Chuck the Blogger Guy

Bumper carsUu Fender bender. So we were driving on Monalua Road headed for Aiea Heights Drive. We made a green light and was passing through the intersection when a new looking Dodge Charger hit us square in the rear fender of our very used 1963 Plymouth Valiant. By the way Aiea is in the hills of Oahu overlooking Pearl Harbor. But anyway, we two accidentarians pull out of the intersection and began to exchange Licenses and insurance papers. The young man, still teenage, told me he just got his drivers license and was driving a brand-new Dodge. I would have to admit he was very forthcoming. He told me everything. His parents ran a florist business just within walking distance from where we stood. He assured me his dad would take care of this. In the meantime a Honolulu police officer stopped by to as if everything was okay. Feeling sorry for the kid, I waved the officer off with a “everything is okay.” I knew of the flower shop the boy spoke of. Been there several times in the past. So the next day I called the flower shop and spoke to the young man’s father. With little discussion he told me to take my car to a body and fender paint shop just down the road and that guy would fix the damage and repaint the left side. I must admit how easy and quick this whole transaction took. The young man was of Japanese descent, his father was a person with many connections, and it all took about a week to transact. We had other collisions years before in California and other places and most took months to resolve. Had this happened on mainland America I would had never agreed to such a proposal. Call the police and let them question the other driver. Have my insurance throw the book at whomever. Be tough. Look angry. But in this case, not. The kid now would be 66 years old. God bless him and his probably deceased parents. I hope he is having a good life. Mine’s been pretty good so far.

Fender bender.
So we were driving on Monalua Road headed for Aiea Heights Drive. We made a green light and was passing through the intersection when a new looking Dodge Charger hit us square in the rear fender of our very used 1963 Plymouth Valiant. By the way Aiea is in the hills of Oahu overlooking Pearl Harbor.
But anyway, we two accidentarians pull out of the intersection and began to exchange Licenses and insurance papers. The young man, still teenage, told me he just got his drivers license and was driving a brand-new Dodge. I would have to admit he was very forthcoming. He told me everything. His parents ran a florist business just within walking distance from where we stood. He assured me his dad would take care of this. In the meantime a Honolulu police officer stopped by to as if everything was okay. Feeling sorry for the kid, I waved the officer off with a “everything is okay.” I knew of the flower shop the boy spoke of. Been there several times in the past.
So the next day I called the flower shop and spoke to the young man’s father. With little discussion he told me to take my car to a body and fender paint shop just down the road and that guy would fix the damage and repaint the left side. I must admit how easy and quick this whole transaction took.
The young man was of Japanese descent, his father was a person with many connections, and it all took about a week to transact.
We had other collisions years before in California and other places and most took months to resolve. Had this happened on mainland America I would had never agreed to such a proposal. Call the police and let them question the other driver. Have my insurance throw the book at whomever. Be tough. Look angry. But in this case, not. The kid now would be 66 years old. God bless him and his probably deceased parents. I hope he is having a good life. Mine’s been pretty good so far.

Well, then feel my face.

Bedside Manner?
I have discovered there are loonies in the medical profession. Just as much as any other profession. Cashiers, firemen, and even teachers.
The first loony was a well-spoken woman physician Assistant I happened to be assigned to when in for a general medical. I knew something was wrong when I discovered she was from the same part of the world I too came from. Los Angeles, California. She even visited the same haunts I visited in the past.
I often, just so the medical professional will know, tell them I am blind. Just in case he or she was trying to show me something.
So I told her I had a vision impairment. Then was followed by a momentary pause. Then she said, “Did you know I am a beautiful woman?” This statement left me speechless. But I finally said, yeah right.
Then years later I was being prepped for surgery for a cochlear implant . The IV nurse, a guy, after me telling him I am blind also responded with “Did you know I am a very good-looking man.” So again my response was “Yeah right.”
What is wrong with these people? Too much time in medical school? Not enough time to tell jokes to class mates? Don’t really know. Don’t really care. Yeah right. Boy howdy.

Satisfaction guaranteed

No more Sears tower in Chicago.
Sears could have easily been AMAZON. But some private equity schmuck bought Sears drained it all its cash assets, took out huge loans, filed bankruptcy, and just wrecked Sears. Yes there were some parts of Sears that just didn’t work. Their clothes and shoes just were real junk. But their Craftsmen tools, Kenmore large and small appliances, Silvertone TV’s, Sears Diehard batteries, tires, car repair, and most of their hard goods were better than most and were worth keeping together in one store. This is not to mention Sears repaired all their appliances and sold parts for the DIY guy.
But no, the bankrupting schmuck ruined it all. Plus I have no place to go for free Sears tire rotation and buy new tires and a crescent wrench.
I like to go into a store, pick up an item, look at it, feel it, smell it, and if I like it, buy it. Otherwise just leave it. Never mind going on line and by something just with guess work and buy it. Then later go to the trouble of shipping it back.
I must admit I am a ‘Brick and Mortar’ kind of guy. And by the way, I can’t take my grandkids to Amazon for them to sit in Santa’s lap. Give me a break! Mr. Private Equity Guy, kiss my big fat kazoo.

Put butter in it and roll it up.

No nothing like it.
We were residence on Simmons Avenue in East Los Angeles. Speaking for myself, I lived there for an approximate ten years. Then we moved further east into a quaint and quiet but mostly dull suburb.
But back to Simmons Avenue in East L A, next door to the north of us were the Smith family. Only one of the Smith family looked like a Smith. All the rest look like a Lopez or Garcia family. Mrs. Smith in her early life was a Latino. The two daughters looked Latina. Mrs. Smith’s mother, who lived with the Smith family, didn’t even speak English but Spanish only. However, none of this social anthropology is the main point.
The main point is this, Mrs. Smith’s mother knew how to please we next door all white neighbor Okie kids. On occasion some evenings my sister and brother and myself would be visiting the Smith household and Mrs. Smith’s mom would be cooking. Mrs. Smith’s mom would be rolling out large round flats of flour tortillas. She would have a large cast iron skillet on the stove top and then would flop one of these uncooked tortillas into the hop skillet and cook it for just a short moment and flip it over and cook once more a few seconds. Cooked until little golden spots would appear. Then lift it out of the skillet, place it on a plate, lather it with butter, and hand it to one of we non-Latino kids.
I have never in my life since those times tasted such a delightful food item. A fresh cooked flour tortilla spread with real butter, rolled up and placed in our little hands. There is nothing like it. Hot, buttery, and muy bueno.
Now why did we have to move away? I could have eaten dozens more. The stiff stuff you buy in the grocery story doesn’t even come close to Mrs. Smith’s mom’s freshly made and delightful buttery flour tortillas. No sir! Mas por forevor Sanora.

A very nice looking bank ROBBER

More than folk lore?
Maybe this is American History but I consider it just dark cloud Americana and hardly that. However, this is what was told me by my mother. She was a person born in the early 20th century in southern rural Oklahoma. But here is the caveat, my mom sometimes was given to embellishment. Some call it exaggeration. I think of it as taking her word with a tiny grain of salt.
But anyway here is what she told me on several occasions. She and her siblings lived on a farm somewhere near Marietta, Ok. Not far from the Red River and the Texas border. But none the less my mom told me she and her mother had a visit on their farm by Pretty boy Floyd and some of his hungry business associates. To bring you up to date on Pretty Boy Floyd, he was a notorious bank robber during the depression years who had plundered through the central Plaines and robbed banks. After all banks are where the money is.
But anyway, my mom said Floyd showed up one day with his companions and asked her mom to cook some lunch for himself and his starving associates. She was told Floyd would compensate her quite well. And if you think about it, Floyd and his bank robbing gang really couldn’t go into town and just casually walk into the local greasy spoon and order the lunch special. No sir! He was most recognizable and possibly would have been arrested or shot.
So, my grandmother fixed him and friends a nice country lunch. Then happily sent him and his bank robbing friends on their way and after being well compensated.
By the way, Pretty Boy Floyd was a nice-looking man. Well dressed and polite. I think his real name was Charles Floyd of Akins, Oklahoma. He died in 1932 from a gunshot wound. Shot by an FBI agent. So much for bank robbing. This career could easily end quite suddenly.

One man’s car is another man’s low rider

She just walked away from it.

It was 1956 and my 18-year-old oldest sister parked her 1937 Ford sedan in our back yard and she never drove it again. Never mind it was almost twenty years old and her very first car. A dusty relic far as she was concerned. A rolling museum antique.
Many of her high school friends were driving late model two-tone colorful new Fords and Chevys.
One not so good habit of my older sister was she would rather spend her loose change on finding new cuisine and eating out with her school friends instead of changing the motor oil. Even for an almost 20-year-old vehicle; treat it right, change the oil, and it might live a long time. But it wasn’t a shiny two-tone beauty.
But there it sat. None the less, my dad who was a motor fixer genius, borrowed a chain hoist, rigged up a sturdy support in our garage, pulled out the engine, and along with my brother and myself helped my dad overhauled the flat head V8 motor. An activity we engaged in twice. And each time it started up right away on the first press of the starter button. Boy howdy!
This blue four door sedan was in reasonable condition. No rips or snags in the upholstery or headliner. The chrome bumpers and chrome grill had sheen with little rust. There were no dents or damage to its body. And get this, what was amazing the tube type Philco radio would switch on and after a minute or so warming up still worked.
Then one day without any discussion or warning my dad sold it to a kid who wanted to chop the top and turn it into a ‘lowrider’ and sold it to him for 200-bucks. Oh, my goodness Henry Ford.
The real sad fact is today in good condition a 1937 Ford sedan could be sold for a good six figures to someone who restores antique cars. Jay Leno, come and get it! But Okies have little presents of mind nor a sense of value. Darn! Had I spoken up at the time, it could have been mine to drive to school and keep. Oh well. Maybe in my next life. Doggonit.

When ya gotta go.

posted by Chuck Ayers

No quarter moon on this privy.
We California Okies would sometimes visit our Aunt Minnie. Aunt Minnie was my mother’s older sister. Minnie lived just off the county road between Love and Carter County, Oklahoma. South of metropolitan Wilson, Oklahoma. A once upon a time oil and gas boomtown. Now with a population of 1800 down from a previous 5000.
But anyway, Minnie lived near a spot, and I mean a spot called Postoak. From the gravel road where it ends at the mailboxes on the county road near where my Aunt Minnie had lived one could draw a circumference outlining Postoak. Going from that focal point of the mail boxes out about a hundred yards or so and drawing a circle around it was the spot in the road near my Aunt Minnies homestead. Welcome to Postoak.
One feature of her homestead was the wooden out building located about 50-feet from the rear of her house. I must explain Aunt Minnie had no indoor facilities. No running water nor flushing commode inside her home. So when we had the ne we went outside to the smallish wooden building outback in order to expel our needs. We California kids were not familiar with such a unique ‘lavatory.’ My older sister, a prankster, stated without authenticity that there were rattle snakes down in the privy hole. Which prompted my dad with flashlight to inspect. I thought he a brave man. None the less that rumor was dispelled after his inspection. Whew!
So for those of you who had never entered an outhouse I will narrate what can be expected. This was a deluxe outhouse. It had two cut out holes atop a flat wooden ledge just inside the big wooden door. Holes with no seat or lid. So the sitter might experience some splintered wood stickers in his or Her’s backside.
Over to the wall to the right was a place to hang a roll of TP. But more often than not, the roll would be empty. But just below was a out of date Sears big general catalogue. The big general catalogue had tissue fine paper. Light enough to do the job. However, one would not use the Sears Christmas catalogue because of it’s color photos and heavier paper. One could possibly observe pictures of toy trains of Betsy Wetsy on ones bottom as a result. But as a last resort, corn cobs would be laying about.
Last but least there was no flushing. Just sit and relax. By the way, my Aunts privy had no quarter moon on the door. That would be too much time and expense. Don’t ask me about the odor. Room spray hadn’t been invented at that time. However, a struck match would work quite nicely. Now see what you missed being born too late? Have a nice day.

Blonds and bails of hay.

Summer 1961.
It was summer break between my junior and senior year of high school and a friend and I were up in northern California working on a cattle ranch. The ranch was approximately 40-miles south from the Oregon/California border and approximately 700-miles north from Los Angeles. And L A is where we boys lived and went to school.
However, the Ranch was somewhere between metropolitan Weed and, the smaller town of Gazelle. The city of Weed was in the shadow of Mount Shasta and its population was about 2000. Weed was A one company town that processed and made newsprint paper. Paper rolled into huge rolls and sold to newspaper printing companies.
The city of Gazelle mostly was a farmer’s stop-and-fix-it tractor tire sort of place. If you weren’t a farmer or rancher, you had no business there. There were Feed stores, tractor parts stores, and the farmer’s Grange.
Our employer was called Grass Valley Ranch. It was my friend’s uncle’s ranch. Otherwise we would not have been invited to come all the way up from L A and work. And work we did. They called this work, “Bucking Hay.” Mowing hay, raking hay, baling hay, hauling hay, and stacking hay. The hardest work I had ever done up until that time and ever since. I never want to see that place again. Never! Take your bale of hay and stuff it.
But anyway, one mid-summer morning my friend’s uncle and we teen boys were driving towards Gazelle and the uncle suggested we stop for a cup of coffee and a donut. We pulled in to a smallish café just off US-99., got out of the rancher’s very old 1950 beat up and rusted Chevy pick-up and shuffled over crushed rock towards the small cafe. Inside was just a long serving counter and bar stools. No tables or chairs. We each mounted a stool and waited for the hired help to come and take our coffee order. But much to our wide-eye surprise and certain delight, a twenty-something young and attractive blond woman came out from behind the cook area and asked how she could help us. Never mind what we really thought. None the less and let me mention here this young woman’s face could have easily been on any popular glamor magazine cover. Blond hair up in a twist, rich voluptuous red lips, intelligent looking but sympathetic eyes, and a very cute slightly turned up nose. This is not to mention her curvy slim figure. She certainly was something to behold. Photogenic, Rosey cheeks, and reasonably tall.
The first thing that comes to mind is why on earth is she here. This is no place for a statuesque goddess to be. She should be in Hollywood or in an ad agency’s studio on Madison Avenue. But again, why was this beauty here in cow and chicken town?
None the less, she quickly took our drink order and filled our mugs with steaming hot coffee.
But as this scenario was later related to others by my friend’s uncle, my friend and I never took our eyes off her stunning presents. Our gaze followed her from one end of the serving bar to the other. Us synchronize stare back and forth was as if a pair of windshield wipers slapping back and forth. I don’t even remember drinking any coffee during that hypnotizing moment. She too also noticed our boyish stares and enjoyed the moment as well. But then my friend’s uncle brought us back to “hay bucking land and Certainly a wake-up call as if being hit by a bucket of ice water. Boys, let’s go back to work.

Sent from Mail for Windows

We’ll just call them David and Becky. He was a captain in the navy and she a stay-at-home mom and both living in Navy housing near Peral Harbor. At that time they had a four-year-old daughter who often played with our three-year-old. We lived in a townhouse up the way above a country club golf course which overlooked all of Pearl Harbor.

Then we eventually left Hawaii after about two years living on the main island of Oahu. I lost my job at a radio station after a new management team came. But anyway we had left Hawaii after about two years and left David and Becky there. But we kept in touch.

Later David and Becky moved back to the mainland. Moving to Washington, DC where David took up a duty in the Pentagon. That monstrous multisided building in our nation’s capital.

We did stay in touch through Christmas cards and a visit to Baltimore one year and toured the DC area with David and Becky and family. They continued sending us year end newsletters mentioning Becky and daughter interpreting for the deaf.

People we knew in Hawaii.

Later David and Becky moved back to the mainland. Moving to Washington, DC where David took up a duty in the Pentagon. That monstrous multisided building in our nation’s capital.

Then years later we got a newsletter saying David went to work as usual. David was in his office but then he and several others left the Pentagon early that morning for an offsite meeting. In the meantime a hijacked American Airlines plane hit the side of the Pentagon where David’s office was located. It was September 11, 2001.