbs out of the dugout seats in front of us and stands on top and starts waving at all the baseball goers. He had long black stringing hair. The way he poised himself you would have thought he was the reason Dodger fans came to the ball park. So, he kept on waving and shouting. A recognizable figure. It was the one-hit-wonder, Tiny Tim. The same guy who sang Tiptoe through the tulips in a high-pitched gargled falsetto voice. The same guy and Miss Vickey who were married on the Johnny Carson Tonight show. The first of the kind. None the less, it broke up the lack of excitement at the ball park.
Then the pitcher and catcher started to warm up and the focus was on the field once again. Thank goodness. Play ball!
We drove to Sears once a year.
Before we could do Easter…
The Saturday before Easter we all drove to Sears in East L A. The place was the main Sears catalogue store at Soto and Olympic. A tall ten-story building just east of the concrete L A River. After arriving and parking My two sisters would go with our mom and my older brother and I would go with our dad. We would meander in and out of through the main floor.
Before we made any serious Easter purchases, we three men would first visit the hardware, appliance, auto part, TV, and sporting goods department. We guys would stop at the appliance department and watch the see-thru door of a dishwasher and watch it spray bubble and foam. Wow, how cool is that! Then down to the vacuumed department where the sales guy had a beachball floating in the air by a blowing stream of air from a vacuum cleaner. Can our Hoover do that? We then would pick up and examine up close all manner of Craftsman tools. Wrenches, socket sets, electric drills, hand saws, crowbars, and others. Do they have a toilet plunger?
My dad seemed to be interested in upholstery material for car seats. Our 1950 Ford sedan and it’s seat covers was becoming a bit worn and needed replacing. Down the way a bit was a real authentic color TV. A 19-inch Sears Silvertone console set with what looked to me as a bit washed out color. Sort of like a fuzzy see-through water color painting. Nearby was a smiling lady playing a Silvertone organ. An organ with two layers of keys and a dozen peddles at her feet. She was playing “How much is that doggie in the window.” My brother then found a Sears Silvertone guitar and strum it’s six strings. Then in the heating and plumbing department were dozens of sinks and faucets along with a full-size working fireplace with tools, screen, and with a real fake fire were all on display.
Then we guys would go down into the store’s basement and look at horse saddles and small cement mixers. I really do like Easter shopping.
However, the shopping was not complete until we all visited the nuts and candy counter. Just to place my hands on the warm display counter glass was reason enough to be drooling at such yummies. All sorts of warm peanuts, cashews, and popcorn. Not to mention stepping over the spilled popcorn on the store floor. But anyway, chocolate peanut clusters were my very favorite.
But the day would end up by buying me and my brother a pair of black lace up shoes and a blue clip-on tie. My sisters would be carrying bags of colorful flowery dresses and boxes of patent leather shoes. Now we were ready for Easter morning church. Happy
Easter.
Anybody want an eighty-pound bale of hay?
Bucking hay.
Stepping off the back porch and just a few steps from the breakfast table I would be struck by a marvelous sight. At first glance you would think a giant yellowish and white fireball was coming up out of a volcano. No, a brilliant sunrise rose up into the clear blue skies over the snow-capped Mount Shasta in northing California. An early morning fantastical sight I witnessed most days from a cattle ranch almost in the shadows of and west of Mount Shasta. And as some of you may know, Mount Shasta is an extinct volcano. At the ranch I worked on was a good fifty-miles from the famed northern California snow covered peak. A light weight pores lava rock known as Pumice was all over the flat landscape near our ranch house. The main house, barn, and tractor shed was just off old US-99 between Weed, California and a small town of Gazelle. About thirty miles or so south of the Oregon border. A place where in the early evening mosquitos will find you for sure.
But wait a minute, what was a L A teen boy doing up on a northern California cattle ranch. It certainly wasn’t for the money. It was a six-week summer job between my junior and senior year in high school. My high school friend Jim’s uncle owned the ranch. Our job was to mow, rake, bale, and buck hay off hundreds of acres. The hardest part of the job was loading bales of hay on to a flatbed truck and haul it all to a larger stack of hay. Repeated many times each day. None the less, a humongous mountain of stacked hay would be waiting for dispensing over the winter months as cattle feed.
This hay hauling would go on from just after breakfast and up and until dinner time and sometimes after. Six days a week. Hot, grueling, itchy, sweaty hard work. The hardest work this 17-year-old boy had ever done before and since. Pass the iced tea please.
The best part of the whole experience was a Greyhound Bus ride back to Los Angeles. Followed by a trip or two to the beach that summer. Pass the baby oil please. Whew! Get this experience behind me for sure. When does school start?
Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks.
Peanuts from the sky.
It was a balmy weekday evening and the Los Angeles Angels were playing at Dodger stadium. We had box seats just behind and a bit left of Homeplate. Temperature was about 60-degreess and the air was calm. Perfect for a springtime evening major league baseball game. Never the less, when the Angels play Dodger stadium the Angels broadcast announcers tell their listeners the Angels are playing at Chavez Ravine. Sort of gives the Angels part ownership to this stadium. But not really. This was spring 1962 and the Los Angeles Angels shared the stadium with the Los Angeles Dodgers while the Dodgers were either off or out of town. Actually, The Dodgers and Walter O’Malley were co-owners. Chavez Ravine was just an area of Los Angeles where Dodger Stadium was built. And I must add, a magnificent stadium with a broad green grass outfield expanse with a well-kept dirt infield.
So, players were on the field and others in their respective dugouts. It was about second or third inning, field lights were bright, and the people in the stands were getting into the game. My friend Ron and I were chatting and watching the next batter warming up in the batting circle when we noticed bags of peanuts flying in the air. But I might mention, bags of peanuts often were tossed to fans desiring a little munch with their baseball. Often followed with flying quarters and fifty-cent coins back to the peanut vender. But wait, the bags kept coming in numbers and flying everywhere. All without coins being tossed back. So, I twisted my head around and saw a teetering man with a vender’s tray tossing willy-nilly bags of peanuts everywhere. Obviously, a drunken man yelling, “Free peanuts for everyone.” He must had bought the peanuts, the vender tray, and began his free roasted peanut enterprise. He kept tossing and yelling and all in a drunken wobble. But here came the spoilers. Stadium police came, grabbed him by both arms and waddled him out of the stadium.
But since then, I was thinking every good main event needs an interesting sideshow. We certainly got our money’s worth. Play ball!
A Gold en book report.
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A fictionalized version of how Swedish John Sutter settled the Sacramento Valley in the 1840s. The building of Sutter’s fur trading mercantile and supply fort and his saw mill on the American River. The saw mill where gold was first found. All part of the great central valley of California. But anyway, the event that truly defined the golden state of California. Inducing the early migration of peoples from the east and Midwest plus adventurers coming from all over the globe to find their fortune.
A narration of how Sutter endeared himself to the Mexico ruling General and was able to receive a large land grant to establish a trading center for fur trappers and a hide tanning operation in the Sacramento Valley on the American River. With Sutter’s smooth tongue he gained the cooperation of the indigenous peoples, local Mexicans, and even the coming intrudings of the American army led by Major John C Freemont. The author takes the dry two-dimensional early California history and colors in a believable three-dimensional story that led to the famed Forty-niner gold miners and settlers of the golden state. Then colors in a bit of romance as well.
The book: “The American River by Gary McCarthy, historical fiction California history.
Book annotation:
“John Augustus Sutter came to the wide and wild California country to build an empire. At his side was Morgan Beck, out to stake his own claim at the confluence of two powerful rivers, the Sacramento and the American. While the two adventurers follow new fortunes westward, the ill-fated Donner Party is mired in the grip of frozen death high in the Sierra Nevadas. Suddenly, Sutter and Beck are torn between the hot winds of revolution, and the desperate pleas of the trapped immigrant party. Little do they know of the icy horrors under the snows of the mountain pass. At stake is the greatest agricultural empire in California–Sutter’s Fort–on the banks of the wide American River.” Read this book. It is good.
I do not want to end up deep in the ocean.
It was proclaimed to be the tallest wooden frame roller coaster west of the Mississippi.
Had you driven south on Atlantic Boulevard back in the 1950s from East Los Angeles all the way to Pacific Coast Highway in Long Beach you would have certainly notice the tall wooden structure known as the “Cyclone Racer.” Roller coaster tracks set on a white wooden frame rising approximately ten to twelve stories. Something approaching a hundred and ten feet up in the ocean’s salty air. Reaching speeds on its first downhill run almost 70-MPH With tracks jetting out over the ocean surf. Lore has it on one fateful day a couple of the coaster’s cars derailed and flew off into the ocean below. Some say people went down with the coaster car and were never found. Never mind the waters at the coaster’s edge was only ten feet deep. So, judge for yourself if the event was truth or apocryphal.
The Cyclone Racer was part of the Long Beach Pike. An amusement park just down from the Long Beach Navy base. The Pike was a favorite of the sailors and were attracted to its many amusement rides along with the midway with its bars, freak shows tattoo parlors, and girly shows.
But me, being an eleven-year-old sibling of an older brother who often dared me to do things I didn’t wish to do, wasn’t easy. Observing this frightful looking “fun ride” from afar and it’s down hill run with coaster cars full of screaming and howling kids and sailors with arms high in the air as they rapidly descended straight down to a certain fate was proof enough to run far away from this evil thing. No sir! Not me. You won’t get me on that death train. Never the less the coaster ride could help your heart rate triple its beat in just a few short minutes. No no no, not me!
However, my brother kept calling me chicken when I refused to ride on the roller coaster. Then he said he would even pay for my ride. So, I gave in and called him on his offer. But told him I would not hold my hands in the air as others do on the big downhill run. So off we went into the sky and it all was horrific as I had expected. It took everything I could to keep my bladder from unloading. Then when we finished the high-speed convoluted twists and turns and came to the end and got off, my brother disappeared. I was determined to choke him but he ran away. All in all, I am lucky to be alive today.
I’d rather eat Play-Doh.
What about avocado toast?
My lovely wife loves avocado toast. I don’t! I do not like its mooshy texture and wall paper paste taste. So here is my recommendation for an alternative. We’ll just call it banana toast. Banana toast only if no one else has already invented banana toast. This is how I would prepare banana toast:
One tablespoon melted butter
One teaspoon confectionary sugar or powder sugar.
One pinch salt
One pinch cinnamon
One half of a ripe spotted banana.
Put all ingredients into a two-cup glass measuring cup and combine and moosh all opponents. Once thoroughly mixed then spread paste-like banana ooze onto a crunchy slice of wheat or white toast. Maybe even on cinnamon raisin toast. The spread should be a paste and not a pudding.
Oh man. Can’t wait to try this magnificent spread at my next breakfast. What do you think?Take your avocado and guac it!
Chuck the Blogger Guy 