Friday, July 30, 2010

OZARK MOUNTAIN SQUARE DANCING

OZARK MOUNTAIN SQUARE DANCING

Friday, July 23, 2010

IT WAS JUST AN OLD, CHEAP GUITAR



I was a baby boomer, class of ’52. And like all kids of that era grew up listening to musical giants such as Elvis Presley and other “Rock and Rollers”. But it wasn’t until the early 1960’s the desire to play guitarbecame an obsession. Maybe it was because my older brother, Tom, had. He was my hero and I wanted to be just like him.

In those days, playing a guitar was the fastest way to become “cool”. Tom was already popular and didn’t need any help there, so that additional skill was just icing on the cake. He was in a local band which was making a name for itself in our small southern community. Then, they hit the “big time”. A local TV show invited them to perform. It was called “The Slim Mims Show” or something similar, and aired about 5:30 am. It wasn’t the “Ed Sullivan Show”, but to me I couldn’t have been more impressed if they had been voted into the musicians “Hall of Fame”.

Unfortunately, since we were “military brats”, we never stayed in one place very long. I say unfortunate because the leader of their small group eventually ended up in Nashville playing with a famous female country and western singer.

Many was the time Tom had warned me not to touch his electric guitar. And I received many a pasting for not heeding his warnings. I had to learn how to play. Tom taught me a little, but never too much. Maybe he didn’t want any competition. Therefore, when I tired of getting thrashed, I realized I had to get my own. But I had no way to earn that kind of money.

It was about this time we moved to Glasgow Air Force Base in Montana. It was cold with deep snow drifts everywhere. Finally, here was a way for an enterprising young entrepreneur to earn some money.

I began shoveling snow out of driveways for fifty cents a pop. Since the snow was always deep there, it usually took at least an hour and a half to do one driveway. While I was talking to one of my customers, a nice elderly lady, I disclosed the reason I was working so hard…to buy that coveted guitar. She disappeared into her house and I resumed my labor. She reappeared a few minutes later holding an old cheap guitar. I dropped my shovel and quickly went to look at it.

It was an old acoustic, missing most of it’s’ strings, scratched, weather beaten and what most folks would call just downright ugly. But it wasn’t to me. It was the “Stradivarius” of guitars. The widow explained it had belonged to her husband and was about to sell it to a neighbors kid for $30.00. My heart sank. I had been shoveling snow all winter and had only made $27.00. She could see how much I wanted it and her heart melted. She sold it to me for $27.00.

I finished shoveling her driveway and scurried home with my treasure held high. I was in such a hurry I fell several times into snow banks but managed to keep the instrument high and dry.

Finally arriving home I proudly displayed the guitar to Mom and Brother Tom. Mom just shook her head, disappointed I would spend my hard earned money on “a piece of junk”. Tom just laughed at it. But I didn’t care. The guitar was mine.

I went to my room polished the guitar and refitted it with new strings. It didn’t look much better and didn’t even sound that good. However, it was mine and I was determined to learn how to play it. I had to, seeing as how hard I worked for it. I studied and practiced for hours on end getting blisters on my finger tips. In time, hard calluses developed, my hands became stronger and what sounded a little like music began to come from the old instrument.

Tom saw I was beginning to show promise and began teaching me. From that point on we became fairly decent musicians. My older sister became our vocalist and younger brother Mike had been learning to play drums. Naturally, we formed an impromptu group.

But, our sister got married, and Tom joined the Army and we moved to Southern California. That left Mike and me, who could now play guitar also. Not enough for a band. But hope springs eternal and we enlisted several friends who had attained a measure of success as beginner musicians and “rocked on”.

Like our teenage counterparts of today, we mainly just wanted to have fun and didn’t really want to work at it. But we did get a few small gigs at birthday parties, cookouts and such. Our routine consisted of about 30 tunes, mostly instrumental arrangements, since good vocalists were hard to find. We finally found a blonde haired boy, “Augie”, who could sing a few notes and we signed him on. He couldn’t play a guitar, but he was cool looking with his “shades” and surfer style attire. His “coolness” added certain flair to our image.

We had several six string electric guitars, a set of cheap “Remco” drums and several small amplifiers. It was with this equipment we were booked at a friends’ birthday party. We had performed for them once several weeks before.

The evening of our engagement arrived and we set up our meager assortment of equipment. Although Augie couldn’t play guitar, he grabbed one and “faked it” while singing. Unbeknownst to the audience we hadn’t plugged his guitar into an amplifier. Following our performance we received numerous comments on how much better our guitar playing sounded with Augie playing backup guitar. We hadn’t practiced for over a month, so how could we have gotten better? I guess image is everything.

Today, my two youngest brothers have also learned guitar. Tom, Mike and I, along with them, sometimes still get together for a “jam session”. But after years of practice we’re not the amateurs we once were. Not professionals either, but we do it for fun. And we no longer play with a cheap set of “Remco” drums or inexpensive equipment. As adults we now own all the equipment we dreamed of having as kids.

But somewhere out in my storage shed, sits a dusty, old, scratched weather beaten guitar. Maybe I’ll dig it out and polish it up. I have a great nephew who has expressed a strong interest in learning how to play one.

THE REAL AMERICAN WEST

THE REAL AMERICAN WEST

HOW TO WRITE A BETTER STORY

HOW TO WRITE A BETTER STORY

ARE YOU A PACK RAT?

ARE YOU A PACK RAT?

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"UNCLE BOB'S" 1921 MODEL "T" FORD

WHAT IS A PARATRANSIT OPERATOR?

WHAT IS A PARATRANSIT OPERATOR?

WHERE'S ALL THE HEROES?

WHERE'S ALL THE HEROES?

"MEADOR'S" OLD COUNTRY STORE

"MEADOR'S" OLD COUNTRY STORE

WE WERE GOING TO BE RICH AND FAMOUS !

WE WERE GOING TO BE RICH AND FAMOUS !

HOW STUPID DO YOU HAVE TO BE?

HOW STUPID DO YOU HAVE TO BE?

I WAS A 90 POUND WEAKLING

I WAS A 90 POUND WEAKLING



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ONE DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

ONE DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

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Thursday, July 22, 2010

A SAFE HAVEN FOR RESCUED ANIMALS



"FIRST HOPE" REHABILITATION CENTER OPENS IN VIRGINIA BEACH

My sister, Lisa, and her fiancé, J. L., are avid animal lovers and actively involved with several humane societies and rescue programs. In addition to holding regular jobs they donate their time and money to a rehabilitation and adoption center called “First Hope” in Virginia Beach, which opened March 1, 2010.

The “First Hope” shelter opened with a handful of volunteers and its’ primary role being to serve as a safe place of rest and recovery for dogs rescued by the local animal control authorities. This small, but efficient operation saw over 250 suffering animals rescuedduring the first six months of 2010... an amazing feat considering the size and scope of their present facility.

Upon arriving at First Hope animals receive medical care and are spayed or neutered. Medical care is provided by local retired veterinarians. Obedience training is also administered prior to being moved to an adoption center. Great pains are taken to ensure no animals are adopted until they are ready. Although the facility works mainly with dogs they provide aid to other animals. The number they can care for depends on volunteer availability and funding they can generate.

First Hope is an offshoot of several other local non-profit charitable enterprises such as, Hope for Life Rescue, Inc.,www.hopeforliferescue.com, and Pet Guardian Pet Service Inc.,www.petguardianpetservice.org. They and several other rescue groups are providing care and assistance as well as solutions to the serious problem of animal homelessness in their local and surrounding communities.

As a result of this and their affiliation with several other organizations, Lisa now owns four cats and two large dogs…all victims of natural disaster, abandonment or abuse. One was in desperate need of medical attention. On a recent visit to Lisa’s home, my first, I had the dubious pleasure of their acquaintance. They looked nothing like the pitiful “before” pictures she had showed me.

Lisa greeted me at her door while a host of various colored little noses poked their noses out from behind her. Her curious charges were by no means shy as one would expect considering the circumstances these animals had endured before being rescued.

Upon entering I was immediately besieged with a bevy of wagging tails, sniffing noses and probing furry paws. As I sat down on her sofa a contest ensued between them, each vying for my attention. I instantly noticed how healthy these animals were. They were happy, had shiny coats and highly energetic. They appeared in better health and smarter than pets I had owned.

By smarter, I mean as this story is being written, a multi-colored fluffy feline is perched on the back of my chair editing my copy. A black shiny cat is acting as “copy boy”, while the two dogs share kitchen duty. One, a large female German shepherd is brewing coffee and the other, a male black lab mix is taking pop tarts from the toaster. He’s not so smart. He forgot the napkins!

Sure, the last paragraph was a bit “cutesy” and an exaggeration, but it emphasizes their present hale and hearty condition compared to their former state. These are but a few examples the compassionate pair, coupled with assistance from friends and volunteers, has helped rescue.

Volunteers are the life blood of First Hope and their partners. And there is always a need for volunteers to spend 2-3 hours per week. Many soon find they are enjoying themselves at the shelters so much it’s difficult to Part Company with their new found furry friends.

Volunteer responsibilities include feeding, giving medication, playtime and walking dogs. Some like to work “hands on” with the animals while others prefer to use their talents in other ways such as fundraising or construction projects. There is only one prerequisite…a desire to help save a little life.

Most volunteers give selflessly not only of their time but contribute financially as well. Any amount is greatly appreciated. A few dollars purchases another bag of food.

Like most non-profit rescue groups their continued success depends on public support from people like you ! These organizations are run by dedicated, self-sacrificing volunteers. One hundred percent of all donated monies go directly to the care of rescued animals and not a cent is wasted.

If you would like more information on how you can make a difference contact Lisa:mailto:firsthopevolunteers@yahoo.com or one their sister organizations hyperlinked above.

TRUE CONFESSIONS OF A TAXI DRIVER





As retirement age swiftly approaches I look back at some of the many jobsI’ve held. Most I didn’t like, but like everybody else, you don’t always have a choice. One of my first was working after school at a cafeteria as a “soda jerk”… not a title you hear much anymore.

A quick listing of varied jobs I held would also include: Security officer, warehouse shipping and receiving, military service, factory poultry worker, photojournalist, route salesman, operating room technician, various truck and van driving jobs…and “cabby”. Actually I prefer “tactical transportation engineer”, but “taxi driver” will suffice. Anything but “cabby”.

I signed on with a “Yellow Cab” outfit in Oxnard, California shortly after separating from the Marine Corps in 1978. I learned quickly, jobs were hard to find in civilian life. I stuck it out for 6 months before I couldn’t stomach it anymore.

Driving a taxi would not have been my first choice of professional pursuits, but all the positions at M.I.T. were already taken. To say the least, it wasn’t what I imagined it would be. Like most uninitiated drivers I thought it would be easy and simple. Pick up your fare, take them to their destination, take their money and drop them off.

Not quite that simple. First, I was assigned to night shift. Day shifts were reserved for women drivers as night driving was considered too dangerous. What happened to equal pay for equal work? Not that I’m a male chauvinist but I could be robbed, beaten, or worse as easily as the next person.

Yes, night operators contended with more difficult situations than their day counterparts. In the light of day life in the city seemed the picture of normalcy. But after sunset the situation changed drastically. It seemed as if every nut and kook in town came out. I guess some forms of life avoid daylight.




EVERY NUT IN TOWN

Anyway for the first several weeks I believed I was the only sane person left in town. The first problem to overcome was the language barrier. This was southern California with a largeHispanic population. Although, I had taken Spanish in junior high school, much of what I’d learned was forgotten after taking German. But I could still usually decipher addresses and sometimes get the general gist of a conversation.

This became a problem because my heritage included some Portuguese and Indian. Apparently, people tended to think I was fluent in Spanish. Hispanic passengers would get in my cab and immediately start a conversation in Spanish not giving me an opportunity to get a word in edgewise for several minutes. It always surprised them when discovering I hadn’t understood a word.



DIDN'T UNDERSTAND A WORD

One elderly lady talked the entire trip before finding out I didn’t understand. She became extremely upset. I was able to gather she thought it terrible younger generations were no longer learning their native language and customs. No tip was forthcoming from that fare.

Fortunately, I was never robbed, but I knew other drivers who had…and one who pretended to have been. This genius knocked himself in the head with a tire iron, and then locked himself in the trunk. Unfortunately, it took much longer than he had anticipated for someone to find him. It was twelve hours before police found him. He spent a much longer time in jail.

Sometimes, public opinion can turn on an entire company. One female citizen reported she had been raped by a Yellow Cab driver. It was later discovered the charge was false. But by then the damage had been done. People on the street would throw rocks, or whatever happened to be handy, at passing cabs. My vehicle was the target of a well aimed balloon filled with mud. It struck my windshield and blinded my vision. Obviously, the irate citizen hadn’t considered the possibility of passengers. I had a young woman and her infant child on board.

Then there were the usual lineup of other characters like those who ran off without paying. Drivers had to pay those fares since they were registered on the meter. Next were the drunks who vomited in the back seat and women who changed their baby’s diaper…and left it. And of course, the occasional gay person who made a pass at you or having a “lover’s spat” with their partner right out in front of God and everybody. You never really knew what to expect.

There were busy nights and some extremely slow. It always got a little busier when a Merchant Marine ship arrived in port. Those boys had a pocket full of cash and ready to party. However, the most profitable nights were those when fog shut down the local airport. Travelers were forced to take a taxi to meet their connecting flight at Los Angeles International Airport, about a 150 mile trip. That took the majority of a shift to complete. One trip usually paid more than you would normally make on a regular shift.

Another scenario included mentally ill persons released prematurely. I’ll leave that one to your imagination. Fortunately, unlike what you’ve seen on TV, I never had to deliver a baby. However, given enough time on the job I’m sure it would’ve happened.

Speaking of television programs, like “Taxi”, life as a taxi driver isn’t as it's portrayed on the show. Watching that sitcom gives the impression most of a drivers’ time is spent hanging around the company lounge playing cards or discussing life’s problems with the dispatcher. I don’t know how other cab companies handle their payroll, but I worked on commission and tips. No fares, no paycheck.

I only spent 6 months at this profession before deciding there had to be a better way to make a living. I quit after the dispatcher insisted I drive the only vehicle left on the lot which I determined to be unsafe. And doing that short time, I gathered enough material to write a book, but this will suffice for now.

And if you thought this was funny, you'll love these!

http://hubpages.com/hub/A-CASE-OF-BLIND-JUSTICE

http://hubpages.com/hub/DISCOVERING-THE-TRUE-MEANING-OF-LIFE-STUFF-HAPPENS

http://hubpages.com/hub/GRANDFATHER-AND-THE-BEAR

http://hubpages.com/hub/THE-CREATURE-IN-THE-GARDEN