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Baseball with Jim and Bobby (A Dream I had Last Night)

Every day, the ice cream truck would come down my street and I would meet it at the corner where it would park. There would always be a few kids there, but I never really took much notice. In my dream, this seemed to be my daily routine. I would climb in the truck to find the same scene every day. Inside this tiny little piece of crap ice cream truck was a spacious old bar, or, a better description would be one of those old soda fountain places like they used to have in the old days (like Ashe’s on the corner of Detroit Avenue and Fearing in my old neighborhood in Toledo). Inside this very cool and dimly lighted ice cream truck, the scene was always the same each day with Jim Leyland (manager of the Detroit Tigers) sitting behind they counter on a stool next to the old fashioned cash register and Bobby Cox (recently retired manager of the Atlanta Braves) sitting on a bench. Bobby would always be sitting on the bench, near the window where he gave out ice cream, in the same manner that he did for every Braves game for the past two decades.

I would spend each evening watching the baseball game, or listening to one on the AM-FM radio, with Jim and Bobby, smoking and drinking beer. Sometimes I would chew tobacco instead, like Bobby does, for camaraderie on those particular days where the game of the  night was a Braves game. There was never any discussion of any matter besides baseball, and very little of that. The only dialogue was a smattering of curses here and there or quick comments about a play or player performance. It was always about the game and never any small talk. It was perfect.

The only significant event I recall was one evening some kids came to the truck and Bobby got up to get them ice cream. There was a debate that ensued when one of the parents griped about the price of a bomb pop. Bobby told the guy he didn’t really give a shit if he bought the bomb pop or not and that he should hurry up because he was missing the game. He went on to tell the dad that he could shove the bomb pop up his ass for all he cared. That was when an umpire walked up and told us we were “oughta here!” So, we had to drive the truck to a different neighborhood that evening.

One evening, just like all the others, I met the truck and sat down at my usual seat at the bar across from Jim as he filled me a beer from the tap without even taking his eyes off the TV and barely a greeting- as was always the case. For some reason, this evening I dropped a dollar, two dimes and a nickel into the cash drawer that happened to be open.   I sat down and for the first time took notice of the old freezers with all the ice cream in them. I asked “are the screwballs the ones with the gum in them?” to which Jim replied, somewhat annoyed, “I don’t fuckin’ know… Bobby? Do screwballs have fuckin’ gum in ‘em?” to which Bobby replied, “yep”.

I thought that sounded pretty good for some reason and asked “how much are they?” to which Bobby replied “shit, you can get about a hundred of ‘em for a dollar” without looking at me. “Really? are you exaggerating?” “No, I’m not exaggerating”, he replied with a hint of irritation at having to talk about business. “Cool, I’ll take a hundred of ‘em” and then after further thought asked “can I get a hundred and twenty five since I put a buck and a quarter in the register?”

Everything suddenly changed with this question. They both looked at me with disappointment as I realized the improbability of my surreal setting for the first time. The magic was gone and I woke up.

So, I suppose the message here is never ruin a good thing by asking too many questions, getting greedy or making more out of it than it needs to be. Just enjoy the simplicity, the little things in life, and be happy with what you got.

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Hyman Rickover: US Naval Post Graduate School Address (1954)

Address delivered to US Naval Post Graduate School (16 March 1954)

Some of the ideas I try to get across to the people who work for me are the following:

1. More than ambition, more than ability, it is rules that limit contribution; rules are the lowest common denominator of human behavior. They are a substitute for rational thought.

2. Sit down before fact with an open mind. Be prepared to give up every preconceived notion. Follow humbly wherever and to whatever abyss Nature leads, or you learn nothing. Don’t push out figures when facts are going in the opposite direction.

3. Free discussion requires an atmosphere unembarrassed by any suggestion of authority or even respect. If a subordinate always agrees with his superior he is a useless part of the organization. In this connection there is a story of Admiral Sims when he was on duty in London in World War I. He called a conscientious hard-working officer in to him to explain why he was dissatisfied with the officer’s work. The officer blushed and stammered when Sims pointed out that in all the time they had been working together the officer had never once disagreed with Sims.

4. All men are by nature conservative but conservatism in the military profession is a source of danger to the country. One must be ready to change his line sharply and suddenly, with no concern for the prejudices and memories of what was yesterday. To rest upon formula is a slumber that, prolonged, means death.

5. Success teaches us nothing; only failure teaches.

6. Do not regard loyalty as a personal matter. A greater loyalty is one to the Navy or to the Country. When you know you are absolutely right, and when you are unable to do anything about it, complete military subordination to rules becomes a form of cowardice.

7. To doubt one’s own first principles is the mark of a civilized man. Don’t defend past actions; what is right today may be wrong tomorrow. Don’t be consistent; consistency is the refuge of fools.

8. Thoughts arising from practical experience may be a bridle or a spur.

9. Optimism and stupidity are nearly synonymous.

10. Avoid over-coordination. We have all observed months-long delays caused by an effort to bring all activities into complete agreement with a proposed policy or procedure. While the coordinating machinery is slowly grinding away, the original purpose is often lost. The essence of the proposals is being worn down as the persons most concerned impatiently await the decision. The process has been aptly called coordinating to death.

11. A system under which it takes three men to check what one is doing is not control; it is systematic strangulation.

12. A man, by working 24 hours a day, could multiply himself 3 times. To multiply himself more than 3 times the only recourse is to train others to take over some of his work.

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Kings Bay (1992)

Graceful warning

Wings beat the cold air furiously to lift its potential grace

Into the night amidst the din

Constellations of lighted craft

Mirror the night sky

In wondrous paradox

Watching in envy

A trio of dolphin glide silently

Awakening desires of freedom within…

Author: John Barber

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My Girl (Blue Ribbon)

I met my girl when she was just that, a girl. It was love at first sight at an age when every young boy thinks so. In my case it was true and I knew so.

My girl was my best friend at a time in life when your best friends were supposed to be boys. I had many great friends; she was the best though.

I had to leave my girl when I was at an age when it was okay to leave a girl and set out in life. She was to be just a phase and I was to move on in life, to find the right girl later, when I was at a more appropriate age to do so. This was the way you were supposed to live life. It was true. She was just a phase; the phase of my life that will be the one between the day I met her and the day I died.

I knew the moment I had to leave her that we were meant to be together. It was both a moment of my deepest regret and yet of perfect clarity and certainty. I knew that we would be together forever.

My girl missed me and remained devoted to me at a time when others pressured her to move on. I was “gone and would not be back”, they would say. Many stood poised for the fade of this ephemeral pair.

The day I received news that I was to be a father is when I knew my wish was fulfilled and our life together was inevitable.

We were married without fanfare or sanction. The standard support of newlyweds was absent at a time when this support is more necessary than ever. “You are ruining your lives” was the buzz. Our quiet and private ceremony together in the azalea gardens was without consent by any other, only each other with the necessary witness by another human being and a piece of paper as a record . No need for holy blessing, as our unity was the most sanctified rite that could ever occur. We were wed in a manner that preceded any religion by millennia, with a cosmic welcoming of nature into her beautiful chaotic perfection.

My girl became the mother of my children at an age when it was too early to do so in today’s day and age. You were supposed to find yourself first and wait for the most appropriate financial time. What they didn’t understand was the fact that we had found ourselves in finding each other. While others were continuing their search, we were busy raising our children and living our lives that had already started.

My girl gave life to our children and cared for them without reading books by experts and expensive and trendy child raising gear. She just did it, as if she knew these things all her life. A more loving and nurturing mother will not be found.

We lived our lives and raised our children as our marriage thrived while other marriages sanctioned by God and Banks saw their omega or filed for bankruptcy. They failed because no myth can certify true love and no amount of money can buy contentment. Our union was perfect in its simplicity; as natural as circadian rhythms and the cycle of the lunar tides.

My girl is still my girl. Our children have grown now into the most wonderful human beings. They were nurtured throughout their lives and in the process gained confidence, wisdom, wit and compassion. They will succeed in life because they were loved, nurtured, challenged and trusted throughout their childhood. They will succeed as children of those who “found themselves” first are just being born. They always came first.

They will succeed because my girl gave them each a blue ribbon.

Author: John Barber

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Seven Words I Despise

Seven words I despise- “Well that’s just the way it is”. Our society has evolved to a point that when something is simple, easy, or works, it must be made complicated or inefficient to justify certain peoples existence. Lawyers, brokers etc… I say we get back to basics; make deals with handshakes, stop obsessing about safety. Make words and honor matter again. Watch a John Wayne movie to see what I’m talking about…

Not being one to point out problems without proposing a solution, I offer this:

We save money, but, do we save time? I have, in my recent years, started a time bank. I keep track of the time wasting activities that I avoid and then later, do something I enjoy with that time. I will have a glass of wine and watch a dragonfly from my back porch with the time I saved by not standing in a line the week before. Have you ever really observed a dragonfly? Just an example.

So, if you are at your scheduled appointment on time and the doctor is late in seeing you, get up and leave. If the cable company is late, call them and cancel and switch companies. If there is a long line for a restaurant, go somewhere else. If you are stuck on hold, hang up. If a solicitor comes to your door, be firm immediately and ask them to leave, every minute counts, do not let them continue their pitch at your expense. Is there another bullshit meeting scheduled that is only for the sake of justifying someones job, or to blather on about nothing and resolve no problems? Skip it. Blow it off and tell them so. Are you stuck making small talk with some idiot who is only interested in hearing their own voice? Walk away while they are in mid sentence.

Believe me, if we all start doing this, people will get the picture. It might take some risk and we might need to do without certain things in the short term, but, the payoff is worth it when you are getting in that extra hour of surfing, an afternoon nap, a walk with your loved one, an hour conversation with an old friend, a game of catch with your kid or game of fetch with your dog (remember, our dogs won’t be around forever).

Think about it….

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In Memory of Dad

At the waters edge,

new life is being spawned this day

Each wave a new noise; new crests of individuality arise

within the mass below the fresh horizon

My own tears— a part of this

My own fears— depart from this

Distance growing every moment as I write, yet,

The laughter of the present memories holds you near

I see my permanence stretch out to greet the wave before it hits the shore—

Reminding me of the long journey that I have undertaken—

most of which is done

Waves pass by the rocks— tickling each

and filling crevices with wonder without knowing

each caress will take its toll

It is time for my rest

It is time for my peace to walk with awe to finish my journey

Not alone, as I had thought, but, with the fondness of my friends

Which I will bring along….

James J. Barber

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The 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence

Five signers were captured by the British as traitors and tortured before they died.
Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned.
Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army; another had two sons captured.
Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War.

They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.

What kind of men were they?

Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists.
Eleven were merchants,
Nine were farmers and large plantation owners;men of means, well educated, but they signed the Declaration of Independence
knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.

Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts, and died in rags.

Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly.
He served in the Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him,and poverty was his reward.

Vandals or soldiers looted the properties of Dillery, Hall, Clymer,Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton.

At the battle of Yorktown , Thomas Nelson, Jr., noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson
home for his headquarters. He quietly urged General George Washington to open fire. The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.

Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months.

John Hart was driven from his wife’s bedside as she was dying. Their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and his gristmill were laid to waste. For more than a year he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished.

Freedom is never free

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Well Said…..

“Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones. I am not afraid.” Marcus Aurelius

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You Cannot Gripe About Looming Socialism if you are Receiving Money You Did not Earn

I am aggravated with people who protest about the government being the source of their problems when the root of most problems is a result of a severe lack of personal responsibility. It is an unrealistic expectation from most in our society that you deserve a large house, an Escalade, a boat, and that all your children should go to college. Stop expecting something for nothing.  Do a reality check; if you live beyond your means then it is a problem that you created for yourself. Here is how it works- if you borrow money; you pay it back. If you don’t like the terms of the loan; you shouldn’t have borrowed in the first place. It is not my responsibility to help bail you out with my tax dollars. If you bought a house on a gimmick loan that you really could not afford; it is not MY problem. Deal with it.

I look around and see that the people that are making money are overpaid unskilled labor overly protected by unions while skilled people do not have the salary equivalent to their abilities. We are not a merit based society any more. When used car dealers, assembly line workers, and entertainers have a higher quality of life (monetarily) than a school teacher, scientist, farmer, soldier, or skilled craftsman; something is wrong. Also, if you make six-figures and it takes you five minutes to describe what you do, you are probably overpaid.

Health care is a problem because insurance costs have skyrocketed due to people seeking medical attention for trivial ailments and cosmetic operations. They want insurance to pay for breast implants, sex changes, teeth whitening, and Viagra. Guess what? If you are sixty-five years old, nature did not intend for you to have a hard-on every day. You are too old to raise children, which is nature’s reason for sexual intercourse in the first place. Many grandmothers and great-grandmothers lived happily with small boobs. You don’t need to take your kid to the emergency room every time he/she gets a fever.

GM could survive if ALL the employees (including the CEO of course) worked for less. If the guy who bolts alternators onto a hundred cars per day was willing to sell his boat and work for a salary equivalent to his skill level, then maybe, just maybe they could keep their jobs. If the CEO who thinks he deserves millions of dollars for doing a really crappy job (face it, you drove GM into the ground for crying out loud- I could do THAT) took a salary more proportional to his ability, GM might survive. Who thought it would be a great idea to put money into building more Hummers and other V8 models while ignoring the obviously pending fuel crisis and not applying proven methods that the Japanese have obviously figured out? Germany and Japan still value craftsmanship. Americans, in general, do not anymore. Americans today like things cheap and disposable. We go to Walmart and IKEA that sell cheap disposable shit. Why? We want stuff NOW. We are unwilling to SAVE for something that is quality and lasting. We complain about “big box” stores that put small companies out of business but let it happen because we are too lazy to drive five more minutes or pay an extra couple bucks for a product of higher value with better customer service.

“Buy American” is NOT American. Capitalism and the best craftsmanship is American. Telling everyone to buy an inferior product is closer to…guess what? Socialism. Where will that get us? Remember the Soviet Union had essentially two cars, the VAZ, for everyone and the Zil for the high level government “elite”. Do you see any of those imported here and on the road? No, you don’t because they are crap. They are what GM will produce if the government controls it and we continue to tell people to buy it because it is “patriotic”. Let’s get America back on top the RIGHT way….by earning it.

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Here’s to the Crazy Ones

Here’s to the crazy ones.
The misfits. The rebels.
The troublemakers. The round
pegs in the square holes – the
ones who see things differently.
They’re not fond of rules and
they have no respect for
the status quo. You can praise
them, disagree with them,
quote them, disbelieve them,
glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing that you
can’t do is ignore them.
Because they change things.
- Jack Kerouac

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Electricity for your TV: You Might Want to Understand Where It Comes From

            People have remained uneducated about nuclear energy for too long. Americans are limiting their educational resources to movies and television more and more, and less and less to books. Contrary to most movies and television shows, reactors are not nuclear weapons and do not explode. Contrary to what many in the mainstream media say, wind generators and solar cell panels cannot power a major city. Just take a look at the distribution of nuclear power plants in our country in relation to major metropolitan areas. If you live in one of these areas, you are most likely enjoying energy supplied by a nuclear reactor at an affordable rate.   If you do the math and compare the Megawatt (MW) demand to what the various types of energy sources provide, you will see the problem. So, unless you want to see 45,000 windmills littering your landscape instead of trees, you might reconsider the benefit of that little nuclear power plant you drive by every day and fail to notice. ( for example- San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant on the coast of southern California, or quiet Davis Besse in Sandusky on your way to Cedar Point). Oh, and by the way, that is water vapor coming from those cooling towers, the same chemicals that are in clouds. Yes, clouds.

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The Streetlight

The warm nights of August spoke in throbbing tones of locusts and muted train whistles. On those nights, I would watch the night push the remaining red of the day into the horizon. I could see my nemesis glowing too brightly; an intrusion on the placid scene that nature was painting. I watched with my face pressed to the window screen. The metallic smell of that screen remains weaved into the sensory fabric of my memory of those summer nights. I would kneel in my pajamas with my elbows on the window sill watching the rest of the kids in the neighborhood, the older kids; continue the evening games without me while my nemesis lighted the scene as if to taunt me further. I hated that streetlight.

The streetlight; it was a siren to moths, invader of darkness and blotter of stars. Its light marred the summer scene from my window. It brought the end to each summer day.

I tried everything. I litigated that it wasn’t on yet by pointing out that it was still flickering or was not fully bright yet. I even broke the bulb with rocks on several occasions. I looked for the cord to unplug it. Despite my best efforts, it always won. It had colleagues that shone brighter when its bulb was broken. Some nights it would hum but not flicker or, it would glow very dimly; as if to get my hopes up but then dash them with a sudden explosion of light. Some nights I would attempt to defy it by continuing to play in its light. It wouldn’t last long. Someone would always notice and say “Johnny, the streetlights on” or worse, the inevitable whistle. Every kid in the neighborhood knew my mom’s whistle. It was the really loud, two-fingers-in-the-mouth whistle that typically only men can do. You could hear it ten blocks away. I think everyone in South Toledo knew the sound of my mom’s whistle. Strangers would come out of their homes to tell me that my mom was calling and I had to go home. If I was indoors somewhere, Orris Tabner would interrupt his sportscast on channel 11 to tell me my Mom was calling me. It was legendary. My friends were so impressed with how loud my Mom could whistle. I was too; but I still dreaded hearing it.

I know I was only seven, but I was a night person. I would play kickball, kick-the-can, five dollars, chase, hide-and-seek or smear-the-queer until midnight if you let me. Every moment was precious at this time of year. The locusts and lightning bugs collaborated to remind you that it was August. Summer was ending and school was fast approaching.

Summer: Summer was the taste of rhubarb poached from a neighbor’s yard. Nobody actually liked rhubarb, it was just cool to pick something in the wild and eat it. It was sliced garden tomatoes at dinner; red Kool-Aid, a melting Bomb-Pop (the white part was my favorite). It was the distinct sound a ripe walnut made as it hit the side of a car, the ping a dodgeball made as it bounced off of someone’s face, the underwater kerthud of a well executed cannonball, and the ice cream truck’s jingle (ours was the “Do You Know the Muffin Man” song). It was the smell of a fresh evening rain on hot blacktop and of freshly cut grass; the feel of cool dirt in your hands and cool sheets on your bed; hot sand underfoot and the smooth coolness of a dive into the pool. Summer was the sight of mulberry stains on shirts, grass stains on jeans and dirt everywhere else. It was the scene of bats doing skillful airborne maneuvers as they resumed their war on bugs each night and evening shows of wheelie riding and garbage can jumping by all of us adolescent Evel Knievels.

It was also the sight of that damned streetlight; my daily reminder that it wouldn’t last forever.

Author: John Barber

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Stop Shark Finning

This article is taken from http://www.seashepherd.org/longline/longline_shark_finning.html
I couldn’t say it better.
Human beings are skilled at justification. Every year humans slaughter over 100 million sharks yet we depict them as vicious and blood-thirsty killers.
No more than 12 people a year are killed by sharks worldwide. In fact is more dangerous to play golf than to swim in the ocean with sharks. More golfers are struck by lightning and killed each year than the total number of shark fatalities. Many more humans are struck and killed by boats every year than are attacked by sharks.
Yes, we also kill them for their teeth and jaws, and we kill them for shark leather for shoes and belts. We slaughter them for shark liver oil and for shark cartilage for pseudo cancer cures. Sharks are used in cosmetics, skin care products and in medicines.
We kill sharks because of our fear of them, for food, for sport, and most disturbing of all – so that some of us can make a tasteless, expensive soup to impress our family and friends.
It is the mass slaughter of sharks on longlines and in nets for the sole purpose of taking their fins that is responsible for the incredibly diminished shark population around the world.
The fins are highly prized. The fishermen catch the sharks and slice off the fins, unmindful whether the shark is alive or not. The bodies, most of them still alive, are tossed back into the sea to bleed to death or to be attacked by other sharks or fish.
Sharks are Endangered
Over 8,000 tons of shark fins are processed each year. The fins only amount to 4% of a shark’s bodyweight. This means that some 200,000 tons of shark are thrown back into the sea and discarded.
Already 18 species of sharks have been listed as endangered by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature. Shark Fin Soup – for what?
The fins are dried, stacked, and sold, mostly illegally. The buyers extract the collagen fibers, clean them, and process them into “shark fin soup.”
This soup has no flavor and absolutely no nutritional value. It is a dish served only for prestige purposes, selling for anywhere from US$50.00 to US$400.00 per bowl.
The demand for shark fin soup has developed since 1985 and coincides with the rapid growth of the Chinese economy. The demand from China is for staggering amounts of shark fins. As a result, the oceans are literally being scoured clean of sharks. Poachers are invading national marine parks like the Galapagos Islands in Ecuador and Cocos Island in Costa Rica to catch sharks. Forget the fictional fear spawned by Steven Spielberg’s ridiculous film Jaws. The oceans are no longer safe for sharks. And the horror is that we don’t just kill them, we hack off their limbs and toss their mutilated bodies back into the sea to die an agonizing and horrific death.
Sea Shepherd Singapore has been educating the public for the last several years about the devastating effect that the Asian culture’s use of shark fin soup is having on shark populations. Grant Pereira, Sea Shepherd Singapore representative and SSCS Advisory Board member, has overseen the production of a series of striking postcards and is marketing them widely with the objective of stopping this useless, wasteful, and cruel so-called “tradition.”
Why Should We Care About Sharks?
We should care because sharks are valued citizens of oceanic eco-systems. They are both predators and scavengers, and these roles they play contribute to eliminating diseased and genetically-defective animals and help to stabilize fish populations.
We do not know enough about marine ecology to understand what the impact of this incredible onslaught of shark deaths will bring about. There will be consequences.
Life in our oceans has been seriously disrupted. With shark populations reduced from 70% in some species to up to 95% in other species, the consequences are extremely serious.
For example, removing sharks will increase octopus populations resulting in greater predation on lobsters by octopus. This was the very reason that the spiny lobster fishery collapsed in Tasmania.
One of the things we forget is that sharks differ from other fish. They do not lay thousands or millions of eggs. Many sharks take up to fifteen years to reach maturity and then produce only one shark pup per year. Such a fragile and slow reproduction rate means that their populations may never recover from the damage we have already inflicted.
Sharks Need Our Protection
The position of Sea Shepherd Conservation Society is that no sharks should be killed and should be given complete global protection under law. Sea Shepherd has long fought the practice of longlining and regularly confiscates illegal killer lines (and nets) from the oceans.
Protecting sharks is a more difficult job than protecting dolphins or seals. From the point of view of public relations, seals are cute and dolphins have that lovely natural smile. The shark, in contrast, shows its teeth and, hence, they look menacing.
However, dolphin lovers should know that fishermen kill and cut up dolphins for shark bait for their longline hooks.
As conservationists, we must recognize the value of the interdependence of all species in the oceans and that the shark is an important part of the diversity of marine ecological eco-systems.
We must oppose the cultural practice of consuming shark fin soup, and we must discourage the consumption of sharks for cosmetics and for trinkets. Most importantly, we must educate the general public that sharks are not the vicious, “cold-blooded” creatures many people believe they are.
We need not peer into the dark depths of the sea to see the monstrous creatures that maim and kill by the millions – we need only look into a mirror.

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My Grandfathers

I awoke this morning thinking about my grandfather, Ray. I realized that I never appreciated him fully. After all, despite not being blood related as he was my father’s step-father, he was the only grandfather on my dad’s side that I knew. I grew up with him in my life. I remember those times when Jamie and I would stay the night there. Even at a young age I was proud of him, not really sure why, when I would hear him go to work very early in the morning when it was still dark. Maybe this was my early recognition of a work ethic; as a child I was impressed that someone could get going so early in the morning.

I remember his wit. Grandma would do most of the talking, but I would watch, listen, and wait for Gramp to pitch in his quick-witted comment, usually a jibe at something grandma was talking about. Grandma usually gossiped. Gramp never judged. It seemed more important to him to get the quick snicker, not really interested in the subject of conversation. I liked that and appreciated it, even at a young age. This is the same appreciation I had for Great-Gramp Schlender and Pa. All were of few words, but when they did speak or joke, you listened intently so as not to miss anything. Their words were golden to me.

Later, as I grew older, I think I was one of few to truly appreciate Pa. Most thought he was serious when he was joking. It was a dry wit. I always sensed and understood it.

They all had one thing in common; they did not talk about themselves or brag. They were all quietly confident. They never got dramatic or shared in the gossip of others. Ironically, many of the second generation spoke highly of them but never really understood them or seemed to learn from them.

Pa was more like a celebrity to my sister and I. We were with Gramma much of the time, but Pa was usually working, golfing or at the country club. I remember jumping out of the pool at the country club when he would drop by to see Gramma and us after a golf match or on his way back to the store. It was always a highlight. At dinner, he knew what every vegetable was good for; carrots for eyesight, lima beans made you run faster, corn for super hearing- all attributes appealing to a young kid in an effort to fool us into eating them. It was much more effective than discussing free radicals, healthy prostates and osteoporosis.

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