Four generations of Sullivans have now lived in Forest Hills, Pennsylvania. They presently include son Bruce, wife Pattie, and two grandchildren, Shannon & Kyle. Before their arrival, Mom & Dad, my two brothers , Jim and Tom , and me, once resided there also.
If you throw in Frank Smith, my grandfather, who resided with our mom & dad briefly, that makes 5 generations.
A December, 2008 Pew Research Center survey found that 56% of U.S born adults have not lived outside their birth state, and of the 37% who have stayed in their hometown, 74% said the main reason was to be near their family.
It is true that a lot of the "moving around" we see in our country has had to do with the corporate motto: "To be promotable - Is to be mobile." But, in reality, not all of the exodus was that complex. Some of us just couldn't pay the rent and moved out at night.
Many of us think often about our hometowns after we move away. We delight when exchanging chit- chat with a stranger to discover that they are familiar with our home town. Some may have even lived nearby. I like to think our home town is our "place".
Tim Wendel is the author of " High Heat - The Secret History Of The Fastball'. He recently quoted famous writer Eudora Welty: "Any well written story requires a sense of 'place'. Without it the tale floats about, with no connection to the concrete world. From the dawn of man's imagination 'place' has enshrined the spirit".
Mom & Dad were not the most nomadic of people. Their Forest Hills addresses, in sequence were 119 Sumner, 23 Sumner, 120 Sumner, 200 Lenox, and finally 392 Avenue F. All but the last could probably be reached with a well thrown fast ball from the corner of Sumner & Atlantic Avenues where we often played at night. (that is - until the streetlights came on.)
In 1788 Allegheny County (our home county) was formed from parts of Westmoreland and Washington counties. Forest Hills was Pitt Township until 1812 and was then divided. Our section became Wilkins Township. In 1855 it was again sub-divided. Part of the current Forest Hills area remained in Wilkins Township while part joined Braddock Township.
Forest Hills, which had 4 homes in 1860, only had electric, gas, telephone, and water services established throughout the borough in 1913.
To put things in perspective: my Dad would have been 5 years old in 1913. We moved in as a family about 25 years later . We were pioneers and didn't know it.
As a tiny community, Forest Hills predates it's incorporation as a borough in 1919 by at least 50 years. In 1919 the population was 850 people and had an assessed valuation of about a half million dollars. In the 2000 census they counted 6,831 people, 3% of whom were 'black'.
Prior to it's incorporation, the early residents felt they were paying considerable sums in taxes and receiving few benefits. Therefore, representatives from all sections began meeting with the intention of establishing what is now Forest Hills Borough.
A key area of dispute was the maintenance of Lincoln Highway (Route 30) - now Ardmore Boulevard. Fortunately, after two years it was taken over by the county, much to the chagrin of
Wilkins and Braddock Townships who wanted this area to stay with them. They went to court - lost - and Forest Hills was then incorporated.
The early history of Forest Hills in the 1860's included the start of coal mining in the area. In 187o the Armstrong mine of The Duquesne Coal Company was well established. Mining petered out around 1905 but loose coal could be found on top the ground in many areas of the borough.
The Sullivan kids played in the woods behind 120 Sumner where the coal was plentiful.
One day the oldest gathered up some of the coal in his WW II wooden wagon. He had overheard his folks talking, and his mother was crying, because they were "poor". He proudly rolled the wagon down the back yard and proclaimed, "Look Mommy, we don't have to be poor anymore". She cried again.
The Freehold Real Estate Company had begun home development in the Ardmore Section in 1907, and Bryn Mawr started up 3 years later. The opening of Ardmore Boulevard and the street railway in East Pittsburgh around 1910 induced more families to move to Forest Hills. What would we have done without the infamous "87 Ardmore" streetcar?
It's gone now, but, some of us Sullivans are still hanging in there 100 years later.
(Source: Primarily, the 1969 Golden Jubilee booklet.)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
FRANK SMITH
Frank Smith was Mom's dad. He was married to my Grandma whose maiden name was Marie Smith. One assumes when they married it was decided there was no need to list monogram towels at the gift registry. Presumably, Grandma would just swipe some from her parents.
Frank was a short rotund man who smiled only when necessary. It is said he fancied himself to be a dude. Dad often commented about drinking with Frank and Charlie, my other grandfather. The line most repeated was, "Frank liked the ladies." ( Hey, Charlie liked his booze. )
Frank's most noticeable fashion statement was his straw boat skimmer hat. When he removed it one time at The old County airport it is reported two bi-planes were forced to land prematurely. His dark complected pate was as shiny as a mirror and just as reflective.
Grandma Smith had several unsuccessful attempts to have children who would survive long. My Mom was the exception.
Grandma was sickly, When I was just a young tyke Mom hustled Grandma and me off by train to go to St. Petersburg, Florida for Grandma's health. St. Pete is about a 30 minute drive from where my wife and I reside now.
When Grandma died they laid her out in the living room of their flat on lower Middle Avenue in Wilmerding. When you walked into the room her casket was resting against the right rear wall.
It is one of the earliest memories I have as a child.
I cannot comment on how long Grandpap was a widower. Perhaps my son Bruce and my brother Jim, who have researched the family, might have better information. However long it was, it wasn't long enough for my Mom, his devout Irish Catholic daughter. His second wife, Em, was never allowed to be called Grandma.
There are few memories of Em: She had a parrot, enormous breasts, and favored a purple dress which she always wore on the infrequent occasions I saw her. She also took away my dreams of inheriting a piece of propery with a cottage located at Geneva On The Lake.
The property was what my Grandfather had promised to me as his first grandchild. I know this to be true because Mom reminded me of it several hundred times when she learned Em had talked Grampap into disposing of the property.
I don't know a lot about Grandpap Smith due to his unfortunate decision to remarry and enjoy the comforts of - well, you know. He was invited to our home seldom and visited even less.
There is nothing I know of in recorded history that suggests Frank was the most clever of his family, but I do believe he loved me as well as my brothers.
Em died first - and what money she had accumulated via her marriage to my grandfather allegedly went to her side of the family according to Mom.
At some point , presumably after Frank had paid his appropriate penance, he moved in with us in Forest Hills. He was about 80.
It is said that while my brothers resembled my Dad's side of the family I inherited my genes from the Smiths. One look at a picture of Frank and a profile shot of my nose leaves little doubt as to veracity of this observation. Small winter birds took sking lessons when launched off our noses.
By the time he moved in with Mom & Dad , Frank had his share of health problems also. He couldn't hear a siren if it went off behind his chair in our livingroom .
I too have been blessed with this particular impairment. Some at my age suffer from CRS. (can't remember s--t.) My malady is CHS.
I am not bitter. Frank did live into his 80's and , besides, there were probably mosquitos everywhere at Geneva.
Frank was a short rotund man who smiled only when necessary. It is said he fancied himself to be a dude. Dad often commented about drinking with Frank and Charlie, my other grandfather. The line most repeated was, "Frank liked the ladies." ( Hey, Charlie liked his booze. )
Frank's most noticeable fashion statement was his straw boat skimmer hat. When he removed it one time at The old County airport it is reported two bi-planes were forced to land prematurely. His dark complected pate was as shiny as a mirror and just as reflective.
Grandma Smith had several unsuccessful attempts to have children who would survive long. My Mom was the exception.
Grandma was sickly, When I was just a young tyke Mom hustled Grandma and me off by train to go to St. Petersburg, Florida for Grandma's health. St. Pete is about a 30 minute drive from where my wife and I reside now.
When Grandma died they laid her out in the living room of their flat on lower Middle Avenue in Wilmerding. When you walked into the room her casket was resting against the right rear wall.
It is one of the earliest memories I have as a child.
I cannot comment on how long Grandpap was a widower. Perhaps my son Bruce and my brother Jim, who have researched the family, might have better information. However long it was, it wasn't long enough for my Mom, his devout Irish Catholic daughter. His second wife, Em, was never allowed to be called Grandma.
There are few memories of Em: She had a parrot, enormous breasts, and favored a purple dress which she always wore on the infrequent occasions I saw her. She also took away my dreams of inheriting a piece of propery with a cottage located at Geneva On The Lake.
The property was what my Grandfather had promised to me as his first grandchild. I know this to be true because Mom reminded me of it several hundred times when she learned Em had talked Grampap into disposing of the property.
I don't know a lot about Grandpap Smith due to his unfortunate decision to remarry and enjoy the comforts of - well, you know. He was invited to our home seldom and visited even less.
There is nothing I know of in recorded history that suggests Frank was the most clever of his family, but I do believe he loved me as well as my brothers.
Em died first - and what money she had accumulated via her marriage to my grandfather allegedly went to her side of the family according to Mom.
At some point , presumably after Frank had paid his appropriate penance, he moved in with us in Forest Hills. He was about 80.
It is said that while my brothers resembled my Dad's side of the family I inherited my genes from the Smiths. One look at a picture of Frank and a profile shot of my nose leaves little doubt as to veracity of this observation. Small winter birds took sking lessons when launched off our noses.
By the time he moved in with Mom & Dad , Frank had his share of health problems also. He couldn't hear a siren if it went off behind his chair in our livingroom .
I too have been blessed with this particular impairment. Some at my age suffer from CRS. (can't remember s--t.) My malady is CHS.
I am not bitter. Frank did live into his 80's and , besides, there were probably mosquitos everywhere at Geneva.
"You will now!"
A blog was completed last night fulfilling a promise to explain what writing a blog has meant to me. It has been deleted. It was longer than my average blog and even wordier than most things I write.
The irony didn't escape me that it was a lot like trying to explain a joke.
A little boy was in his elementary school class frantically drawing something. He was still at it long after the other kids had completed their art assignment. His teacher approached him:
"Jimmy, what are you drawing that is taking so much of your time?"
"I'm drawing a picture of God," Jimmy explained.
His teacher said, "But Jimmy, nobody has ever seen God so we don't know what he looks like."
Jimmy looked up at the teacher and replied, "You will now!"
My reasons for writing a blog are also simple: It's enjoyable - it might by accident say something of interest - it's therapeutic for me - and - some of what has been written might just filter on down to those who follow.
The latter is an affirmation of my suggestion to others to write a blog regarding their unique perspective on family history. It could be of benefit to young curious family members who seek to know something about their ancestors, particulary if told in a anechdotal style.
Few of us have such a record and most of us wish we did.
However, while not the sharpest knife in the drawer - if history is any indication - my blogs will go the way of my baseball card and comic book collections - and that's okay too.
It's been great therapy for Pap and someone may recall a few of the stories.
The irony didn't escape me that it was a lot like trying to explain a joke.
A little boy was in his elementary school class frantically drawing something. He was still at it long after the other kids had completed their art assignment. His teacher approached him:
"Jimmy, what are you drawing that is taking so much of your time?"
"I'm drawing a picture of God," Jimmy explained.
His teacher said, "But Jimmy, nobody has ever seen God so we don't know what he looks like."
Jimmy looked up at the teacher and replied, "You will now!"
My reasons for writing a blog are also simple: It's enjoyable - it might by accident say something of interest - it's therapeutic for me - and - some of what has been written might just filter on down to those who follow.
The latter is an affirmation of my suggestion to others to write a blog regarding their unique perspective on family history. It could be of benefit to young curious family members who seek to know something about their ancestors, particulary if told in a anechdotal style.
Few of us have such a record and most of us wish we did.
However, while not the sharpest knife in the drawer - if history is any indication - my blogs will go the way of my baseball card and comic book collections - and that's okay too.
It's been great therapy for Pap and someone may recall a few of the stories.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
That Lucky "55".
Numerology is a subject that has always fascinated me. I love the number "5" but not the number "23". Both my wife and I recall sports uniforms we wore that were either numbered "5" or were a combination of the number.
We recently won $250 in a football pool where I simply chose available numbers that started five spaces from any of the four corners of the sheet. I won money as I was passing the slots in A.C. using the same logic by choosing the 5th slot machine from the end.
We also recall that the number "23" - which also adds up to "5" - was a date that produced several unfortunate events in our lives. We will occasionally request doctors to reschedule appointment dates that fall on that day - just to be on the safe side.
Perhaps my fascination with any combination of numbers stems from my dad's occupation as an Accountant. As I recall, he enjoyed playing number games with us as kids.
Flashcards were conquered quickly in the Sullivan home.. We learned that the complement of a two digit number was the sum that, when added to the object number, would produce the number 100.
We memorized those complements such as: 36 + 64, 73 + 27, 49 + 51, etc.
This information also made it easier for me to correct mistakes I had made on the huge IBM proof machine I operated at a bank when I was going to college. In order to "zero out' the computations you took the total on the tape and added to it those numbers that would produce all zeros.
As a child I also quickly learned the irony that the numbers from one through ten when added together would produce the number 55 , and of course, 5 + 5 = 10.
I failed to apply these math skills when practicing the rhythm method with a wife and Mom who was a practicing Catholic. We had 4 incredible kids in 5 years. Because they were born so close together I didn't always remember their names and referred to them as "Boy #1, Boy #2, and Boy#3. Child # 4 was easy. It was my only daughter, Beth.
OK, the last was a lie - for the most part anyway.
So why, so many years and generations later do I entitle this blog "That Lucky '55'?"
Very simple. I recently read that the total # of blogs I have published prior to this one is 55.
There are few things I enjoy these days more than writing my blogs. It keeps me off the streets.
In my next blog I hope to relate, in a manner that does not resemble paint drying, why I write a Blog and why I would encourage you to do the same.
For now, I'll just say "Thank You" for the comments and feedback you have provided to me during the completion of the first" 55".
We recently won $250 in a football pool where I simply chose available numbers that started five spaces from any of the four corners of the sheet. I won money as I was passing the slots in A.C. using the same logic by choosing the 5th slot machine from the end.
We also recall that the number "23" - which also adds up to "5" - was a date that produced several unfortunate events in our lives. We will occasionally request doctors to reschedule appointment dates that fall on that day - just to be on the safe side.
Perhaps my fascination with any combination of numbers stems from my dad's occupation as an Accountant. As I recall, he enjoyed playing number games with us as kids.
Flashcards were conquered quickly in the Sullivan home.. We learned that the complement of a two digit number was the sum that, when added to the object number, would produce the number 100.
We memorized those complements such as: 36 + 64, 73 + 27, 49 + 51, etc.
This information also made it easier for me to correct mistakes I had made on the huge IBM proof machine I operated at a bank when I was going to college. In order to "zero out' the computations you took the total on the tape and added to it those numbers that would produce all zeros.
As a child I also quickly learned the irony that the numbers from one through ten when added together would produce the number 55 , and of course, 5 + 5 = 10.
I failed to apply these math skills when practicing the rhythm method with a wife and Mom who was a practicing Catholic. We had 4 incredible kids in 5 years. Because they were born so close together I didn't always remember their names and referred to them as "Boy #1, Boy #2, and Boy#3. Child # 4 was easy. It was my only daughter, Beth.
OK, the last was a lie - for the most part anyway.
So why, so many years and generations later do I entitle this blog "That Lucky '55'?"
Very simple. I recently read that the total # of blogs I have published prior to this one is 55.
There are few things I enjoy these days more than writing my blogs. It keeps me off the streets.
In my next blog I hope to relate, in a manner that does not resemble paint drying, why I write a Blog and why I would encourage you to do the same.
For now, I'll just say "Thank You" for the comments and feedback you have provided to me during the completion of the first" 55".
Saturday, February 20, 2010
MORE FAMILY FEUD
Like many folks, we were home and watched Tiger's "act of contrition" yesterday.
I will agree with those who stated it was weird. Had Tiger been a boy when I was, many an adult male would simply have listened to his speech and said, "You know? That kid ain't right in the head!"
And, that would have been "the end of it. "
Unfortunately, today we are living in a time when it is common that one or more groups of people will publish a paper which purports to analyzye the number of snaps, crackles, and pops in one 10 ounce bowl of Rice Krispies. Then they will criticize each others scientific methodology.
Just like Tiger's speech: "there will never be 'the end of it'".
Okay, maybe until the time another public personality screws up. Tiger's advisors over at IMG are probably already inteviewing potential candidates.
Today, I read Bob Smizik's sports blog in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette regarding Tiger, whose confession he deplored. It was another blog where Bob allows us access to the views of various sports analyists whose communication we might never encounter otherwise.
Todays guest columnist was Gene Simmons with ESPN.com . Whoops, no that was Bill Simmons, (another guy with tongue problems). Simmons approach to Tiger's speech made me long for a deceased friend by the name of Eddy Angell.
Eddy once received a long scorching letter from his ex-wive severely criticizing his behavior. Rather than responding or rationalizing what he had allegedly done, he simply corrected her grammar, spelling, and punctuation with red ink, and mailed it back to her.
I wish Simmons had employed that same intellect. There are some who may have finished his lengthy and repetitive article in it's entirety. Those people are the same ones, who as kids, never threw up in the back seat of their parents car during a long trip.
I chose the Evelyn Woods method after digging through the first few paragraphs. My read on the column was that the only valid conclusion Simmons had was that he regretted not being chosen to write Tiger's speech nor afforded the opportunity to determine the appropriate venue.
Oh, and of course, being paid fabulous sums to do so.
Help me out here, will you please. Isn't ESPN the entity that had a major sports commentator disappear from the air recently because he was accused of being a philanderer? As I recall, they responded to the accusation at about the same speed Toyota did to the mechanical claims.
Now, I may have missed it, but, I don't recall four of his ESPN peers sitting down together in a circle and analyzing his actions. For hours and hours.
Probably never happened. Although if ESPN could have found a way to spin it as a responsbile approach in the critique and rehabilitation process of a public figure, I'm sure they would have .
Of course, that would be only after their actuaries produced a favorable profit analysis.
You see, the key question in our day will always be : "Where's The Money?" It is the one thing (other than the consumption of beer, as our bartender buddy, Andy, reminded us) that drives this country and defines what and who we are all about.
His observation came during an open discussion my wife, Phyl, and I were having with him as we exchanged reactions to Tiger "falling on his sword" earlier in the day.
The three of us talked about sportscasters and the extreme blitz approach the sports media took in their coverage after the speech. We also addressed Tiger's comments regarding the notorious paparazzi and their pursuit of his kids.
We finally concluded that if we were hosting Family Feud (there's that reference again) and said:
"We interviewed 100 sports media and paparazzi and the top 7 answers are on the board. Our question was: 'What wouldn't you do for money?"
At the end of that round, not one of the panelists would have correctly answered the question.
You see, no one would have come up with "NOTHING", the only viable answer to the question.
I will agree with those who stated it was weird. Had Tiger been a boy when I was, many an adult male would simply have listened to his speech and said, "You know? That kid ain't right in the head!"
And, that would have been "the end of it. "
Unfortunately, today we are living in a time when it is common that one or more groups of people will publish a paper which purports to analyzye the number of snaps, crackles, and pops in one 10 ounce bowl of Rice Krispies. Then they will criticize each others scientific methodology.
Just like Tiger's speech: "there will never be 'the end of it'".
Okay, maybe until the time another public personality screws up. Tiger's advisors over at IMG are probably already inteviewing potential candidates.
Today, I read Bob Smizik's sports blog in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette regarding Tiger, whose confession he deplored. It was another blog where Bob allows us access to the views of various sports analyists whose communication we might never encounter otherwise.
Todays guest columnist was Gene Simmons with ESPN.com . Whoops, no that was Bill Simmons, (another guy with tongue problems). Simmons approach to Tiger's speech made me long for a deceased friend by the name of Eddy Angell.
Eddy once received a long scorching letter from his ex-wive severely criticizing his behavior. Rather than responding or rationalizing what he had allegedly done, he simply corrected her grammar, spelling, and punctuation with red ink, and mailed it back to her.
I wish Simmons had employed that same intellect. There are some who may have finished his lengthy and repetitive article in it's entirety. Those people are the same ones, who as kids, never threw up in the back seat of their parents car during a long trip.
I chose the Evelyn Woods method after digging through the first few paragraphs. My read on the column was that the only valid conclusion Simmons had was that he regretted not being chosen to write Tiger's speech nor afforded the opportunity to determine the appropriate venue.
Oh, and of course, being paid fabulous sums to do so.
Help me out here, will you please. Isn't ESPN the entity that had a major sports commentator disappear from the air recently because he was accused of being a philanderer? As I recall, they responded to the accusation at about the same speed Toyota did to the mechanical claims.
Now, I may have missed it, but, I don't recall four of his ESPN peers sitting down together in a circle and analyzing his actions. For hours and hours.
Probably never happened. Although if ESPN could have found a way to spin it as a responsbile approach in the critique and rehabilitation process of a public figure, I'm sure they would have .
Of course, that would be only after their actuaries produced a favorable profit analysis.
You see, the key question in our day will always be : "Where's The Money?" It is the one thing (other than the consumption of beer, as our bartender buddy, Andy, reminded us) that drives this country and defines what and who we are all about.
His observation came during an open discussion my wife, Phyl, and I were having with him as we exchanged reactions to Tiger "falling on his sword" earlier in the day.
The three of us talked about sportscasters and the extreme blitz approach the sports media took in their coverage after the speech. We also addressed Tiger's comments regarding the notorious paparazzi and their pursuit of his kids.
We finally concluded that if we were hosting Family Feud (there's that reference again) and said:
"We interviewed 100 sports media and paparazzi and the top 7 answers are on the board. Our question was: 'What wouldn't you do for money?"
At the end of that round, not one of the panelists would have correctly answered the question.
You see, no one would have come up with "NOTHING", the only viable answer to the question.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
HOW DO THINGS GET SCREWED UP?
It's doubtful anybody has ever accused me of being a bleeding liberal - but, who knows? After reading the following you may wonder.
One of the breaking news items this morning in The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette is about a female police officer who was allegedly assaulted at night by a 20 year old black man near Schenley High School in Pittsburgh, a town where I grew up. (The word "allegedly" is my personal tribute to any politically correct readers.)
It is similar to the report: "The victim's wife 'allegedly' slipped and stabbed her spouse 26 times in the back."
Per this article, the police responded within 5 minutes of a robbery victim's call stating the robber was a black man wearing all black.
We are told the officer shot and killed the suspect. The article says the officer was "seriously assaulted by the man before she shot him." It adds that she is in the hospital being treated for a concussion, facial wounds, and a broken nose." She is also on paid administrative leave.
The paper was kind enough to include a head shot of the suspect - suggesting either a very cooperative family member or friend, or, that the man might have previously been arrested.
The police spokesperson assures us:" Police have no doubt that the man who was killed is the same person who committed the robbery earlier in the night on Denniston Street. "We know who everybody is." said the spokesperson.
The victim of the armed robbery was not injured.
The term "armed" suggests that the suspect attempted to commit the robbery with the use of a weapon as a negotiating tool.
One other sentence in the report: "During the fight, she shot him, fatally wounding him, and police 'later' recovered the gun".
Now, I will admit my first reaction to the headline: "Officer fatally shoots armed robbery suspect in Shadyside." - was: "Great! Too many of these guys get away and nobody will come forward to identify them."
Could my reaction have also been based upon the fact that my reflexes have slowed a little since I became a septugenarian, so I have safety concerns of my own? ( don't bother to look it up. It's that horoscope sign the prophets seldom take the time to analyze or predict.)
Maybe you would not have responded in the manner I did? Maybe I've watched too many cop shows? Maybe it's an "open and shut" case?
Question: When the family's lawsuit comes -and, if past alleged gun shot fatalities at the hands of the police are any indication, it surely will - what will the plaintiff attorney for the family argue that the police did wrong?
Answer: If we're smarter than a 5th grader - and I like to think we might be - the attorney will most likely argue: "Why was it 'later' that the police recovered the gun and how do they know it was his?
Now comes a question like that which you might find on The Family Feud: "What other arguments do you think the plaintiff attorney will make?" Assume: "One hundred people were surveyed and the top 7 answers are on the board."
Hopefully, you and your family will make it to the bonus round.
Hopefully, you also do not have a female relative who has been physically assaulted by a man or who is a police officer hurt by a larger assailant in the line of duty. That could prejudice your answers to the question.
But, if not, it may help you when you next read the incredible report that: "Three police officers filled a suspect with 70 bullets because they 'had reason' to believe he was armed".
There used to be a saying: "You might as well be caught for stealing a sheep as for stealing a lamb." It may or may not be applicable to analyzing the 70 bullet scenario. (and, what were you doing hanging around sheep in the first place?)
No answers here - just questions - like the one which is the title of this blog.
One of the breaking news items this morning in The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette is about a female police officer who was allegedly assaulted at night by a 20 year old black man near Schenley High School in Pittsburgh, a town where I grew up. (The word "allegedly" is my personal tribute to any politically correct readers.)
It is similar to the report: "The victim's wife 'allegedly' slipped and stabbed her spouse 26 times in the back."
Per this article, the police responded within 5 minutes of a robbery victim's call stating the robber was a black man wearing all black.
We are told the officer shot and killed the suspect. The article says the officer was "seriously assaulted by the man before she shot him." It adds that she is in the hospital being treated for a concussion, facial wounds, and a broken nose." She is also on paid administrative leave.
The paper was kind enough to include a head shot of the suspect - suggesting either a very cooperative family member or friend, or, that the man might have previously been arrested.
The police spokesperson assures us:" Police have no doubt that the man who was killed is the same person who committed the robbery earlier in the night on Denniston Street. "We know who everybody is." said the spokesperson.
The victim of the armed robbery was not injured.
The term "armed" suggests that the suspect attempted to commit the robbery with the use of a weapon as a negotiating tool.
One other sentence in the report: "During the fight, she shot him, fatally wounding him, and police 'later' recovered the gun".
Now, I will admit my first reaction to the headline: "Officer fatally shoots armed robbery suspect in Shadyside." - was: "Great! Too many of these guys get away and nobody will come forward to identify them."
Could my reaction have also been based upon the fact that my reflexes have slowed a little since I became a septugenarian, so I have safety concerns of my own? ( don't bother to look it up. It's that horoscope sign the prophets seldom take the time to analyze or predict.)
Maybe you would not have responded in the manner I did? Maybe I've watched too many cop shows? Maybe it's an "open and shut" case?
Question: When the family's lawsuit comes -and, if past alleged gun shot fatalities at the hands of the police are any indication, it surely will - what will the plaintiff attorney for the family argue that the police did wrong?
Answer: If we're smarter than a 5th grader - and I like to think we might be - the attorney will most likely argue: "Why was it 'later' that the police recovered the gun and how do they know it was his?
Now comes a question like that which you might find on The Family Feud: "What other arguments do you think the plaintiff attorney will make?" Assume: "One hundred people were surveyed and the top 7 answers are on the board."
Hopefully, you and your family will make it to the bonus round.
Hopefully, you also do not have a female relative who has been physically assaulted by a man or who is a police officer hurt by a larger assailant in the line of duty. That could prejudice your answers to the question.
But, if not, it may help you when you next read the incredible report that: "Three police officers filled a suspect with 70 bullets because they 'had reason' to believe he was armed".
There used to be a saying: "You might as well be caught for stealing a sheep as for stealing a lamb." It may or may not be applicable to analyzing the 70 bullet scenario. (and, what were you doing hanging around sheep in the first place?)
No answers here - just questions - like the one which is the title of this blog.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
ODDS & ENDS
I realized I was not a good romancer when I was very young. I could never think of the right thing to say. Once I was asked for a dance by a rather heavy set young lady and complimented her after our dance thusly: "You know for a fat girl - you don't sweat much!"
She slapped me.
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I try not to undress in front of our dog. You never know what she might decide to say to the other dogs who are out when we walk her. If I see a couple dogs looking at me and laughing, I'm sure I'll know who told them.
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I read about a woman recently who was vacationing overseas and searching for trinkets and unusual food items to take back home. She was fascinated by these little round packages being displayed in a straw basket on the counter of one of the shops..
Becoming frustrated at her inability to identify the food product contained therein. She asked the shopkeeper for assistance.
"Those are condoms, madam. Please do not become embarassed. This question comes up quite often."
She was so happy she had not purchased any for her sister-in-law - a devout Catholic and mother of 6.
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I saw a cute item in Reader's Digest that appealed to me as my daughter has four children and she was the last of four who were all born within less than a 5 year period of time.
It seems that the Mom in the story was grocery shopping with 4 boys - and a baby. Her patience was wearing thin as the boys kept yelling "Mommy, Mommy' while she was trying to shop.
In her exasperation she shouted out, "I don't want to hear the word Mommy for at least ten minutes."
The boys fell silent for a few seconds. Then one tugged on his mother's dress and said softly, "excuse me, miss."
----------------------------------------------------------------
A man get's pulled over after a high speed chase. The policeman comes along side the stopped car. He's tired but enjoyed the chase on what was an otherwise slow day.
He says to the driver, "Look I'm going to give you a break. If you can give me a a good excuse I won't give you a ticket."
The driver responded, "Four weeks ago my wife left me for a cop. So, when I saw your car coming I thought you were trying to bring her back."
The cop let him go.
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Another cop pulls a little old lady over on Route 17 in the Jacksonville area. The driver is driving really slow and traffic is steadily backing up.. He walks up to the car , notes there are three other elderly women in the car and asks the driver why she was going so slow. She explains." The sign says the speed limit is 17 mph. "
He explains that is the route # - not the speed limit - and asks her to please speed it up. As he is going back to the car he remembered the panicked look on the faces of the three passengers when he first walked up. He returns to the car before the driver pulls back into traffic.
He inquires of the women if there is a problem. The lady in the left rear answers. "Yes, officer. You see, we just got off Interstate 295!"
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A employee of a gift shop receives a call inquiring as to whether they might have a small plastic phone. The caller explains it is to go on a casket ribbon that says, "God called - and she answered."
After the sales clerk told the caller they did not carry the item, she hung up and shared the story with a co-worker. Just then the phone rang.
The co-worker said, "You answer it."
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Enjoy!
She slapped me.
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I try not to undress in front of our dog. You never know what she might decide to say to the other dogs who are out when we walk her. If I see a couple dogs looking at me and laughing, I'm sure I'll know who told them.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I read about a woman recently who was vacationing overseas and searching for trinkets and unusual food items to take back home. She was fascinated by these little round packages being displayed in a straw basket on the counter of one of the shops..
Becoming frustrated at her inability to identify the food product contained therein. She asked the shopkeeper for assistance.
"Those are condoms, madam. Please do not become embarassed. This question comes up quite often."
She was so happy she had not purchased any for her sister-in-law - a devout Catholic and mother of 6.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
I saw a cute item in Reader's Digest that appealed to me as my daughter has four children and she was the last of four who were all born within less than a 5 year period of time.
It seems that the Mom in the story was grocery shopping with 4 boys - and a baby. Her patience was wearing thin as the boys kept yelling "Mommy, Mommy' while she was trying to shop.
In her exasperation she shouted out, "I don't want to hear the word Mommy for at least ten minutes."
The boys fell silent for a few seconds. Then one tugged on his mother's dress and said softly, "excuse me, miss."
----------------------------------------------------------------
A man get's pulled over after a high speed chase. The policeman comes along side the stopped car. He's tired but enjoyed the chase on what was an otherwise slow day.
He says to the driver, "Look I'm going to give you a break. If you can give me a a good excuse I won't give you a ticket."
The driver responded, "Four weeks ago my wife left me for a cop. So, when I saw your car coming I thought you were trying to bring her back."
The cop let him go.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Another cop pulls a little old lady over on Route 17 in the Jacksonville area. The driver is driving really slow and traffic is steadily backing up.. He walks up to the car , notes there are three other elderly women in the car and asks the driver why she was going so slow. She explains." The sign says the speed limit is 17 mph. "
He explains that is the route # - not the speed limit - and asks her to please speed it up. As he is going back to the car he remembered the panicked look on the faces of the three passengers when he first walked up. He returns to the car before the driver pulls back into traffic.
He inquires of the women if there is a problem. The lady in the left rear answers. "Yes, officer. You see, we just got off Interstate 295!"
----------------------------------------------------------
A employee of a gift shop receives a call inquiring as to whether they might have a small plastic phone. The caller explains it is to go on a casket ribbon that says, "God called - and she answered."
After the sales clerk told the caller they did not carry the item, she hung up and shared the story with a co-worker. Just then the phone rang.
The co-worker said, "You answer it."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Enjoy!
A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME
Years ago the famous "Madam," Polly Adler, wrote a book from which we stole the title of this blog. Her book did well, became a movie, and produced a great song of the same title.
Recently, I wrote a blog about my grandmother Lizzie Sullivan who lived up in Wilmerding, Pa in a style of home they referred to as a "railroad flat" and which I very much enjoyed visiting.
These were long narrow apartments with a hallway that ran from the front to the back. It was so named because it resembled a railroad car and might be only 20 feet wide. The style found favor in the mid 1800's in New York and San Francisco as a remedy for urban overcrowding.
Some railroad flats were built by large industrial employers like The Westinghouse Airbrake, Wilmerding's largest employer, in order for their employees to have a place close to the plant. Few people owned "machines" as Lizzie called them.
Over the years I have lived in a variety of houses . They including a basement apartment in Pittsburgh with rats in the outer basement and water bugs on the kitchen linoleum floor at night. The bugs appearance was timed with the extinguishment of the apartment lights. There was little resemblance to the wakening of the toys in Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker".
My family and I lived there as the larger home we rented in Forest Hills during WW II was no longer available to us. The owners - Mr. & Mrs. Woolslayer, were giving the home to their son, a recently discharged veteran and we were forced to move. Housing was almost impossible to find.
We were desperate. While contemplating moving in with Lizzie as a last resort, a friend of my Dad's made arrangements with his parents, the Snyders, to allow us to rent the basement unit.
It was much preferable than having to live in the streets. I'm sure Lizzie - although willing - breathed a long sigh of relief at knowing she could just visit her son, daughter-in -law and three small grandkids and not have to trip over them each morning.
A few years ago, my wife Phyl disposed of a large comfortable townhouse in order to join me in what some referred to as a well furnished tri-level in Harrisburg , that I semi-inherited. We stored her furniture for five years while deciding if we both needed a "new home" of our own.
During that time we also purchased a recently renovated double-wide as a Florida home in a 55 and older senior community. We moved here fulltime about 3 years ago. We simply did not need the larger Pennsylvania home, but, kept the door open to the purchase of a traditional home down here should we find our new digs to be too confining. While we continue to talk about it, we're comfortable.
We "reluctantly" traded the screams of children like the ones who enjoyed the pool of our next door neighbor in Pennsylvania for the more serene life we now enjoy. We love our home and have made several friends in the area. It's situated on a large lot with a privacy fence in the rear.
When we decided to move into our Florida home fulltime we sold - donated - or gave away almost two homes of furniture, including several paintings.
Many people from the northeast have moved to Florida fulltime and purchased large comfortable homes with square footage comparable to that of their previous homes. Several of these people have moved to a local development called Tara - named after a place up in Georgia that you may recall.
For some folks residence in Tara also comes with an attitude. It is a nice development we looked at when we first visited Bradenton. We felt at the time it was overpriced and the name recognition wasn't worth it. The lots we saw were mostly postage stamp size and afforded little privacy. Our home in Pennsylvania was at the foot of a mountain with a lot of trees.
We saw some of that Tara attitude the other night at Geckos as we were seated around the lounge area watching the golf tournament at Pebble Beach.
As often happens to my very attractive wife, a fellow male customer from Tara struck up a conversation with her. The conversation was going good until he asked Phyl where she resided. She told him about our comfortable 55 and older community and the conversation came to a screeching halt.
When the gentleman left she related the story to me and we both started to laugh. It's a reaction we often get and joke about with our friends - some of whom live in Tara. We discover they have Tara stories of their own about more than a few of the residents.
People will always be fascinating to me.
I sometimes wonder if those Tara folks enjoy their residence as much as I did the basement apartment that kept us off the streets, as much as Phyl , a little girl, enjoyed the small home her grandfather opened to her Mom , her two older sisters and herself in their time of need, or even Lizzy's railroad flat where I fondly spent my summer vacations. Now, those were homes!
As Phyl and I grew older we learned that a house can be a home - but, not always.
Recently, I wrote a blog about my grandmother Lizzie Sullivan who lived up in Wilmerding, Pa in a style of home they referred to as a "railroad flat" and which I very much enjoyed visiting.
These were long narrow apartments with a hallway that ran from the front to the back. It was so named because it resembled a railroad car and might be only 20 feet wide. The style found favor in the mid 1800's in New York and San Francisco as a remedy for urban overcrowding.
Some railroad flats were built by large industrial employers like The Westinghouse Airbrake, Wilmerding's largest employer, in order for their employees to have a place close to the plant. Few people owned "machines" as Lizzie called them.
Over the years I have lived in a variety of houses . They including a basement apartment in Pittsburgh with rats in the outer basement and water bugs on the kitchen linoleum floor at night. The bugs appearance was timed with the extinguishment of the apartment lights. There was little resemblance to the wakening of the toys in Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker".
My family and I lived there as the larger home we rented in Forest Hills during WW II was no longer available to us. The owners - Mr. & Mrs. Woolslayer, were giving the home to their son, a recently discharged veteran and we were forced to move. Housing was almost impossible to find.
We were desperate. While contemplating moving in with Lizzie as a last resort, a friend of my Dad's made arrangements with his parents, the Snyders, to allow us to rent the basement unit.
It was much preferable than having to live in the streets. I'm sure Lizzie - although willing - breathed a long sigh of relief at knowing she could just visit her son, daughter-in -law and three small grandkids and not have to trip over them each morning.
A few years ago, my wife Phyl disposed of a large comfortable townhouse in order to join me in what some referred to as a well furnished tri-level in Harrisburg , that I semi-inherited. We stored her furniture for five years while deciding if we both needed a "new home" of our own.
During that time we also purchased a recently renovated double-wide as a Florida home in a 55 and older senior community. We moved here fulltime about 3 years ago. We simply did not need the larger Pennsylvania home, but, kept the door open to the purchase of a traditional home down here should we find our new digs to be too confining. While we continue to talk about it, we're comfortable.
We "reluctantly" traded the screams of children like the ones who enjoyed the pool of our next door neighbor in Pennsylvania for the more serene life we now enjoy. We love our home and have made several friends in the area. It's situated on a large lot with a privacy fence in the rear.
When we decided to move into our Florida home fulltime we sold - donated - or gave away almost two homes of furniture, including several paintings.
Many people from the northeast have moved to Florida fulltime and purchased large comfortable homes with square footage comparable to that of their previous homes. Several of these people have moved to a local development called Tara - named after a place up in Georgia that you may recall.
For some folks residence in Tara also comes with an attitude. It is a nice development we looked at when we first visited Bradenton. We felt at the time it was overpriced and the name recognition wasn't worth it. The lots we saw were mostly postage stamp size and afforded little privacy. Our home in Pennsylvania was at the foot of a mountain with a lot of trees.
We saw some of that Tara attitude the other night at Geckos as we were seated around the lounge area watching the golf tournament at Pebble Beach.
As often happens to my very attractive wife, a fellow male customer from Tara struck up a conversation with her. The conversation was going good until he asked Phyl where she resided. She told him about our comfortable 55 and older community and the conversation came to a screeching halt.
When the gentleman left she related the story to me and we both started to laugh. It's a reaction we often get and joke about with our friends - some of whom live in Tara. We discover they have Tara stories of their own about more than a few of the residents.
People will always be fascinating to me.
I sometimes wonder if those Tara folks enjoy their residence as much as I did the basement apartment that kept us off the streets, as much as Phyl , a little girl, enjoyed the small home her grandfather opened to her Mom , her two older sisters and herself in their time of need, or even Lizzy's railroad flat where I fondly spent my summer vacations. Now, those were homes!
As Phyl and I grew older we learned that a house can be a home - but, not always.
Monday, February 15, 2010
LIZZIE SULLIVAN
Lizzie was my widowed paternal grandmother. I don't know the extent of her education. I just know that when I was visiting her up in Wilmerding as a skinny asthmatic child, and got sick, she really knew how to make me well. I loved my Grandma. She didn't talk all that much but was a great listener.
Lizzie was a good Lutheran, attended church regularly and didn't like Catholics. That included my maternal grandparents as well as my Mom. As the years wound down though it appeared Mom's biggest sin in Grandma's eyes was that she had married Lizzie's son.
It was always a challenge when Lizzie came down to visit us when Mom was sick . Grandma insisted on doing the dishes. It soon became apparent that Mom & Lizzie differed not only on religion. Lizzie had discovered a unique place for all the clean dishes. This usually ended up with Mom and her arguing when Mom came down from her sick bed to check out the noise.
Nowadays, I'd be willing to bet Grandma did it on purpose. She did have a great twinkle in her eyes. She was nice to lean against when you shared a chair with her. She was not so nice when she insisted on drying your hair with a rough towel. To this day I swear Lizzie was responsible for that widening bald spot on the back of my head.
Grandma kept a secret potion for coughs called "Father John's" medicine. (yeah, I do realize the irony.) But. Lizzy knew her stuff as Father Johns did the trick. I had no idea why until the time I joined Ardmore Pharmacy as a soda jerk , shelf cleaner, and inventory taker.
There in the back of one of the shelves I found a long forgotton brown bottle of Father Johns with his picture on the front. Reading the label I discovered it's primary ingredient was codeine with a little cinnamon flavor thrown in as a disguise.
When Lizzy wasn't dispensing illegal drugs she had other remedies for whatever bothered you. Her homemade potato soup could heal the dead. Her combination of butter and brown sugar in a large tablespoon made every day a little bit better. I ate well at Grandma's. I believe one of her Apple pies can still be found at the Smithsonian.
Lizzie's main ingredient in the rest of her cooking was "lard". No one has ever duplicated her mashed potatoes.
Grandma taught me how to play some card games starting with Old Maid which we would play at her kitchen table. Somehow Lizzie ended up with most of the Dopey Dora's and other things you might not want. She also taught me Canasta.
None of her babysitting visits to our basement apartment at Lenox and Atlantic could take place without the two of us playing Canasta. I usually won. I was an outrageous cheat - but, she didn't seem to notice. She just kept smiling that Lizzie smile of hers.
Lizzie employed me as a child/servant to do simple things like threading needles and using our dial up phone when she wanted to chat with her friends like Mrs. St. Clair back in Wilmerding.
This gossipy old scotswoman loved to talk - and talk - and talk. Practically every sentence in a conversation with my Grandma ended with the words "so, I did". I always mimicked her after she left Grandma's kitchen. Lizzie would scold me. Then she would smile.
I was also a big help in holding yarn bundles and thread spools as she made those beautiful Afghans and crocheted hankerchiefs that were so amazing she sold them back home.
I loved to have Mom put one of Lizzie's afghans around me when I was sick. I'd listen to the soaps with Mom - eat my tomato soup and grilled cheese and afterwards put my fingers through the holes of the afghans - as I curled up on the settee with my eyes closed imagining what the characters looked like.
When Lizzie could no longer take care of herself or maybe just didn't have the money anymore, my Aunt Deb and Uncle Jim took her back to Lima, Ohio with them so she could live out her life in peace.
She never saw any of my children but proudly clenched the hospital picture of Bruce, my oldest, that I gave her as the car pulled out for Ohio. The fact that he, like all new born kids, looked like a gerbil did nothing to diffuse her Lizzie smile.
Lizzie died too soon after.
Lizzie was a good Lutheran, attended church regularly and didn't like Catholics. That included my maternal grandparents as well as my Mom. As the years wound down though it appeared Mom's biggest sin in Grandma's eyes was that she had married Lizzie's son.
It was always a challenge when Lizzie came down to visit us when Mom was sick . Grandma insisted on doing the dishes. It soon became apparent that Mom & Lizzie differed not only on religion. Lizzie had discovered a unique place for all the clean dishes. This usually ended up with Mom and her arguing when Mom came down from her sick bed to check out the noise.
Nowadays, I'd be willing to bet Grandma did it on purpose. She did have a great twinkle in her eyes. She was nice to lean against when you shared a chair with her. She was not so nice when she insisted on drying your hair with a rough towel. To this day I swear Lizzie was responsible for that widening bald spot on the back of my head.
Grandma kept a secret potion for coughs called "Father John's" medicine. (yeah, I do realize the irony.) But. Lizzy knew her stuff as Father Johns did the trick. I had no idea why until the time I joined Ardmore Pharmacy as a soda jerk , shelf cleaner, and inventory taker.
There in the back of one of the shelves I found a long forgotton brown bottle of Father Johns with his picture on the front. Reading the label I discovered it's primary ingredient was codeine with a little cinnamon flavor thrown in as a disguise.
When Lizzy wasn't dispensing illegal drugs she had other remedies for whatever bothered you. Her homemade potato soup could heal the dead. Her combination of butter and brown sugar in a large tablespoon made every day a little bit better. I ate well at Grandma's. I believe one of her Apple pies can still be found at the Smithsonian.
Lizzie's main ingredient in the rest of her cooking was "lard". No one has ever duplicated her mashed potatoes.
Grandma taught me how to play some card games starting with Old Maid which we would play at her kitchen table. Somehow Lizzie ended up with most of the Dopey Dora's and other things you might not want. She also taught me Canasta.
None of her babysitting visits to our basement apartment at Lenox and Atlantic could take place without the two of us playing Canasta. I usually won. I was an outrageous cheat - but, she didn't seem to notice. She just kept smiling that Lizzie smile of hers.
Lizzie employed me as a child/servant to do simple things like threading needles and using our dial up phone when she wanted to chat with her friends like Mrs. St. Clair back in Wilmerding.
This gossipy old scotswoman loved to talk - and talk - and talk. Practically every sentence in a conversation with my Grandma ended with the words "so, I did". I always mimicked her after she left Grandma's kitchen. Lizzie would scold me. Then she would smile.
I was also a big help in holding yarn bundles and thread spools as she made those beautiful Afghans and crocheted hankerchiefs that were so amazing she sold them back home.
I loved to have Mom put one of Lizzie's afghans around me when I was sick. I'd listen to the soaps with Mom - eat my tomato soup and grilled cheese and afterwards put my fingers through the holes of the afghans - as I curled up on the settee with my eyes closed imagining what the characters looked like.
When Lizzie could no longer take care of herself or maybe just didn't have the money anymore, my Aunt Deb and Uncle Jim took her back to Lima, Ohio with them so she could live out her life in peace.
She never saw any of my children but proudly clenched the hospital picture of Bruce, my oldest, that I gave her as the car pulled out for Ohio. The fact that he, like all new born kids, looked like a gerbil did nothing to diffuse her Lizzie smile.
Lizzie died too soon after.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
CATCHING UP WITH MY CORRESPONDENCE.
RESPONDING to the guy travelling east on State Road 70 attempting to make a right turn on red to go to SAM's as I, travelling west opposite him, was making the left turn with the green arrow and also headed for that same destination:
"Yes, I guess my actions did surprise you. As I grow older I tend to fear the loss of my driver's license so I'm the one trying to abide by the traffic code. While I thought you made an excellent argument that you had the right of way as you were closer to the curb of the road you intended to enter - I cannot find any Florida law agreeing with that rationale.
I will admit that your decision to make that turn without stopping did surprise me - and for that I do apologize. You're right. I'm sure it is very common for people to attempt to make that turn as you did . In the future I'll keep my eye out for such behavior. That would be the eye that is not swollen shut as a result of me slamming on the brakes and striking the airbag with my face.
My wife, the attorney, will be contacting you shortly. I was driving her car."
RESPONDING to the gentleman I questioned when he jumped in line in front me at Sweetbay while I regained my balance after I finished picking up a penny from the floor:
"Sir, according to the best medical references I have reviewed, what you asked of me is anatomically impossible. Your interest in that part of the male anatomy is fascinating. My cousin is a licensed proctologist in the area and I have referred your name to him as a prospective patient. His name and location is not relevant."
RESPONDING to the guy who threw the McDonalds trash out of the drivers window which then stuck to my windshield forcing me to look out the passenger side of my windshield:
"Sir, you are right. All that doggie doo in the burning paper bags you found on your front porch could not possibly have come from the excrement of our tiny 2 1/2 pound Chihuahua.
Once I tracked down your address from the license number I obtained after chasing you for sixteen blocks - I admit to bringing the matter up in conversation to some dog owner friends down at Gecko's on 70. They did make several references to a prank they used to pull on Halloween as kids but there was no further discussion and I consider the matter to be closed.
Incidentally, I understand aloe is good for the type of minor ankle/feet burns you describe."
RESPONDING to the little old lady from Tara with the pillbox hat and black veil:
"I am sorry that you continued to go through the stop sign as you approached me because you thought I was a masher and the flashing light on the left front of my car was my attempt to flirt with you.
Maam, that is called a turn signal indicator and I agree it is an uncommon sight here in Florida.
I would have told you this in person but my mouth is wired shut due to the shot I received from your paisley umbrella that, I might add, is much too large for such a delicate elderly lady as yourself . My son, the dentist, has agreed to bill your insurance carrier direct.
My other son, who's with the Florida licensing department, asked me to inquire after a record check if there are two "e's" in Estelle. He will be assisting you in scheduling your eye appointment and drivers test."
RESPONDING to the guy who continues to touch my wife, put his hand on her shoulder, and/or rub the back of her neck when he talks to her in one of our favorite restaurants:
"I'm not sure how to respond to your question. My guess is that was a five iron I used on the hood of your wife's new Acura. I'm not really a good golfer and simply cannot hit the higher irons with any degree of accuracy. However, I find the five iron to be an excellent all purpose club.
Should additional questions arise my wife requests that you have your wife give her a call."
Sincerely yours,
"Yes, I guess my actions did surprise you. As I grow older I tend to fear the loss of my driver's license so I'm the one trying to abide by the traffic code. While I thought you made an excellent argument that you had the right of way as you were closer to the curb of the road you intended to enter - I cannot find any Florida law agreeing with that rationale.
I will admit that your decision to make that turn without stopping did surprise me - and for that I do apologize. You're right. I'm sure it is very common for people to attempt to make that turn as you did . In the future I'll keep my eye out for such behavior. That would be the eye that is not swollen shut as a result of me slamming on the brakes and striking the airbag with my face.
My wife, the attorney, will be contacting you shortly. I was driving her car."
RESPONDING to the gentleman I questioned when he jumped in line in front me at Sweetbay while I regained my balance after I finished picking up a penny from the floor:
"Sir, according to the best medical references I have reviewed, what you asked of me is anatomically impossible. Your interest in that part of the male anatomy is fascinating. My cousin is a licensed proctologist in the area and I have referred your name to him as a prospective patient. His name and location is not relevant."
RESPONDING to the guy who threw the McDonalds trash out of the drivers window which then stuck to my windshield forcing me to look out the passenger side of my windshield:
"Sir, you are right. All that doggie doo in the burning paper bags you found on your front porch could not possibly have come from the excrement of our tiny 2 1/2 pound Chihuahua.
Once I tracked down your address from the license number I obtained after chasing you for sixteen blocks - I admit to bringing the matter up in conversation to some dog owner friends down at Gecko's on 70. They did make several references to a prank they used to pull on Halloween as kids but there was no further discussion and I consider the matter to be closed.
Incidentally, I understand aloe is good for the type of minor ankle/feet burns you describe."
RESPONDING to the little old lady from Tara with the pillbox hat and black veil:
"I am sorry that you continued to go through the stop sign as you approached me because you thought I was a masher and the flashing light on the left front of my car was my attempt to flirt with you.
Maam, that is called a turn signal indicator and I agree it is an uncommon sight here in Florida.
I would have told you this in person but my mouth is wired shut due to the shot I received from your paisley umbrella that, I might add, is much too large for such a delicate elderly lady as yourself . My son, the dentist, has agreed to bill your insurance carrier direct.
My other son, who's with the Florida licensing department, asked me to inquire after a record check if there are two "e's" in Estelle. He will be assisting you in scheduling your eye appointment and drivers test."
RESPONDING to the guy who continues to touch my wife, put his hand on her shoulder, and/or rub the back of her neck when he talks to her in one of our favorite restaurants:
"I'm not sure how to respond to your question. My guess is that was a five iron I used on the hood of your wife's new Acura. I'm not really a good golfer and simply cannot hit the higher irons with any degree of accuracy. However, I find the five iron to be an excellent all purpose club.
Should additional questions arise my wife requests that you have your wife give her a call."
Sincerely yours,
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
DON'T GET COMFORTABLE YET.
On Sunday, while watching the Super Bowl you consumed way too much beer, Doritos, pickled eggs, wings, Aunt Gert's chile and anything else that didn't move.
You didn't care which team won . The only "spread" mentioned was a reference by your wife to your ever expanding rearend. Your hearing impaired brother-in-law then asked you to pass it on to him, thinking the subject was the Jallopino dip he had previously used when icing the buttons on his flannel shirt.
It was a "great day". You were watching the most viewed Super Bowl of all time. Yeh, some of the commercials sucked this year. But, some were funny. Nobody in the room mentioned the highly hyped Tim Tebow and Mom commercial. It was all about football and "your" family.
To top it off, the next morning you're snowed in. Nobody can get up or down your street but the Seventh Day Adventists and your USA Today delivery person. You know it's gonna be another "great day".
Forget about the previous nights nasty Guacamole inspired dream where today all the TV channels (but Fox) are proclaiming that this is the day of that dreaded Armageddon and suggesting to one and all to pray to a higher authority. Fox was the one running a marathon political panel show in the dream telling you how the democrats were responsibile.
You also recall in the dream that it was about to get worse. Your state's lottery breaks into the day's bad news to announce the winning numbers. Guess what? You won. Tis a shame.
Even though it's only a dream, you resigned yourself long ago to accepting the truism "nothing can eliminate that lottery announcement - not wars breaking out - assassinations, nuttin."
Look it up. It's in the Bill Of Rights, somewhere, according to the ACLU, and if it goes to the Supreme Court they will surely ratify it in a 5-4 decision . Yep, it seems lottery announcements -just like corporate entities - are rational beings, also.
"Fuggedaboutit"! Today's a "great day" - no nightmares - no ACLU -just a well earned nagging hangover. You pour a big mug of coffee and take the paper out of the plastic wrap the delivery folks provided. You want to get to the Sports section but, what the hell, you've got all day.
You skim the front page before turning to page 1 of the Money section. You enjoy reading the "Cliffnotes" thing they do in the box to the left. Saves you from having to read a full column of bad news on a "great day" like this..
Unfortunately, it's there (not on the front page - nor the editorial page) you discover that the CIT group - in all their wisdom - has chosen John Thain as their chairman and CEO to take over immediately. They are trying to restructure after a brief stay in bankruptcy protection.
You scratch your head, saying to yourself, "That name is familiar".' You read further and discover that Thain was the former Merrill Lynch CEO and led Merrill Lynch until it's sale was completed to Bank Of America in January 2009 .
It's then you recall - and the item confirms - Thain resigned under pressure after reports he rushed billions in bonuses to Merrill employees, while the brokerage , under his leadership, was suffering huge losses and just before BOFA took ML over. Yep, that would be my pick.
Forget about thinking we'll never find out what happened to Jimmy Hoffa. Transparency has arrived. Forget about the argument that if you don't pay executives these huge bonuses - despite their humongous failures- they'll just go somewhere else. Appears it doesn't matter.
Looks like that "great day" is starting to unravel. Now placed on a legal sidestreet in your mind you remember your last trip to the local Walmart.
It seems that, in your compassion for others, you chose not to use a Hummer sized shopping cart when you were only intending to purchase a few items. Unfortunately, while shopping you saw more items that appealed to you. Some were bulky.
The shopping carts were clear at the other end of the store and the aisles were already blocked by several groups of people, renewing old friendships from towns whose names you can't pronounce and in a tongue with which you have limited familiarity.This is despite Walmarts efforts to educate you via their bilingual signs on which English may no longer get top billing.
You irrationally assume the aisle blocking shoppers are discussing the methods by which they arrived in this great country of yours. Intuitively, you know they won't be arrested.
Not to worry. You make an inspired decision to temporarily place your wife requested can of Contadina tomatoes ("in that tiny little can") into your exposed winter vest pocket and scoop up the bulky items as you head for the register.
They stop you at the door. You forgot to remove your Contadinas. Hearing is this Thursday.
Well, now that you remember the bogus charge, and the dream, you switch from coffee to beer. You decide to practice homeostasis and concentrate on the less inflamatory sports pages to lift your spirits on this weather driven "great day" off.
You happily devour the reviews of the game and it's players. The only thing left is a column described as a "commentary". You're surprised because most commentary is found on the editorial pages; particulary stuff of this ilk. The column is captioned: "SCAB FORGIVEN, BUT, NOT BY EVERYONE"" (hey, even editors get ticked when they lose money on a big game.)
The half page, two column article, is written solely to disparage Sean Payton, the Saint's winning coach. The writer has unsuccessfully attempted to find people - mostly players - to castigate this poor soul who in a youthful desire to appear on a NFL playing field in 1987, 23 years ago, decided to cross the picket line. He became the backup quarterback for the team from Chicago the fans laughingly referred to at the time as "the spare bears".
Now what Payton did , crossing the picket line, was duplicated by your friendly Fox analyst and Chevy spokesperson, Howie Long, among others. But you see the problem is that Howie isn't coaching the Saints - and he's way too big to disparage. Oh, did I mention the author also writes for "The Indianapolis Star"?
"That's it!", you shout. Your euphoria has disappeared. You no longer refer to it as a "great day". You immediately take two six packs out of the fridge and head through the front door.
Wearing nothing but slippers, pajamas and a ratty robe, you begin frantically shovelling snow in an effort to get to your car which you parked on top of the hill yesterday morning. Maybe they won't even charge you with a half day if you sneak into the locker room, put on your uniform, and show up at your work station.
Yep, that "great day" has "vamoosed." Hey, it's your own fault.
You just got too comfortable.
You didn't care which team won . The only "spread" mentioned was a reference by your wife to your ever expanding rearend. Your hearing impaired brother-in-law then asked you to pass it on to him, thinking the subject was the Jallopino dip he had previously used when icing the buttons on his flannel shirt.
It was a "great day". You were watching the most viewed Super Bowl of all time. Yeh, some of the commercials sucked this year. But, some were funny. Nobody in the room mentioned the highly hyped Tim Tebow and Mom commercial. It was all about football and "your" family.
To top it off, the next morning you're snowed in. Nobody can get up or down your street but the Seventh Day Adventists and your USA Today delivery person. You know it's gonna be another "great day".
Forget about the previous nights nasty Guacamole inspired dream where today all the TV channels (but Fox) are proclaiming that this is the day of that dreaded Armageddon and suggesting to one and all to pray to a higher authority. Fox was the one running a marathon political panel show in the dream telling you how the democrats were responsibile.
You also recall in the dream that it was about to get worse. Your state's lottery breaks into the day's bad news to announce the winning numbers. Guess what? You won. Tis a shame.
Even though it's only a dream, you resigned yourself long ago to accepting the truism "nothing can eliminate that lottery announcement - not wars breaking out - assassinations, nuttin."
Look it up. It's in the Bill Of Rights, somewhere, according to the ACLU, and if it goes to the Supreme Court they will surely ratify it in a 5-4 decision . Yep, it seems lottery announcements -just like corporate entities - are rational beings, also.
"Fuggedaboutit"! Today's a "great day" - no nightmares - no ACLU -just a well earned nagging hangover. You pour a big mug of coffee and take the paper out of the plastic wrap the delivery folks provided. You want to get to the Sports section but, what the hell, you've got all day.
You skim the front page before turning to page 1 of the Money section. You enjoy reading the "Cliffnotes" thing they do in the box to the left. Saves you from having to read a full column of bad news on a "great day" like this..
Unfortunately, it's there (not on the front page - nor the editorial page) you discover that the CIT group - in all their wisdom - has chosen John Thain as their chairman and CEO to take over immediately. They are trying to restructure after a brief stay in bankruptcy protection.
You scratch your head, saying to yourself, "That name is familiar".' You read further and discover that Thain was the former Merrill Lynch CEO and led Merrill Lynch until it's sale was completed to Bank Of America in January 2009 .
It's then you recall - and the item confirms - Thain resigned under pressure after reports he rushed billions in bonuses to Merrill employees, while the brokerage , under his leadership, was suffering huge losses and just before BOFA took ML over. Yep, that would be my pick.
Forget about thinking we'll never find out what happened to Jimmy Hoffa. Transparency has arrived. Forget about the argument that if you don't pay executives these huge bonuses - despite their humongous failures- they'll just go somewhere else. Appears it doesn't matter.
Looks like that "great day" is starting to unravel. Now placed on a legal sidestreet in your mind you remember your last trip to the local Walmart.
It seems that, in your compassion for others, you chose not to use a Hummer sized shopping cart when you were only intending to purchase a few items. Unfortunately, while shopping you saw more items that appealed to you. Some were bulky.
The shopping carts were clear at the other end of the store and the aisles were already blocked by several groups of people, renewing old friendships from towns whose names you can't pronounce and in a tongue with which you have limited familiarity.This is despite Walmarts efforts to educate you via their bilingual signs on which English may no longer get top billing.
You irrationally assume the aisle blocking shoppers are discussing the methods by which they arrived in this great country of yours. Intuitively, you know they won't be arrested.
Not to worry. You make an inspired decision to temporarily place your wife requested can of Contadina tomatoes ("in that tiny little can") into your exposed winter vest pocket and scoop up the bulky items as you head for the register.
They stop you at the door. You forgot to remove your Contadinas. Hearing is this Thursday.
Well, now that you remember the bogus charge, and the dream, you switch from coffee to beer. You decide to practice homeostasis and concentrate on the less inflamatory sports pages to lift your spirits on this weather driven "great day" off.
You happily devour the reviews of the game and it's players. The only thing left is a column described as a "commentary". You're surprised because most commentary is found on the editorial pages; particulary stuff of this ilk. The column is captioned: "SCAB FORGIVEN, BUT, NOT BY EVERYONE"" (hey, even editors get ticked when they lose money on a big game.)
The half page, two column article, is written solely to disparage Sean Payton, the Saint's winning coach. The writer has unsuccessfully attempted to find people - mostly players - to castigate this poor soul who in a youthful desire to appear on a NFL playing field in 1987, 23 years ago, decided to cross the picket line. He became the backup quarterback for the team from Chicago the fans laughingly referred to at the time as "the spare bears".
Now what Payton did , crossing the picket line, was duplicated by your friendly Fox analyst and Chevy spokesperson, Howie Long, among others. But you see the problem is that Howie isn't coaching the Saints - and he's way too big to disparage. Oh, did I mention the author also writes for "The Indianapolis Star"?
"That's it!", you shout. Your euphoria has disappeared. You no longer refer to it as a "great day". You immediately take two six packs out of the fridge and head through the front door.
Wearing nothing but slippers, pajamas and a ratty robe, you begin frantically shovelling snow in an effort to get to your car which you parked on top of the hill yesterday morning. Maybe they won't even charge you with a half day if you sneak into the locker room, put on your uniform, and show up at your work station.
Yep, that "great day" has "vamoosed." Hey, it's your own fault.
You just got too comfortable.
Monday, February 1, 2010
"As The Pirates Turn"
The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and the Pirate fans are up in arms, once again.
They are upset because there has allegedly been an offer made by the Pittsburgh Penguins ownership that expressed their interest to purchase the Pirates from owner Bob Nutting.
One of the Penguin owners, Ron Burkle, is a billionaire. Nutting is reportedly not there yet but some suggest he sees this as a viable goal.
What was just revealed to the Pirates fans is that Nutting has previously fielded inquiries from Chuck Greenberg and Mark Cuban, a Pittsburgh native and owner of a NBA franchise, the Dallas Mavericks . Greenberg has recently teamed with Nolan Ryan to purchase the MLB Texas Rangers.
Emperor Nutting has refused all offers and announced he absolutely will not sell the team as he is saving it , perhaps, as either a future wedding or birthday gift for his daughter.
Estimates of the Pirates yearly profit have been in the 15 million dollar range despite crowds that average only 20,000 people. Additional estimates suggest that the Pirates ownership in 2010 will field a team with the lowest payroll in the Major Leagues. In the last 6 years the Pirates have been in the bottom 4 of payroll.
In 2009 the Pirates successfully completed their 17th consecutive losing season.
We live in a world where corporate folks spin everything but the bottle that fascinated us as kids attending birthday parties. Thus, the following promise will be looked askance by any person sane enough to understand that the bill of the baseball hat was designed to go in the front of the face of each position player excluding the catcher:
Owner Nutting says his intentions are to build a winner.
It's unclear to this writer whether he is referring to the team or the establishment of an even bigger cash cow than that which he presently controls. Despite having draft choices in the top 5 for several years, a recent ranking of the top 50 baseball prospects finds only one to be a Pirate scion.
The only better deal than that which Nutting presently enjoys seems to be either that of a member of Congress without term limits or a guy at a failing bank who recently cashed another big bonus check.
That sane guy above is wondering if anybody in authority at MLB will ever take the time to reveal to Emperor Nutting that he is not wearing any clothes?
Question is both asked and answered. The commish, Bud Selig, is a former baseball team owner.
At no time during his reign of the investigation of drugs in sports has any baseball owner been singled out and punished for a decision to favor profits over monitoring and limiting the drug use of their players. Nor has Selig been investigated for failing to address this situation during his watch.
Senator "Goofy" from eastern Pennsylvania, home of the Phillies, has been too busy flipping coins with a elephant on one side and a donkey on the other to renew any interest in the matter.
By the time "Goofy" is voted out of office, Selig will probably be retired and have taken on a new position. Perhaps it will be that of a consultant for AIG. His curriculum vitae is not one which could be dismissed easily.
Prior to that occurence does anyone really think Bud will take any action in favor of the Pirate fans? He has already verbally given his support to the current Pirate ownership for the tactics they are employing.
Folks, do not concern yourself with the recent losing sessions in the market. Big business lives on and is doing quite well, thank you.
The little guy, the Pirates fan, is not doing quite as well, unfortunately.
His team has no market.
They are upset because there has allegedly been an offer made by the Pittsburgh Penguins ownership that expressed their interest to purchase the Pirates from owner Bob Nutting.
One of the Penguin owners, Ron Burkle, is a billionaire. Nutting is reportedly not there yet but some suggest he sees this as a viable goal.
What was just revealed to the Pirates fans is that Nutting has previously fielded inquiries from Chuck Greenberg and Mark Cuban, a Pittsburgh native and owner of a NBA franchise, the Dallas Mavericks . Greenberg has recently teamed with Nolan Ryan to purchase the MLB Texas Rangers.
Emperor Nutting has refused all offers and announced he absolutely will not sell the team as he is saving it , perhaps, as either a future wedding or birthday gift for his daughter.
Estimates of the Pirates yearly profit have been in the 15 million dollar range despite crowds that average only 20,000 people. Additional estimates suggest that the Pirates ownership in 2010 will field a team with the lowest payroll in the Major Leagues. In the last 6 years the Pirates have been in the bottom 4 of payroll.
In 2009 the Pirates successfully completed their 17th consecutive losing season.
We live in a world where corporate folks spin everything but the bottle that fascinated us as kids attending birthday parties. Thus, the following promise will be looked askance by any person sane enough to understand that the bill of the baseball hat was designed to go in the front of the face of each position player excluding the catcher:
Owner Nutting says his intentions are to build a winner.
It's unclear to this writer whether he is referring to the team or the establishment of an even bigger cash cow than that which he presently controls. Despite having draft choices in the top 5 for several years, a recent ranking of the top 50 baseball prospects finds only one to be a Pirate scion.
The only better deal than that which Nutting presently enjoys seems to be either that of a member of Congress without term limits or a guy at a failing bank who recently cashed another big bonus check.
That sane guy above is wondering if anybody in authority at MLB will ever take the time to reveal to Emperor Nutting that he is not wearing any clothes?
Question is both asked and answered. The commish, Bud Selig, is a former baseball team owner.
At no time during his reign of the investigation of drugs in sports has any baseball owner been singled out and punished for a decision to favor profits over monitoring and limiting the drug use of their players. Nor has Selig been investigated for failing to address this situation during his watch.
Senator "Goofy" from eastern Pennsylvania, home of the Phillies, has been too busy flipping coins with a elephant on one side and a donkey on the other to renew any interest in the matter.
By the time "Goofy" is voted out of office, Selig will probably be retired and have taken on a new position. Perhaps it will be that of a consultant for AIG. His curriculum vitae is not one which could be dismissed easily.
Prior to that occurence does anyone really think Bud will take any action in favor of the Pirate fans? He has already verbally given his support to the current Pirate ownership for the tactics they are employing.
Folks, do not concern yourself with the recent losing sessions in the market. Big business lives on and is doing quite well, thank you.
The little guy, the Pirates fan, is not doing quite as well, unfortunately.
His team has no market.
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