Losing a Great Friend too Soon, too Young... It Just Aint Right!!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             Losing a Great Friend too Soon, too Young...  It Just Aint Right!!  

We'd often get together at the weekend for prodigious night-clubbing and drinking.  It was a Friday night.  We decide -- or maybe he decides -- to venture to a night spot we'd often frequented. (Long gone now, it was called "Beneath the Street," I think...)

A splendid looking chap...
Dashing, even! 

The Everly Brothers are appearing, and we somehow snag a table "expensively" close to the stage, as if we'd bribed the head waiter.  No head waiters there, just servers, "beverage hosts" and bouncers.

Pat disappears, and I don't really notice where he's gone, as I'm pleasantly floating on a euphoric bubble of booze-inspired semi-consciousness.  Don and Phil, the Everly Brothers, sit down at my table.  "Hey, how you doin' this fine evening," asks Don, or maybe it was Phil...

"Uh...  I'm doin' fine, thanks," I say, somewhat bewildered.

"What did you think of our set?" asks Phil, or Don maybe.

"You two are great," I say in reply.  "I love your style, your singing and the tunes you do.   I love the old stuff, your signature tunes."  

"Lemme buy you a drink.  What are you drinking?  Miss!!" one of them calls out, "Give our friend, here, whatever he wants!"  This from Phil, or maybe it was Don.  I accept!

"I guess I'll have another of these," I say.  "Nut brown ale."  

"Wanna jolt of something stiffer?" asks Don (Phil?).  

"Nah, thanks, the beer's just fine."  

It goes on like that for 15, 20 minutes, the length of their break between sets. They return to the

stage. I muse that my great friend, Pat -- sometimes I called him Gord -- was in Armed Forces Radio (and Television) in Germany.  He had extended his enlistment to do something he loved. And he was great at it, with an excellent, sonorous and "pear-shaped" tonal quality to his superb voice, a bonus in such work, probably needless to add.  

He met many celebrities in Germany through his work, including "Jack," who became an NBC newscaster in Los Angeles and married an actress named Joan.  Pat and Jack became and remained good friends in spite of the distance between LA and Milwaukee. Pat was best man at their wedding. 

Eventually, Pat returns to our table, explaining that he was visiting, catching up and sharing stories with Don and Phil whom he came to know through Armed Forces Radio.  

"So," I ask, "Why were the Everly's so friendly toward me of all people?"  

"I told them you're a big-time Milwaukee DJ.  'He'll play lots of your music if you're nice to him', I told the boys!"  

We laughed.  I cursed and complained at him with jovial good humor.  He was like that, always...  full of practical jokes, silliness, fun and great humor.  He loved to put me in crazy and     sometimes embarrassing circumstances.  That was his way, and I thoroughly enjoyed the sport! He was among my very closest and most cherished friends.  He was in SweetHeart's and my wedding, and we were in his.  His wife -- we call her Joey -- was and is a treasure, and remains a great friend whose company we enjoy enormously. 

Pat died in April of this year, far too young, far too soon.  We were in the military together, and spent some 18 months stationed in Turkey.  We had great times and many adventures, loaded with mischief.  Late one evening, returning from our duties, our second shift in "Research and Development" in the Air Force Security Service, we "borrowed" one of the shuttle buses in order to get to the Airman's Club before closing time, but that was one of our tamer episodes. We raised lots of hell in Istanbul, drank way too much, traded in contraband, once were caught up in a minor revolution...  Pat enjoyed the time my feet were run over by a taxi cab outside a pavilion (an Istanbul night spot!).  What a sense of humor.  Far more than that, he had a gift for comedy, fun and wildly silly humor!!

He loved being of Irish descent; a DNA test proved him to be predominantly Irish. He and Joey, Steve and Andrea were able to visit Ireland, a trip he greatly enjoyed.  And there may even have been some pubs involved...  

Too many years passed that we did not see or interact regularly with one another on a personal level, but we did always manage to meet on occasion, to speak via telephone and trade nonsense. SweetHeart and I visited him in hospital during his final days, told stories, even sang one of his favorite tunes. He seemed to enjoy the occasion, at least we hope he did! 

Pat was -- like SweetHeart and other great friends still are -- a treasure in my life.  I loved him more than I ever told him, and wish I had done so.  I'll miss him every day.  But like the aftertaste of a favorite dish or a nut brown ale (or, these days, a Diet Pepsi Cola with a wedge of fresh lime), a memory will rise in my throat and move to my heart, and I'll savor, once again, his memory, our friendship and the times we spent together.   

Humbly Submitted, 05-23-18 -- Joel K.     

Adventures in the "Dining Car"... (Act One!)

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             Adventures in the "Dining Car"...   (Act One!) 

A StagePlay (sort of...)!

Scene:    A Dining Room Table Somewhere in the Midwest
Date and Time:    A Sunday Christians call Easter...   11:00AM

(Nine individuals are seated at table, parents, two grown daughters and a son-io-law.  They're enjoying a brunch consisting of eggs, griddlecakes, sausages, fruit, coffee and 

Apparently everyone left to use the
bathroom!  That's Uncle Fisbert on
the wall.  He was the Tenth Earl of
Something!

various juices, whipped topping and sugary additives to encourage the grandchildren to eat their griddlecakes and sausages...  The four kids / grandchildren, two each belonging to the two daughters, exit to play gleefully offstage, out of earshot, in the grandparents' suite!)

Baba (the grandmother):  "Children, we had some unpleasant news from our investment account manager this past Tuesday.  We're almost out of money."

Elder Daughter:  "Ohmygosh!  Are you serious?  What does that mean?  You're broke, penniless?  Darn near on the streets?! Is the guy a thief?!!"

Baba:  "No.  But, we definitely have to cut back on our spending, and we'll finally have to raise our upstairs tenant's rent."  I hate doing it, and I'm so afraid she'll become hurt and angry!  And, we have to find jobs, Dad

Where'd the money go??!!  Didn't we
used to have some money, somewhere
in, like, a bank or something??!!
Uh...  Where's that
retirement account??!

and me...  part-time jobs!  (I wonder if there are any of those six-figure, part-time CEO jobs available! Where'd I put those darn 'want-ads...'?)"

Papa (the grandfather):  "Sadly, that's the grim reality; we have to raise her rent, and as you know, we've only done so in small increments over the years.  But now we have to bring her rent up to what we know is fair market value.  What the hell, maybe we could just rob some liquor stores!...  Lotsa people are doing it!"  

Baba:  We went around the neighborhood asking people what their renters typically pay.  I was surprised how much they get for flats comparable to ours, and with no garage or parking space."

Younger Daughter:  "Holy shit!  I'm so sorry!"

Son-in-Law (elder daughter's husband):  "Damn!  That stinks.  I'm really sorry...  Hey! Maybe

you could sell weed!"

Younger Daughter:  "Or cannabis brownies and cakes.  Cops come around?  You tell 'em you didn't know it was in there...  you bought a mix!"

Elder Daughter:  "Yeah!  From a guy who came to the door selling stuff, raising money for his church...  the 'Temple of the Holy Daze.'  You'll make big money!  Do it!"

Papa (standing up on his chair):  "I'm practicing getting high...  for when we're in the Weed Trade."

Baba:  "Sit down, you idiot! At our age, it's really hard to find part-time work.  I've been looking, filling out applications like crazy!  People don't want to hire people of our age.  You'd think there's ageism going on in this country!?!"

Younger Daughter:  "Mom...  you make a funny joke?!!  It's rampant, pervasive.  (A beat...)  Why just the other day my friend and I knocked down an old geezer, snatched his wallet and gold retirement watch...  Kidding, of course...  I'm just making a little joke!"

Elder Daughter:   Just because you're a geezer, they treat you like vermin!! It's not right!  I'm calling AARP and demanding immediate action!!     

Papa:  "The country is obsessed with youth.  The little jerks!  People don't give a damn about us old baboons.  And, hey, how come young people get to spend so much money on stuff, like those pre-destroyed jeans?  Holes in the knees, no knees, rips and tears up and down the legs.  Where the hell do they get the money to buy that stuff.  I mean, it's nuts!  Pre-destroyed blue jeans for eighty bucks!  SweetieHeart, toss me one of those sausages.  (Puts it in his mouth like a cigar!)  Anybody got a light?"

Elder Daughter:  "Think you could rob banks?  Dad could put on a ski mask and talk like Groucho Marx."  

Hey!  I'm supposed to be driving!
Are we in England??  Are we
driving a Mini Scooper??!

Papa:  "The only gun we have around here is a squirt gun; it's broken and it's orange."  

Baba:  "Yesterday, I called the Department of Aging.  They don't even have a financial advisor. Only a credit
counselor! I mean, there must be hundreds, thousands of people like us who've lost their jobs, their income through no fault of their own.  Their only crime is being old and unemployable, disposable!  Where the heck are the advocates for the elderly, for people like us? "  

Younger Daughter:  "They've all become investment brokers....   Commercial bankers, maybe!"

Son-in-Law:  "Assholes!  Damned unconscionable jerk heads!!...  Are there any more of those cream-filled chocolate eggs?  (An aside:  Papa, I want you to know, we would never let you go hungry, or homeless.  I just want you and Baba not to have to worry, about anything!...  You may be geezers, but you're our geezers! Just wanted you to know. Go back to doing the dishes.")

Papa:  (An aside:  You're a sweet and wonderful guy, Son-In-Law.  Thank you! I mean that from the heart! Could you let me have $50.00 until my relief check comes in?!)

Son-inLaw:  Relief check??!

Elder Daughter:  "Think you could get into one of those private taxi services?  'Goober,' or something like that? 'Slobber Chews'? 'Elevator Wheels'?  Hey!  You could maybe walk dogs, or take in washing! Mending!  Betcha there are lotsa thing you two old ladies could do!  (She always called both her aging parents 'old ladies.')  Maybe write a book, or even a stage play about the trials and travails of penurious 'Old Lady-hood'?!"

Papa:  "Wait a minute!  Wasn't our orange-colored POTUS supposed to give us each $60,000 a year? Where's our 60-thou??!!  I'm calling the Treasury!... Maybe it was lost in the mails!" 


Next time:    Act Two!  The Geezers Consider a Paper Route...  and Other Options!!  

Humbly Submitted, 04-24-18 -- Joel K.

Next Question, Please: Your Religious Affiliation...?

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             "Next Question, Please:   Your Religious Affiliation?..."  

To borrow a phrase from that outstanding a cappella group, "Sweet Honey in the Rock," I'm tryin' to find a way to talk about religion...  I mean, without being judgmental or giving offense to anyone or any religious tradition...  Really! That's my goal! ("Sweet Honey..." found a beautiful, memorable way to "talk about Greed"!)

Back in the 1960s and 70s, long before the onset of his GeezerHood and mine, my brother proffered the opinion that edifices devoted to the practice of religion should be multi-functional.  He suggested, and I agree, that the monstrous if beautifully designed and adorned church and temple structures that seem only to be populated one day a week -- or so it seemed then and now -- represent a monumental waste. Why not build places of worship such that they can be used and enjoyed seven days a week? Suggested uses include meeting halls, daycare centers, community meeting places, rentable or lendable spaces for film screenings, party facilities, temporary safe refuges for people in peril, emergency shelters for the homeless and refugees...

There are some religious facilities that were or are designed to serve more than Saturday or Sunday religious observances, but too many stand mute and empty six days a week. But that's not the main theme of this writing.  (However I'm not sure I know what is??!!)

I've never been terribly keen on the practice of religion, meaning in a formal sense.  (Although I do possess a certain spirituality...) At some point in my early high school years, trudging slowly and reluctantly up the steps to the gigantic doors of an enormous church on a Sunday morning, a friend popped into view and asked, "Hey, going to church, or do you wanna go water skiing...?" Without a moment's hesitation, I threw myself into his dandy, two-door 1950s-something Chevy with moon hubcaps, and off we motored to Druid Lake.

Though Father Schmocklausen said the "fastest mass in the West," I had no interest in gambling on yet another possibly overly-long homily that would have put me into a near coma. At my own parish church, some 3 or 4 miles west of the holy edifice I had just quit, corpulent, magnificently be-jowled and ancient Monsignor Hooper's saintly tonnage resulted in  agonizingly slow movement, endless warbling of high mass altar prayers and creaky, cracking genuflecting in extreme slow-motion, irritating the hellfire out of the impatiently grumbling faithful!! A great many of us in any case!! That would have been my usual option, meaning

enduring the Hooper pageant, complete with mistaken full revolutions when his true aim was to face the congregation (vs. the altar!) and launch a wondrously falsetto, full warble into its pained, collective auditory organ! 

(Funny thing!  Ancient Msg. Hooper wouldn't let us kids use the new gymnasium building at our grade school. "We must keep it clean for visitors," he'd say! "Yeah, but isn't it supposed to be our gym to use to play hoops," we kids would retort.  "Don't be impertinent!" he'd holler...  Funny old business, that unusable gym...  Only Mrs. Beemish ever seemed to visit, and only because that's where she and Msg. Hooper frequently met to discuss the misbehavior of one or more of her seven or eight children!! However, the monsignor heaped praise upon her for eschewing sinful birth control!!)  

I believe the above image is that of
a Buddhist temple in Siam!
Mongolia maybe?...

I admire and respect all religious practices and traditions.  I really do! What I do not admire is the use of religion as a pretext for killing one another, that specious practice of calling upon the deity to help butcher legions of heavily armed members of one religion by hordes of weapon-wielding devotees of a different or opposing religion.  Oh! And where is god in that scenario??!! I may be naive, fatuous and dopey, but I always thought god called upon his "children" to get along with one another, to practice tolerance and charity, to succor* one another.  (*I believe I saw that word used in a biblical text, maybe the Torah and the Koran as well!!) 

I mean, "kill for Jesus...  butcher for Mohammed and Allah...  wack off a head for Vishnu or Buddha..." Those concepts seem terribly out of keeping with the true intent of religious teachings. But maybe I'm getting a bit off the track, here...  

My father was a Catholic; my mother practiced no religion, though her entire original nuclear family was of Jewish ethnicity, Ashkenazi to be precise.  My siblings and I were raised in the Catholic tradition.  My maternal grandmother flirted with a number of religions, her last being Christian Science. She had no aversion, however, to ordinary medicine, its practitioners and remedies...  pills and analgesics, doctors, nurses and shamans! I believe I last saw her at Mount Sinai Hospital in Milwaukee where she lost her battle with cancer.  

In my own experience, I eventually concluded that Catholicism was not for me. While in Turkey, in military service, I attended a Muslim service or two, and found it fascinating, perhaps owing in large measure to the beauty of Hagia ("Aya") Sofia, the Blue Mosque and other remarkable houses of Islamic worship scattered throughout Istanbul. I've also attended a Jewish temple service or two. At one point, I considered Unitarian Universalism. The minister (or maybe "presider"...  not sure what they call the person who runs the service!) delivered a homily that was truly delightful. He suggested that his religion was such a jumble of confusing ideas to many casual observers, opining that if an angry "clan" of some sort wanted to erect a symbol of protest on the lawn of the church building, they'd probably have to burn a Question Mark. He was very entertaining!  

The music of religious observance is another matter entirely. Wonderful stuff!  Gospel music,

chants, Easter litanies sung in Latin, cantors singing Jewish liturgical music, muslim music too. I remember sitting in nightclubs in Istanbul -- pavions we called them! --listening to mesmerizing songs and melodies, rich with lutes and flutes, guitars and mandolins. 

But back to recollections of amusing moments in religious service. In Iowa we attended mass at a small town church in which the celebrant stated, "The Lord is not male or female...  In fact he's both!!" At another service, the priest droned on for 30 solid minutes; the only thing that woke me from my snoozing was a mention of "milk clabbering."  I have no idea how clabbering milk connected to saintly personages, or angels, the deity, other models of Christian behavior! Lots of muffled snickering undulated among the congregants!  

As a youth I was asked to leave a Sunday service owing to excessive laughter and frivolity between a chum and myself, both of us so consumed with hilarity we couldn't contain our laughter even as we were being ushered from the church. It may well have been prompted by another of ancient jowly Monsignor Hooper's pirouettes and croaking warbles! I'm certainly not inferring that religion is inherently funny, but rather the flawed humans who populate religious service can and have made the most ridiculous pronouncements and suggestions. e.g.  The Iowa priest again  "...the prophet tied his ass to a tree and walked a hundred miles..."  Or was that part of a derisive joke made at the atheists' picnic?

As a child, I think I
called this a
Jazzubobble! It's
actually a chasuble!

A few of my favorite moments under the tutelage of Catholic school sisters:  Sister "Knuckles" Outregis dealt with misbehavior by pounding the spinal column with the middle knuckle of her devastating right hand. (I often wonder if she caused permanent damage to some of my unluckier classmates!) Sister "Heckler" blasted our little palms with her heavy wooden ruler.  Sister "Stretch" Borgia once threatened to smack me with a tennis racket. On balance, Sister Marie was the kind and loving principal. I was grateful to have her as my eighth grade teacher, or I might have abandoned Catholicism prior to that momentous high school decision.

And then there was high school.  Father "Pustule" paraded about the halls inflicting "necessary' discipline by swatting miscreants with his sawed-off golf club. Scholastic Mr. Night delivered open-handed slaps in the kisser...  I guess I'm not really talking about religion in any philosophical manner, but rather just rambling on about recollections, memories of some of the stranger moments in my Catholic schools adolescence era... the amusing side of religion and those ordained to preach, teach and punish. Lest one forget, we had to learn a litany of words describing liturgical apparel -- habits, surplices, chasubles, cassocks, inner and outer rasons, scapulars, cinctures, cowls... 

SweetHeart and I sent our children to CCD classes, but briefly. We couldn't quite embrace what the nuns and lay teachers were "selling" to our kids. Our younger daughter kept asking, "What's this ABCCD stuff? What does it mean and why do we hafta go?" We pulled them out and embarked on our own morality and spirituality instruction!   

In the end, thank goodness some of us emerged from religious education of the 1950s and 60s with our dual senses of emotional wellbeing and humor mostly intact.  And thank goodness many of us still have our guilt to hang onto, thanks to confession and its velvety-curtained booths, vigil lights, benediction, poor boxes, holy pictures, rosaries, incense diffusers, kneelers, rambling sermons and other forms of corporal punishment! But aren't we better, stronger individuals for the experience?!  I have to think about that one!!  

Humbly Submitted, 03-27-18 -- Joel K.   

  

With What We Are Endowed...

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             ...With What We Are Endowed!...

"Don't Take the Word of a Geezer or Just Any Old, Odd Passer-By...  It is Written!..."  According to prominent economists in this country, One (1) Percent of the wealthiest Americans own and control approximately 40% of the nation's wealth.  That's rather staggering information, unworthy of a democracy, and pretty damn sad, what?!

We -- the other 99% -- have often heard it said that anyone in this country can "pull her or himself up by her or his bootstraps and achieve enormous wealth and success."  What a load of crap, and who the hell even has bootstraps these days??!!  Imagine all of the factors that would have to coalesce to enable one to attain enormous wealth and financial success:   Inner Fire or Will to do so, Opportunities, a Grubstake or a Purposeful Start from a Wealthy Parent or Relative, Race and Skin Color, Environmental Factors, Particularly Effective Mentors and Role Models, Educational Opportunities...  This "bootstraps" thing -- meaning the silly notion that "anyone can attain big, giant piles of riches" -- is a thinly-disguised pretext for justifying the acquisition and maintenance of great wealth, power too, one can only surmise!  

At the risk of being labeled a Geezer Socialist, I'm guessing most of us don't really strive to amass great riches; we don't want the strain of it, the loss of anonymity, the prospect of relatives and strangers banging on our doors asking for loans or enormous monetary gifts, not to mention the needs and wants of mendicants, both individual and organizational!  Hell, I'm

Not every obscenely rich individual had piles of money bags
handed to him or her.  Consider this guy, um...  McCluck or
something...  He is or was self-made, I think.
You'd have to Giggle his CV to be sure!

not suggesting we don't all want financial security and reasonable comfort. Certainly we ALL do!! Many, probably most of us, would vote for mere economic comfort, vs. enormous great gobs of money glutting and bursting out of our mattresses, underground concrete shelter vaults, safety deposit boxes and offshore numbered bank accounts...  Oh, and bulging wallets that make it uncomfortable to sit, giant, stuffed purses that can make us stoop-shouldered!  

What I'm trying to convey is...  A tribute to the ordinary citizen, an homage to those who plod along in life doing their utmost to keep life and limb together, to keep their families and those in their care fed, clothed and sheltered!! We, the "99" should all give enormous thanks to ordinary people who, happily, still control some 60%!! (Hope that figure grows rather than diminishes!!)



Apologies -- This is just an aside:  We have to get big money the hell out of politics. All that money simply buys politicians, turns them into prostitutes (mostly of the male variety!) and breeds rampant mediocrity!! Imagine the talent that would emerge if candidates didn't have to be bought and paid for, but could actually devote real talent and desire to the task of serving the public (on that hard-to-imagine "even playing field"!!) That used to be the case...  consider Harry Truman, for example! The list of the poorest includes U.S. Grant, Harrison, Garfield...  even Tom Jefferson. Jefferson!... for pity sake!! He wasn't purchased by some rich Cocky brothers or greed-driven, power-nutzo corporate mogul dullards!   

Back to the subject at hand (at least I think we're headed there)! As individuals, all of us should be judged based solely on that with which we are endowed!  (For some reason I considered adding to the aforementioned "title line"...  "may the lord make us truly thankful!"...  borrowing either from a certain "Food Prayer" or the movie, Oliver!)  And, of course, how we use our talents and acquired skills and opportunities -- however modest or great they may be -- to maximum advantage, in order to serve our families and communities to the best of our separate, personal and individual abilities! Put another way, most of us do what we can, do the best we can, with what we have!!!

I'm of the opinion that each of us becomes her or his "composite self" -- probably on average by age 30 or 40, some younger some older -- based on the many elements or ingredients that inform and instruct our lives:  Parentage, Environment, Positive and Negative Role Models, Education, Educational and Economic Opportunities, Health, Travel, Experience -- both personal and work-related...

And look here...  When you enlist in the US Military,
they give you such beautifully tailored clothing!

Experience, I think, is huge, an enormous factor in personal development. Example:  I enlisted in a branch of the US Armed Services upon graduating from high school. It was one of the great learning experiences of my life. An OD Green-Clad "melting pot" into which all colors, races and religions were deposited chaotically. My various barracks mates, friends and fellow "GIs" throughout military service were Caucasians from every pocket of the country, African Americans, Asian Americans, Native Americans, Latino 
Americans... We co-existed; we got along, not always perfectly, but no one died violently in the process, and great, even lasting friendships were formed. (And we traveled!  Travel is an extraordinary teacher, an incomparable learning experience! Repetitive, yes, but it bears repeating!... Turkey, Italy, Germany, Morocco, Texas even...)   

Very early on in basic training, our chief sergeant / training instructor announced with absolute boldness and clarity, "There is no room for bigotry and racism in my squadron; I have zero tolerance for any behavior that isn't based in total equality..."  Imagine that kind of statement, that kind of attitude in the 1960s?! Sgt. Swellman was a model of fairness. He regarded and largely treated his recruits on the basis of that with which each was endowed... (Well, maybe with a few exceptions, like Airman Apple whom he made a "Road Guard"!

No one could hear his lisping, high-pitched voice announcing onrushing vehicles! Gratefully no one perished or was seriously injured!). Astonishing! I'll never forget the sergeant's words, and how he quickly forged a collective attitude and a code of acceptable behavior among a gaggle of highly disparate lunatics! How long those attitudes lasted following basic training is anyone's guess, but they prevailed, for the most part, during that period of time, that crucible of "Basic"!

I'd guess there could maybe be two among that original band of service brothers who might today be counted in the 1-percent of wealthiest Americans. Maybe not, but they seemed to be headed in that direction. (One of them had oil riches in his family -- a highly significant boost!) I wonder if they've retained some sense of equilibrium, fairness, a belief in equality. Some of the truly wealthy people I've known became (or already were) largely self-absorbed, self-important (with little or no justification), eventually devolving into the unutterably tedious. Too often those who've acquired and maintained great wealth lose their humor, the ability to poke fun at themselves, the thrill and excitement of "the journey." Not always, but too often!

On the positive side of things, those of us who continue to be mired in the struggle, who have retained a sense of fair play, equality, of fun and funny, and can still laugh at ourselves, our follies and flaws, are truly the lucky ones. We keep the wheels moving forward. We rule the earth (though the few would argue that assertion!); we steer the damn ship! We are interested and interesting! We continue to learn, to search and to explore... And many of us actually read! 

A Final Word:   Speaking of and Recalling Those Wonderful Days in Military Service, a Typical Conversation between a Career Officer and a "Non-Lifer"...  Mostly Accurate!    

The Major:  "Young airman, we think you could be officer material?!"
Recruit:   "Must you call me 'airman,' sir?  I feel as though I'm filled with helium."
The Major:  "Don't be impertinent!  We in the United States Air Force are always looking for exceptional young men for our officer corps!"

Recruit:  "I'm not sure, sir, that I'm ready to make such a long-term commitment. Perhaps I should remain an enlisted grunt."
The Major:  "Don't be an idiot, boy. Think of the benefits! The Officers' Club, better housing, enlisted tras...  I mean, enlisted men to shine your boots, refresh your drinks, salute you constantly and call you, 'Sir,' not to mention better food in the chow hall."
Recruit:  "And that's another thing, sir, 'chow hall'!  Such an unpleasant term for the dining facility."
The Major:  "Now see here!! I think you may be lacking in proper military bearing, young airman!  By the by, what time is it?"
Recruit:  "Um, I think it's about ten minutes past three in the afternoon, Sir."
The Major:  "What!!??  Sergeant, put this man on report. He hasn't learned how to announce the time in proper military fashion...  Silly, useless fellow... perhaps the stockade might be a better repository for this airhead, that is, airman!!..."
Recruit:  "Thank you Major, sir.  I've enjoyed our little chat."
The Major:  "Harrumph... (sputter, snort...). Oh, and sergeant, this man is out of uniform!  He's not wearing his bootstraps!!"          

Humbly submitted, 02-14-18 -- Joel K.

        

           

Identity... Nicknames... Noms de Plume, and Like That!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      Identity...  Nicknames...  Noms de Plume, and Like That!

As I gaze through the lens of hoary GeezerHood, that lofty pinnacle (or is it the nadir?) of life on this planet, I cannot help but ponder the complex concept of identity, that of those we know and encounter in our lives, and our own.  Masks? Do we ALL wear them? It's a puzzle, what? 

In my youth, I knew a kid who held the unenviable nickname, "Stinky."  I don't recall that he was surrounded perpetually by a repulsive odor, in fact I don't think that was the reason. Perhaps he fell into a sewer, you know, just once!  Maybe he collected stinkhorns!  I don't know, but the nickname stuck throughout elementary school, and what an awful stigma to have to carry. (I wonder if people still call him "Stinky"?!)

I suppose I digress a bit!  We all know the phrase, "re-inventing oneself." Not sure I know exactly what it means.  In fact, I don't know who the hell I am, most of the time. I think we all tend to identify ourselves in terms of the different phases of our lives. We're different individuals as children, as teens, young adults...  And what about mood swings?  Bi-polar disorder? Do they change who we are, how we've perceived and identified? Certainly "Bi-Polar" has to pin a name tag on the afflicted party!!   

And how about a specific identity that's attached to a person in a specific place he or she tends to frequent? A case in point, maybe not a perfect example, but perhaps kind of interesting...  Consider a telephone conversation in which an casual listener might think both

parties nuts, or brain disordered:

"Simon's Tap!"
"That you, Wa...? I mean..."
"It's me, Archie.  Who's this?"
"Um... it's me, J...  I mean...."
"Mario? That you?"
"Yeah.  How you doin' Archie?  'The Boy' around?"
"How's Bobby?"
"SweetHeart?"
"Yeah, Bobby.  How's she doin'?"
"She's doin' OK. Big Nick there today? TV Johnny? Oil Rag Ralph?..."

Maybe nicknames are not about identity or even real perceptions of personality or a consequence of re-invention! But we do tend to be identified and given different names by people based on how we present ourselves, our personality traits, talents, appearance, what we do for work! "Mario" rose out of my tendency to sing for the gang at the saloon. Don't know how "Bobby" evolved!

I've had conversations with scholarly individuals who insist we never really know who we are, how to self-identify or convey who we think we are to others. So many tend to identify people in terms of what they do, not who they actually are. We present different faces in the workplace, often very different from those we present to intimates -- family members and close friends -- away from our places of employment.

Email, texting, telephone conversations... they tend to identify people in ways that may be very much or entirely contrary to who we / they might actually be. I have an old friend who is, in most circumstances, bright and articulate, but his telephone manner made one think of a shorthand clerk with a particular dislike for anything longer than 10-seconds on a telephone:

[ Phone rings! (Longer than four rings and he's gone!) ]
"Doin?"
"Nuttin'."
"S'up? Jeetjet?"
"Nah, d'jou?"
"Jake's...  five!"
"Ten OK?"
"Got smokes?"
"Some."
"Bucks."
"Some."
"Bring."
(Bang! The end of it was always ear-pingingly loud!)

The conversation -- or whatever it was -- was always the same, no matter who was called.  I

This is not a good likeness
of Uncle Icky! Nor is the
top image a good depiction
of the laconic caller, but you
probably get the idea!

often wonder if he knew, or cared, who he was calling.  Probably didn't matter!  As long as someone showed up with money and smokes in the time allowed!

Long ago, some good friends lived upstairs from us.  The male part of the duo had a fondness for strong drink...  To be accurate, I guess we all did in those days. One afternoon or early evening, he stumbled in, climbed a few steps, stumbled back one or two, finally arrived at our open back door. "Hey," he slurred as he beamed a smile, eyes not quite focused, addressing the three of us, SweetHeart, our only child at the time and me.

Our little daughter, then just in infancy, perhaps nearing toddler stage, pointed at our friend with a certain degree of dramatic emphasis and said, "Ick." From that day to this, our friend is known affectionately as "Uncle Icky." We've had T-shirts made with the nickname emblazoned upon them.  I assure you, he wasn't chronically "icky" with strong spirits, and in fact is a very bright, well-informed and largely self-taught individual. There was, still is, about him a great deal of humor, sober or inebriated! He doesn't seem to mind the moniker, "Uncle Icky." I guess he'd of said something by now, three or four decades later!

Florence did not look like
"Mickey da Rat," but she
did have Red Hair!

Certain labels or so-called identities we hang on people are not at all kind, or fair, or accurate. At a major hotel at which I worked in the Seattle-Tacoma area, there was a salad chef we christened "Florence of Arabia." Why? When she was concocting her leafy, culinary masterworks, knives flashing and whirling, lettuces and vegetable matter flying about her head and upper torso as she worked...  I mean, it all looked like a vegetarian sandstorm! It's entirely possible she went from her job to an art studio, or maybe, avocationally, she knit socks, or volunteered as a counselor to people struggling with identity issues...

One more thing...  I think it's rather sad and unfortunate that people tend to identify certain individuals in terms of prominent physical characteristics, often unkindly so...

"That you, Biffy?  How ya doin'?"
"I'm OK. You?"
"Good, thanks!"
"Hey Biffy, I lost my address book. Can you give me Iggy Blotnik's phone number?"
"You mean the guy wid de ears?"
"Look, Biffy, it's true Iggy has noticeably large ears and elongated lobes, but he has many other, including some very admirable characteristics too. He's bright. He's knowledgable. He's a great conversationalist. Good hair and teeth. I mean, the guy's a well-known micro-biologist!!"
"You mean the guy wid dem ears!"
"Gimme the phone number, Biffy."

So who the hell are we, really? And how do we truly come to know one another? I mean, in a real and significant sense! Oh well...  I'm hoping I'll eventually figure out a point to all this foolishness! Hey! Maybe everyone in the nation ought to have a talk show or a reality program to let people know who we are! Wait! Here's a swell idea for a brand new television show:  "Who am I? Do I Know, or Do You?" I should call Doctor Phil, or somebody. On second thought, never mind...   It's all too obscure and indefinable!!

Humbly Submitted, January 18, 2018 -- Joel K.