Curtains

 In the 1960's we lived in the small town of Pawnee City, Nebraska where my father was the pastor of the local Presbyterian church. One Saturday afternoon I answered the door when the door bell rang. It turned out to be an old lady who said that she had something important she needed to tell my father.

I ushered her into our living room where she sat down to wait while I went to get dad. When he went into the living room she began telling her tale of scandal. It seems the evening before, a young woman went to visit a young man who was a school teacher at the local high school. After the woman went into the man's house, he had the temerity to close the curtains to the windows in his front room.

After hearing this, my father said nothing. He just got up and very deliberately opened the curtains to the windows in our living room. He then turned and gave the woman, "a look"!

She got up, left, and never again came to my father with gossip.

My father was quite a guy and I really miss him.

Thanksgiving Dinner

In the 70's I was working as a truck driver making weekly trips from Iowa to the San Francisco bay area. Almost every trip while going through Nevada I would stop at a diner in the small town of Carlin to have coffee and a sandwich.

One time I was going through Nevada on Thanksgiving day when I stopped in at the diner. I wasn't really hungry, so I just ordered coffee. The young guy who owned it urged me to have a turkey sandwich. He was really persistent so I finally relented and ordered a turkey sandwich.

After about 20 minutes he came out with my "turkey sandwich". It was a complete Thanksgiving dinner with roasted turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and pumpkin pie. It was really delicious!

When I went to pay, he wouldn't take my money. He said, "Happy Thanksgiving and thanks for being our customer."

Vapor Lock

 I attended Officer Candidate School in Ft. Belvoir, VA which was located not far from Washington D.C. One weekend one of the other students, Roland, asked if my friend, Jake, and I could take him with us on our regular trips to D.C so he could visit his sister who lived in there. We were happy to oblige.

We dropped Roland off near his sister's apartment but when we went to leave, my car wouldn't start. It was a hot afternoon and my old Ford had a tendency to vapor lock when the engine was turned off on a hot day. The only thing that could be done was to just wait for the engine to cool down so the car would start.

Jake and I were standing next to the car trying to decide how to kill time until the car would start when we were approached by two prostitutes. They assumed that the only reason two young white guys would be in that all black neighborhood was to avail themselves of their services.

Jake and I explained we were just waiting for the car to cool down so we could leave after dropping our friend off at his sister's apartment. We chatted with these "working girls" for about a half hour and then said, "It looks like the car has cooled down so we can go now." They laughed and apologized for incorrectly assuming why we were and said, "Thanks for stopping by."

Walking

 I've enjoyed walking for most of my life. You see many things you would have missed otherwise and get to meet all sorts of interesting people.

In 1968 after I finished Officer Candidate School, I was attending Intelligence Officer's Training at Fort Holabird Maryland located on the outskirts of Baltimore. During my training I was staying in an apartment in Baltimore that was near downtown. One Monday evening around 9pm I decided to go for a walk around that part of town.

It was a warm night with a mild haze coming off of the Chesapeake Bay which gave the streetlights a slight halo effect. I hadn't been walking for very long when a young boy about 9 or 10 years old appeared out of the shadows and started walking beside me.

He looked up at me and said, "Hi mister. Is it OK if I walk with you?" I said, "Sure, I'd enjoy having some company. By the way, my name is Dave, what's yours?" He said, "Mathew."

Mathew and I walked together not saying much, just taking in the ambiance of a big city at night. After about a half hour Mathew said, "Thanks, mister. I gotto go now." and he faded back into the shadows.

Mad Magazine and Mom

 When I was about 11 years old we lived in a house on Butterfield Rd. in San Anselmo, CA. One Saturday morning I was out in the garage pouring over the latest issue of Mad Magazine with my friend, Dale, from across the street. That issue had the usual "Spy vs Spy" episodes along with Dave Berg's satires on suburban life. It also included my all time favorite, "Horrifying Cliches".

When my mother came out to the garage to check on the laundry she saw us reading Mad Magazine and assumed it was some kind of smut. She came over to us and said, "What are you guys reading? Let me see that!" She grabbed the magazine from us and started looking through it.

As she was reading it, she slowly started to smile. Her smile grew to a grin and then she laughed out loud. She handed the Mad Magazine back to us and said, "That's pretty funny, isn't it?"

Boogie in Walsenburg

 In 1971 after I got out of the Army, I drove out to Trinidad, Colorado to visit my brother, Chuck. He was living with a couple of his friends in a geodesic dome house that they built themselves. After I had been there a couple of days, Chuck said, "Tomorrow is Saturday so we need to check out Boogie in Walsenburg. It's only about 40 miles north of here" 

Apparently there was a commune of hippy musicians living in the hills outside Walsenburg, Colorado. They would come to town on Saturday evening to play music in one of the bars there.

We arrived at the bar where the music was supposed to happen at about 8:30. It was a long older building that was fairly narrow with high ceilings, wooden floors, and several neon Coors signs decorating the walls. Six slowing turning ceiling fans made a valiant attempt to keep the place cool. A long bar, well worn from many years of supporting elbows, lined the first third of one wall. In the back of the room there was an old, slightly out of tune, upright piano.

Around 9 pm the hippy musicians started arriving. They moved some tables out of the way to make room for their instruments, speakers, and amplifiers and moved enough tables to make a small dance floor. While they were setting up and getting tuned up, the customers started wandering in. A little before 10 pm when they were ready to start playing, there must have been about 70 people in that bar.

They started out playing Jimi Hendrix's "Red House" followed by numbers from Pink Floyd, Cream, some old blues standards and a couple of their original songs. They did an expecially nice version of Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb".

After about an hour of playing they stopped to have a beer and take a break. While they were taking a break, a middle aged woman with grey hair sat down at the piano. She started playing a really smokin' 12 bar piano boogie. The guys in the band put down their beers and joined in.

People in the bar moved some tables out of the way so there was more room for dancing and for the next 15 minutes, that place really rocked! When they finally stopped, the woman playing the piano, the guys in the band, and those dancing all broke out in raucous laughter. 

The band good naturedly took requests from the people there and managed to play every request well. One middle-aged woman whose father had recently died, went up to the band and asked if they could play "Amazing Grace" for her. A woman standing near her offered to do the singing.

The woman singing was apparently part of a local church choir and had an amazing contralto voice. I've heard "Amazing Grace" many times before and since, but never like the way it was done that night. By the time they finished I don't think there was a dry eye in the place. The woman who requested the song went up to the band with tears streaming down her face and thanked them from the bottom of her heart.

Later in the evening, a man about 70 years old walked up to the band carrying a violin case and asked if he could join in. The guys in the band said, "Sure, just start playing whatever you like and we'll join in." What followed was about 30 minutes of great blue grass music with a killer fiddle player.

That night I heard everything from blues to blue grass. I'll always be grateful to my brother for introducing me to Boogie in Walsenburg. It was America at its most tolerant, inclusive best.

Finding Queers

Years ago I was living in Omaha Nebraska and working as an over the road truck driver. I spent about a year hauling a load of pork every week from the Rath meatpacking plant in Waterloo Iowa to a meat wholesaler in Ogden Utah. Later, after I got married, I got a job driving a gasoline tanker for Mobil Oil delivering to gas stations throughout the greater San Francisco bay area.

One evening, about 9pm, I was delivering gas to a station on Van Ness Ave in San Francisco when a family in an Oldsmobile with Iowa plates pulled into the station. The driver, a man in his late forties, got out of the car, walked over to me, and asked, "Where do we have to go to see all the queers?"

I said, "You might try Waterloo Iowa. There used to be a notorious gay bar there just outside the entrance to the Rath meatpacking plant."

Itemized Bill

When I was in high school my father told me about a town in Nebraska that had a sewage treatment plant that wasn't working correctly. None of the people tasked with operating the plant could figure out what was wrong.

Finally in desperation the town called in a consultant in the hopes that he could solve the problem. When the consultant got there, he spent about an hour walking around the sewage treatment plant checking everything out. He then picked up a big hammer from a workbench and walked over to a large steel gate valve. He gave the valve a big whack with the hammer and the plant started working again almost immediately.

A few weeks later the city received a bill from the consultant for $10,000. That was real money back then and the mayor was incensed when he found out. He said, "All the guy did was walk around the plant for an hour and then he whacked one valve with a hammer. Why should we have to pay $10,000 for that? Send that bill back and demand that it be itemized!"

Several weeks later the town received this itemized bill from the consultant:

 

• One whack with a 24 oz. ball peen hammer - $1
• Knowing what to whack - $9,9999

 

The town paid the itemized bill.

Elevator Search

When my friend, Jake, and I finished Officer Candidates School, we both went to Military Intelligence school at Fort Holabird in Baltimore Md. The course lasted 4 months so we rented an apartment on the fourth floor of an older building in downtown Baltimore.

The apartment  had an elevator, but it was an old elevator that didn't have modern buttons to select your floor. It had a nice old elevator operator who would start and stop the elevator manually. The elevator had a big handle which he would push forward to go up and pull back to go down. To stop he would put the handle in its default middle position. There was a lot of lag between where the handle was moved to and how the elevator responded. He rarely ever managed to stop right on the target floor. If he was too high he would go down a bit. If he was too low he would go up.

This back and forth would go on until he got it right or just gave up and said, "Please step up or please step down."  Jake and I would regularly place bets on how many tries it would take for the elevator to stop at our floor.

It was an elevator variation on the binary search.

Skirting the issue

When I worked for Juniper Networks, the office of the founder, Pradeep, was in the same area as our group of engineer's desks. Rafaella, an attractive Italian woman in her early 40's, was his administrative assistant and was very good at her job. She always wore very classy, office appropriate attire and always wore slacks.

One morning I met her in the hall near the breakroom and saw she was wearing a very nice dark gray skirt that went almost to the floor. I said, "Rafaella, what's the special occasion you're wearing that nice ankle-length skirt for?" She said, "When I was in Pradeep's office a couple of days ago he complained about me always wearing slacks. He wanted to know why I never wore skirts. So," she said with a mischievous smirk, "I'm wearing a skirt today."