Being Short Is Not A Curse! 

When I was a kid, I was always head and shoulders taller than my friends and school mates.  I was 5 foot 7 (close to 5 foot 8 if I stretched.)  I became that tall when I turned 11 years old.  At the time, average age for United States adults was 5 foot 8, so I didn't seem worried about my height until I fell in love with a beautiful girl who was 5 foot 6.  

Because I wanted everything to be equal with us, I decided that I too, would say that I was 5 foot 6.

Over the years, the average height for American men increased.  Suddenly, 5 foot 8 was a short height.  My view at the time was: "So what!"

In yesterday's blog, I mentioned the chores I had at my "YMCA" job during the 1950's. I left one out.

The New Bedford Police Department was in desperate need of new recruits, but they had to be at least 5 foot 8.  My job was to help some applicants reach the height requirement by means of gym equipment. I would help these guys climb up on the parallel bars and hang upside down while holding heavy dumbbells.

This procedure worked well for those whose heights were already close to the required limit, but not for the other guys who were quite a bit shorter, and who sometimes broke down and cried.  Discrimination!   I believe that many of these shorter guys would have made great cops.

Here are a few "vignettes" about my height experience:

01.  When I was in Air Force Basic Training, my Drill Sargent made me stand at attention in front of him so he could berate me about some minor breaking of rules.  When he was through, he said, in a heavily accented Texas drawl: 

"Son, do you know why you are so short?"

"No, sir!"

"Its because some rebel done beat the ____ out of you!"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!"

This was odd because he was at least 4 inches shorter than me.

(Incidentally, I was the only recruit in my unit that he didn't slug on a regular basis, but I was also the only weight-lifter in the outfit.)

02.  During the 1970's, I was starting to get leadership positions at the Social Security Administration, and in local organizations, I thought that if I were taller, I could look some of my bosses, co-managers and adversaries eye-to-eye, and get better results in negotiations.  So, I bought a pair of "elevator" shoes.

It was very difficult to wear these shoes; I constantly felt like I was about to topple over.  But the shoes gave me 3 (count-em) inches of extra height.  I was now close by 3 inches to 6 feet.  When I met with my contacts, they would wonder why they hadn't noticed my "tall" height before.

Anyway, my feet ached and the ploy didn't really work that well, so I soon gave it up and decided that I needed to go back to my prior height and be proud of it.

03.  Over two years ago, I fell on my face and needed emergency care.  After Shock Trauma, Carroll County Hospital and Carroll Lutheran Village Health Care, it was decided that my condition required Hospice Care.  My prognosis was not good.  I opted to have my care at home.  

After a couple of years of excellent Hospice care, they terminated my contract because I now amazedly appeared to be in good health.  But after getting all that medical care, my height was shown to have become  either 5 foot 5, 5 foot 4, or 5 foot 3, depending on the equipment used.

But, being short should not be a barrier to doing good works and becoming famous, for instance:

4' 11"  Henri Toulous-Lautrec  (Famous Painter of Parisian Fun)

5'  0"   Danny DeVito (Comic Movie and TV Star. Big Arnie's   Brother?)

5'  1"   Genghis Khan  (Warrior Commander..  A Mean SOB)

5'  2"   Yuri Gagarin (First Russian Cosmonaut .. First to Fly Around The World)

5'  4"   Picasso (Master Artist .. Have You Seen Guernica?)

5'  4"   Woody Allen  (Movie Comedian and Possible P...)

5'  4"   Harry Houdini (Master Magician .. Died of a Burst Appendix.)

5'  4"   Truman Capote  (Well, he did write a few good essays)

5'  4"    Jason Alexander (You know, the Seinfeld guy)

5'  4"    Mel Brooks (Did you see Blazing Saddles?)

5'  5"    Charlie Chaplin (A Very Funny Old-Time Movie Star)

5'  5"     Franco Columbo (Fellow Body Builder Who Liked To Compete for Mr Universe With Big Arnie) 

5'  5"     J.R.R. Tolkien (Excellent Story-Teller)

And last in my list, but first in all philosophers' lists:

5'   5"    Aristotle (Do You Remember Your Greek History?)

For my "shortness" notes, I still have two chores:

01.  Find my shortness jokes that are gentle on the short person.

02.  Figure out some good retorts to use when teased about one's height.  For instance I really like this interplay that was recently told to me: 

Teaser:  "You sure are short!"

Teasee:   "And you sure are ugly!"

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SWIM, SWAM, SWUM

As a High School student, I had a great after-school job.  When New Bedford, Massachusetts High ended its school day at 2 pm, I would jump into my strategically parked car (named "Baby") let off the parking break, and coast down the hill to the YMCA, where I worked from 2:30 to 9:30.  I also spent all-day Saturday at the "Y." (Saturday evenings and Sundays were the times for dates with my future bride, Elaine.)

My job at the "Y" had many duties:

01.  Storing or retrieving baskets containing members' gym clothes and smelly sneakers.

02.  Caring for members' valuables as they worked out or swam.

03.  Washing and drying dirty towels (and sneakers, if their smell got too overpowering.)

04.  Killing as many cockroaches and water bugs as possible.

05.  Teaching weight-lifting and body-building to flabby old executives.

06.  Making sure that nudity was maintained in the showers and swimming pool.

07.  Serving as a life saver when the official one was off drinking beer at the tavern down the street.

08.  Saving drowning children if necessary,  (Happened just once.)

09.  Closing the pool at 7 pm each evening.

10.  Ensuring that members evacuate the premises by 9 pm.

11.  Ensuring that the swimming pool was then filled with chemicals.  (bleach?)

Our swimming pool was not very large, Maybe 10' by 25'.  One end was 4' deep, the other 6'.  The water was cold enough to "frost your gonads" ... kind of.

But the kids loved it, even when older guys joined them for a swim, or for what ever went on.  I had no control over that, except for a few times when the police were called in.

Now, I would like to once again relate a little story that I have told a few times.. because it "tickles my funny bone.

A very tall teenager had been sneaking in every evening to swim in the pool.  He was a persistent pain and every time we caught him, closed his entrance point, and threw him out, the next night he would have found another way to sneak in.

It was time to get creative! 

 On a snowy evening, New Bedford Protestant churches were holding their basketball championship games in one of our two gyms; the one that had a large running track overlooking the court.  Lots of people were straining the track, watching their favorite teams.

Because of all the activity, I had a helper that night, and we had closed the pool at 7 pm,  as usual.  A while later, as we suspected, we could hear the kid splashing about and enjoying himself. Now we did our creative activity.  We gathered up all of his clothes and hid them in a locker.

When he had had his fill of swimming, we could hear him puttering around looking for his clothes and getting madder and madder, until he couldn't take it any more and began to yell and curse like a seasoned sailor.  Me and my helper were holding our sides laughing, until we heard the kid bounding up the stairs next to the pool.

Oh oh! Those stairs led directly to the gym where the church basketball teams were playing.  The kid pried open the door to the gym and bounded out into the middle of the Baptist and Methodist, kind of boring, championship game.  Suddenly the game got much more exciting as the kid kept twirling and twirling in all of his naked majesty, as he yelled over and over:  "What #@%$&)*$@^# stole my clothes!"

 My helper and I tackled the kid and got him calmed down.  We gave him his clothes and got him out of there in a hurry.

Guess what?  Yes, there he was the next night enjoying another swim.  We finally decided to give in and chipped in to pay for a long-term membership that included lots of swimming time.

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A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A STREET KID

My son and daughter give me hints that I might be losing my short term memory.  They are probably right. My remembrance of my childhood are vivid.  My remembrance of things I did last week are a little fuzzy.  

An example of a vivid childhood memory: 

The year is 1943, I am nine years old, World War 2 is raging, my uncles, Allen and Billy are away in the service,  and we have just moved into a new (for us) first-floor tenement on County Street.

(For the benefit of former New Bedford, Massachusetts residents, I will use familiar names for streets and businesses... and also for people, if that is appropriate.)

On this day, my best friend Casey (Robert Case) and I had planned on skipping school.  (Casey wasn't happy with his fourth grade teacher at Cook School and I was unhappy and scared of my German General principal Miss Savage at the Allen F. Wood School.  We felt that we needed a day off.)  

However, the New Bedford education leaders decided that all schools should be closed today for a "Teachers Conference."

My Grandmother was probably irked that I would be home to bug her on a usually quiet school day, so she gave me ten cents and shooed me out the front door with the admonition to be back home by five pm for "supper." (It was Friday and even though we weren't Catholic we always had fish on Friday nights... and, of course, baked beans and hotdogs on Saturday nights.)

The ten cents from my grandmother was to cover the price of a delicious Chow Mein Sandwich for lunch at Charlie Wong's Restaurant on Purchase Street.  Since all "white folks" look alike, Charlie didn't recognize us as the kids who sang "Charlie Wong plays with his ding dong!" outside of his kitchen door.  Mr. Wong would chase us away as he brandished a massive meat cleaver.  I think he just wanted to scare us, because he was truly an angel of a man, usually.

A couple of blocks from my new home, on Orchard Street, there was a large lot containing three half-built homes, which could not be completed because of Government War restrictions.  We kids called the lot "The Three Houses" and loved to roll up and down over "mountains" of dirt, rocks and mud, playing "pirates beating our  German and Japanese enemies."  (We did not use polite terms for our adversaries.)

On the street next to the lot were two gigantic pine trees that we loved to climb.  I've written somewhere how I liked to climb as high as possible and get a panoramic view of the New Bedford harbor, the Elizabeth Islands and mainly Cuttyhunk Island.

Today, after we played on the "Three Houses" lot and climbed our favorite trees, we decided to revisit Hawthorne Street, once the place where "rich folks" resided.

The street was named for the enormous Hawthorne trees that lined a wide avenue. Whaling Industry executives lived there in mansions. However, hurricanes, especially the 1938 surprise storm, blew down the beautiful trees and destroyed the homes.  Only "skeleton" house frames and goldfish ponds remained.  Naturally, we found these premises irresistible.

Today, though, nothing interesting "caught our eye" and we decided to go to Charlie Wong's for lunch instead.

Fortified by the Chinese food, we embarked on a new adventure.

Casey had "found" a large red wagon that would hold a lot of newspapers and magazines, needed by the "war effort."

We made a pilgrimage to residential areas off of Union Street and solicited donations.  As soon as we filled the wagon, we brought our collection to the Saint John Portuguese Catholic warehouse which was situated in the alley behind my County Street  home.

Inside the warehouse were mountains of newspapers and magazines awaiting Government pickup.  We added our piles and felt good that we were helping win the war.

Neither of us had been in the warehouse before, and we were very much interested in seeing magazines that we never knew existed. We sat on a pile of newspapers and were enjoying reading some of the magazines when a burly, hairy priest yelled at us and predicted "eternal damnation" if we didn't go away.  We went away.

We then decided that we wanted to go to the movies.  The Olympia Theater downtown was rerunning "Thanks For The Memory" with beloved comedian, Bob Hope.  However, we had spent our ten cent admission price for lunch.

Luckily, "the fleet was in" and the town was filled with sailors.   These guys are very generous, especially when they are accompanying a pretty girl.  So, all one has to do is find a likely sailor and say: "Please, sir, could you spare a dime?"  Works every time.  So, after Casey and I got our dimes, we decided what to do.

Since it was a "snap" to sneak into the Olympia Theater, we would do so, and use our dimes not for admission, but to buy boxes of cavity-inducing spearmint leaves candy instead.

After watching the movie a few times, we noted the Roman Numeral time on the big clock next to the screen.  Oh, oh!  We had only XV minutes to get home for supper. We said: "Good Bye," planned to see each other tomorrow and rushed to our homes.

I tried unsuccessfully to hide my portion of fish, but I got caught and had to be monitored for the rest of the meal.

Later, at 7 pm, we tuned our Hallicrafters radio to a station that played "The Amos and Andy Show."  Usually it played Mondays, when EVERBODY in the United States listened to this wonderfully funny radio show.  For some reason, it played on Friday this week.

My favorite character was "The Kingfish," who was a classic conman.  

Andy: "Kingfish, I just bought a stucco house."

Kingfish: "Yeah, and you are the stuckee!" 

I loved that show and never thought that it might offend black people.

After the "Amos and Andy Show," we all listened to Guy Lombardo and his band and were serenaded by Helen Forrest.  Nice calming music that stays as an "ear bug" even today. eighty years later.

Around 9:30 pm, I began to "konk out," and needed a little help into my bed, where my mind projected another great day (Saturday!) tomorrow with my good buddy, Casey.

"Good night!

Bugs bite!"

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RELIGIOUS ... RIGHT?

Sunday's New York Times had a nicely written article by Maria Cramer about 91-year-old Pat Robertson, who is retiring from his famous (infamous?) "700 Club" after 50 years.  Mr. Robertson's son, Gordon will take over the show, with guest appearances by his father, whenever he has had long conversations with Jesus.

I have always thought that Pat was  a reincarnation of the fictitious Elmer Gantry, but with the help of modern communication methods.

I also always wondered about the origin of The 700 Club.

To paraphrase (kind of misquote) Ms. Cramer's information: 

Mr. Robertson was praying for financial aid for his "enterprise," when "... Jesus appeared to him with a 'vision for the world.'"

This initiated a series of telethons "asking for 700 viewers to pledge $10 a month to the station."  Hence, began the "700 Club."

Here are some of Pat's views, as mentioned in the article... with my own comments:

01. Islam is a violent religion.

(Some Arab leaders might tend to violence, but I think that the billions of people who study the Koran, tend to honor peace instead.)

 02.  Same sex romance is repulsive.  

(I outgrew that view when I entered High School.  That is no problem for me.  Everybody needs some one to love.)

03.  Feminism is a form of socialism.

(Women should be treated equally as men, and men should help women break the "glass ceiling.")

04.  Natural disasters and terrorism are caused by "moral and spiritual failings."  Also by not enough praying..    

(When I came home from the service, I went in to see my Baptist preacher.  He immediately had me kneel and recite the Lord's Prayer as he kept looking at his wrist watch.  When I finished, he said: "Thank You, Jesus," handed me a Bible, and hustled off for "a very important date.")

05.  Marijuana should be legalized.

(At last, something we agree about.

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I suggest that you get a copy of the New York  Times for October 3rd, 2021 and read Maria Cramer's very informative article.

Part 2:  ... FOR THE RECORD...

In yesterday's blog entry, I told how my large collection of vinyl  records was built,  mainly by my membership in the RCA Record Club, Classical Division. I then  told how that collection disappeared.  

Today, I want to tell a similar story that I have told many times, including as a Toastmasters speech.

First, let me tell you about an interesting family. (I will use aliases.)

The Ramos clan was a Portuguese-American family consisting of four members: Manny, an uncle, Jose, a nephew, Roberto, a nephew, and Sally, a young lady with several advanced degrees, and best friend of my future wife, Elaine.

The two nephews were fabulous musicians, who sometimes "subbed" with the Boston Symphony orchestra.  They often rehearsed with other classical musicians in the nude at a house near the shore.

The family was smart about many things, but not about finances.  They were in debt to stores, organizations, and especially landlords.  Therefore, it was amazing to us when we learned that they had moved into a high-priced rental property.

That "property" was situated by itself on a spot resembling the location of the "Flatiron Building" in New York City, and it consisted of a reconstructed Victorian-style mansion.

A beautiful feature of the outside of the house was an enormous wrap-around porch.  Passers by surely remarked: "Rich folks must live there."

Sally invited us to see how they had decorated the insides.  We couldn't believe what we were seeing in the "parlor."  The floor consisted of expensive wood, varnished to a high sheen, and in the middle sat a massive grand piano.  Nothing else was in that beautiful room.  One expected Ginger Rogers to waltz into the room and seat herself on top of the piano, as Oscar Levant played and Fred Astaire danced around the room.

While congratulating the family on their aesthetic sensibility, I casually mentioned my RCA Record Club experience.  The nephews, although being master musicians, had never realized that one could obtain classical records by mail, and  were surprised and eager to join the club.

I was told by the nephews that Portuguese-Americans could legally use either of their ethnic patronymic last names:  Ramos or Mendez. This was to serve them well.

Here is a breakdown of records received while in the club:

For  Jose Ramos - Initial Club Start - 10 records

For Jose Ramos - for recruiting Roberto Ramos - 10 records

For Jose Mendez - Initial Club Start - 10 records

For Jose Mendez - for recruiting Roberto Mendez - 10 records

For Roberto Ramos - Initial Club Start - 10 records

For Roberto Mendez - Initial Club Start - 10 records

For Roberto Mendez - For recruiting  Manny Ramos - 10 records

For Manny Ramos - Initial Club Start - 10 records

For Jose Ramos - For recruiting Manny Mendez - 10 records

For Manny Mendez - Initial Club Start - 10 records

Monthly "picks" for six members x six months - 36 records

I count 136 classical records in six months, half of them not "legal."

Seven months after our house visit, we got a call telling us that we should check the Ramos house.  We arrived to find two things: one was the view through the bay window of a completely empty house; the other was the looks of the front porch.  It had stacks of records that were never taken in by the inhabitants.

We asked the mailman to return them to the sender.  He said that was not possible according to Postal rules, and the records were free for whoever wanted them.

I came up with three conclusions: 

01.  The Ramos family had vacated the premises a while ago.  Perhaps they had just been "House Sitting."

02.  There were many many more records on the porch than the 136 I had calculated.  Perhaps they had thought up some other "scam" to play on the RCA Record Club.

03.   It would be fine for me, who appreciated classical music to help myself to all of these records.  I did offer duplicates to a fellow music lover.  My vinyl record collection is being held in several containers in my garage.  Someday I might find my vinyl record player and enjoy hearing them again.

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a dios

For Manny Mendez - Initial Club Start - 10 records

"...JUST FOR THE RECORD"

I have a rather large collection of vinyl records, mostly classical.  I have two stories about how I got them and how some of them disappeared.  (Since I love to stretch out my stories, I will tell them in two blog entries.)

01.  Germany

For 18 months, I was stationed at an Air Force radar site on top of a medium-sized mountain in Germany's Schnee Eiffel area.  Schnee means snow in German, and it certainly was an apt name for where I was,

As I remember, there was always a layer of fresh fallen snow, on top of older layers of snow, and therefore all of our "leisure" activity had to be held inside, in our flimsy barracks, huddled around our inefficient pot-bellied stove.

Early in my overseas assignment, one of the radar technicians saw me warming my innards at our stove while listening on my pocket radio to a German station that played only Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby, 24 hours a day.  He suggested that I upgrade my musical sensibility by listening to "real" music.  

I was already a fan of "classical" music, especially Mozart's works and had signed up for the RCA Record Club, Classical Division.  They offered 11 free vinyl discs with membership, and would mail other discs unless they were told not to.  I was hooked.

Unfortunately, I joined while stationed in Biloxi, Mississippi.  I had to have future records sent to my Massachusetts home.  When  I got stationed in Germany, I asked for records and bills to come to my address there.

Two situations arose.  Record delivery by mail to U.S. units in Germany took a long time to be delivered.  Therefore I did not meet the cancelation time limit and all monthly record selections became mine. In addition, I never got a monthly bill. (When I finally got a bill, it was quite astronomical; luckily my "21" winnings took care of that.")

Soon after talking to the radar technician, before I had received any RCA Record Club records, I hopped a ride on the back of an icy Army truck and had them drop me off at an Army store that sold electronic stuff.  Everything was low in price, so I bought a record of Beethoven's Fifth with a famous conductor, and to play it, I purchased the cheapest player ever made.

After I bummed a chilly ride back up the mountain, I began to regale my mates with the loud sounds of "dit dit dit dah!"  It didn't take long for them to find a pair of ear-phones for me to wear.

After a little while, I duplicated my Army truck trip and purchased a record containing arias from Operas that I had never heard of, but now I love.

When I got back, I found packages of vinyl records - those monthly selections that I was unable to cancel.  

After my mountain assignment, I moved all my "gear," including a foot-locker filled with vinyl records to my new home for 18 months in a warmer southern Germany location.

When my Germany tour was over, after divesting what belonged to the Air Force, I ended up with an extremely heavy box of hundreds of records.  Back at home, my girlfriend, Elaine, arranged for her mother to store these records upstairs in her summer cottage.

Elaine and I got married and I made up a large to-do list, with "catalog vinyl records" in a prominent spot.

A while later, Elaine's mother "passed" and in her will, she left the cottage to her daughter, Janine and son, Lenny.  We neglected to tell them about the records in the upstairs bedroom. (A BIG mistake!)

After matters settled down, it was time to rediscover that "real" music, Elaine and I got things ready to catalog and then play our records. We went to the cottage to get our future musical items, and, you guessed it. All of those hundreds of vinyl records had disappeared!

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Basta!

MORE JOKES AND HUMOROUS STUFF

01.  PUNS by Rick Obermeyer.. minus their background stories.

(Feel free to make up your own.)

Fill two Kurds with one scone.

Bill two Kurds with one phone.

Build two herds with one loan.

Had a chicken catch a Tory.

A snitch online saved mine.

A tipped canoe and Tyler too.

Give them a twinge and they make a smile.

02.  Joshua fit the battle of Geritol. (bottle?)

03.  Enlightened one made of a Dutch cheese:  Gouda Buddha.

04.  A sargent and a private were sleeping in the field in a tent.  At 3am, the private said: "Wake up, sarge .. look up and tell me what you see."

Sarge says: "I see millions of stars and galaxies and it  shows me how insignificant we are in the universe.  It also tells me that tomorrow will be a beautiful day.  Private, what does it tell you?"

Private says: "Well, Sarge, it tells me that somebody has stolen our tent!"

05.  A young boy is gorging himself on Cheerios, and eats nothing but Cheerios.  His mother asks him why he likes the cereal. He tells his mother: "Because they are Goddam good, and they make me feel good as hell!"

 Shocked at his language, his mother thinks its because of the Cheerios and tells him that if he eats any more of it, and starts to curse again, she will wash his mouth out with lye soap.

Two weeks later, without his Cheerios fix, his mother asks him how he's doing .  He replies, "Well, I'm doing O.K., and you can bet your ass I won't be eating Cheerios for a long Goddamn time!"

 06.  I forgot another reminder phrase about the calendar:

"30 days hath September and some months I can't remember."

07.  Leo Rosenberg wrote about aging:  "First you forget names, then you forget faces, then you forget to pull your zipper up, then you forget to pull your zipper down." 

08.  Dorothy Parker has this final part of her 1925 poem "Epitaph for a Darling Lady" carved into her tombstone:

"Leave for her a red young rose,

Go your way and save your pity;

She is happy, for she knows

That her dust is very pretty."

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genug!