Pop's Rules

The past several weeks, like so many people in SETexas, I have been self quarantining to minimize the spread of the Caronavirus (COVID19).  Stuck in one place and doing nothing is all new territory for me.

I started out cleaning the house.  Several days were devoted to yard and garden work.  I have trimmed shrubs and trees, cut the grass several times and cleaned the garage and shop.  I am now working on "Things I Don't Want To Do" List.  But, I must admit, Boredom has set in.

I have recently been challenged with helping with the Grandkids several hours each day.  They are here from North Texas while my son and DIL continue to work in the hospitality/dining business.  My daughter, the school teacher, has agreed to help them with their homeschooling.  I am in charge of vocational training.  They have learned to drive the tractor, dig holes in a sand pile, catch lizards and use them for earrings, pee in the yard, plant flowers and tomato plants, drink from the water hose, pressure wash things, and many other outdoor activities. 

When I get tired I send them inside to watch TV, play on their iPad, etc.  They are very good at this task and can do it all day long.  I am not a very good kid sitter and have expressed this to all in earshot.  My daughter is excellent. It must be the education training vs. my engineering background. 

I do love all of my family and want to be a part of their growth.  At my age I'm not very good at tolerating recalcitrant moments.  Many years ago when my oldest grandchild was young and we still had a beach house  I established "The Rules" for the beach. They have since been expanded.  Rules that I try to live by as well.  Periodically, I am challenged on my adherence, which I appreciate.

                                                       POP'S RULES

1.  NO WHINING
2. COWBOY UP (Or Cowgirl Up depending on your gender)
3. NO EXCUSES
4. DON'T SAY YOU CAN'T (A rule that was suggested by youngest granddaughter)
5. DO THE RIGHT THING
6. BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF
7. ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY
8. DO SOMETHING GOOD
9. BE BETTER EVERY DAY
(The last three have not been introduced to the kiddos yet)
                                                                     
 I have even introduced my Girlfriend's daughter to the rules. My experience is that the girls have the most trouble with Number 1.

As we all continue to struggle with this temporary life style of confinement and social distancing, I find that I am constantly challenged to follow the rules my self and compromise my personal Rule #10,  "I'm 76 f@#&ing years old, I'll do whatever I want. 

This too shall pass.  Stay safe my friends.

Return on Investment

I was born in Ft. Worth, Texas but we lived in Grapevine on the corner of E. Worth and Dooley with my Grandfather, Daddy Wall.  My parents were natives of North Texas and our ancestors go back many generations to the surrounding prairie.  Most of my relatives never left the area.  But, when I was about five or six we moved to Beaumont, Texas. It seemed like every weekend we would drive to Grapevine to visit family. It was on one of these weekends I had a financial epiphany.  During the week the local merchants gave little tickets to customers.  On Saturday there was a drawing downtown on Main St.  You would write your name on the back of the ticket and put in this big drum.  Winners would receive various amounts of cash.  One Saturday I won $10.  On the way home my Dad told me if I would open a savings account, he would match the $10. I was several decades from receiving a MBA, but knew this was a pretty good ROI.

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Back in Beaumont I opened a savings account at the First Federal Savings and Loan on Highland Ave.  They gave you a little passbook that logged all of your transactions and balance.  Every time I would get some money from chores or collecting coke bottles, I would take it to the  bank.  I became obsessed with my savings account.  Every quarter I would ride my bike down Highland Ave. to see my interest posted in my little book.  Usually only a few pennies, but it was "free" money.

I got some odd jobs as a pre and early teen.  All of it went into the account.  When we would make our trip to Grapevine, Daddy Wall (maternal often gave me a silver dollar.  I decided to put my silver dollars in the account.  I had no idea I couldn't get them back at a later date.  I was so proud when my account reached $100. 

I would save my money with some purchase in mind, new catchers mitt, bicycle, etc.  When my savings was enough to buy the object, I couldn't bring myself to let go,  The new glove or bike wasn't worth the effort I put into earning the money. 

When in high school, I even loaned my Dad money to buy some investment property.  Of course, we had a discussion about appropriate interest he would be charged.  I never spent any of that savings, until my junior year in college when my Dad talked me into investing in a piece of rental property with him.  That began my foray to rental property and can provide material for many more blogs.

Thanks to my Dad's insight, I was able to pay for much of my college and  to move to Tennessee to take my first real job without any financial worries.

Little did I know that my financial freedom was about to end in a few years.   I fell in Love.

The Rest of the Story

For many years Paul Harvey could be heard daily on the radio telling mostly human interest stories and always closed with the line, "Now you know the rest of the story".  My question to you is, "Do you know the rest of the story?"

This weekend I had the honor of attending my uncle's life celebration in Charlotte, NC.  Uncle James lived to be 98 and is survived by his wife of 72 years, Helen.  Jim or Jimmy as he is most often called, was my Mother's younger brother.  He was 11 when my Grandmother died.  My Mother and older sister, Mary Virginia provided his maternal guidance.  He graduated from Texas A&M and joined the Army upon graduation.  During WWII he volunteered for the Army Air Corps and became a pilot.  During the war he flew over 50 missions before being shot down over China and spent the last ten months of the war as a Japanese POW.  Later he became a successful executive and spent more than a dozen years as a Referee in Bankruptcy after his retirement.

Although I did not see Uncle James on a frequent basis his presence was always there when my Mother and/or Aunt were around.  The times I did get to see him, his presence was large.  He always gave me time.  Whether it was helping me assemble the erector set he gave me for Christmas, talking about, golf, business or his time as a POW.  I grew up knowing, respecting and admiring Uncle James.  An icon for the "Greatest Generation"

What I regret is not knowing the rest of the story with so many others from that Generation.  My  own Father being the major one of those.  He was a WWII veteran that earned the rank of Captain, was awarded the Bronze Star and remained in the Army Reserve many years after the war.  He never talked about the War and as a young adult, I was afraid to ask.  I will never know "all of his story"

I do remember during holidays when we would return home, many of his friends would gather.  I would listen to some of their conversations.  All of them war time vets.  One had survived the Bataan Death march.  Others had served in various capacities.  But, I knew none of their stories.

When I went to work in industry in the mid 60's many of the older employees had served during WWII.  One had been in the Battle of the Bulge, one lost a leg in a naval accident and another was on the USS Indianapolis when it went down in shark infested waters in the Pacific. Never heard the rest of their story.  My wife's cousin was in the 82nd Airborne and perished in the massive air drop on D-Day.  

When I did take the opportunity to engage a WWII vet about their experiences, I felt the presence of  greatness.  Their dedication to their purpose was unquestioned.  Their character was distinct.  Their bravery easily recognizable. They became excellent fathers, husbands and contributors to society.

Uncle James was willing to tell his story and even wrote memoirs of his wartime experiences.  So few of this generation is left.  If you have the opportunity to know someone from this era, don't let
time slip away without hearing, "The Rest of Their Story"

Don't Tear Down My Statues

Before all of this Controversy of Anything Confederate expands, I want to go on the record. Although to most of the World, I am known as G-Man, Super Hero, my real name is Jim Wright.
I want to make it perfectly clear I am NOT the Liberal Politician from Ft. Worth.  I am in no way related to the former Speaker of the House by blood or marriage.  I have never socialized nor met with the Democrat.  In fact, a distant relative of mine, Wingate Lucas, was opposed by Jim Wright for a seat in Congress. 

I am prepared to take legal action against ESPN if they try to block me from playing Fantasy Football or lead any efforts to remove my trophies just because I share a similar name with a politician of questionable ethics.

Although I was born in Ft. Worth and lived my early life in Tarrant county,  I never knew the man.

More Summer Work

After my first year of college, I had not been able to land a summer job.  I was going to the high school gym in the mornings to work out, play ping pong or some pick up basketball games.  After about a week into the summer, Coach Pappy Drennan approached me asking if I had a job for the summer.  He was the Assistant Head Master and was looking for counselors to work at Camp Stewart.  Camp Stewart was a boys summer camp in the Texas Hill Country near Hunt, TX.  I had to provide my own transportation.  Since my parents weren't willing to let me take one of the family cars, I had to ride the train to San Antonio where I was met by someone to take me to the camp.  I don't recall much about train ride other than it stopped a lot.

Once I was there I received my duties.  I was to be in charge of a cabin of 12-15 boys that were about 12years old.  I had to make sure they got up, made their beds and went to breakfast each morning.  They would then participate in various activities during the day and be back in their cabins for a 9:00pm "lights out" 

During the day I had several activities, one of which was teaching golf.  Within a week, all of the campers under my tutelage were slicing the ball.  I also had to coordinate some other games.  Plus, I was required to be a lifeguard at the swimming hole on the Guadalupe River.  (Note to Parents:  Be careful where you send your kids)  I was not a strong swimmer.  I had to swim out to the life guard float and oversee the kids.  At one point I had to pull  a kid out of the water.  Fortunately, he was hanging on the float and I didn't have to swim to rescue him. 

All of the counselors were near my age and we developed some comraderie.   I got to know the wranglers pretty well.  One of them had an old truck.  None of the other counselors did.  The wranglers were only responsible for tending the horses and leading the trail rides.  They did not have cabin responsibilities and would ride into town at night.  They invited me to go with them and on several occasions I would head to town after my campers were all asleep.  We went to this honky tonk in Ingram called Criders.  It was surrounded by a chicken wire fence with a large gate at the entrance. It had a bandstand on one end, a bar and concession on the other and a concrete dance floor in between.  It was completely open and had a large oak tree in the middle of the dance floor.  The clientele was a mix of ranchers, cowboys, vacationers, families with kids and, in some cases, dogs.  It was at Criders that I learned to do the chicken dance to the Adolph Hofner and the Pearl Wranglers Band and that golden eagles are hated by sheep farmers as they will kill the new born sheep or goats. 

After returning to Texas from Tennessee my friend, Craig Christopher, had purchased a ranch near Hunt and invited me to spend a weekend with him.  He suggested we go into town for a rodeo and some BBQ at a local establishment.  Turns out it was Crider's.  After 20+ years the only thing that had changed was the chicken wire had been replaced by a chain link fence.

Each summer the Camp Stewart boys would be transported to Camp Mystic for a dance at the girls camp.  The counselors were the chaperones.  A lot of the campers were from affluent families.  In my cabin I had a kid whose dad was president of Westinghouse Corp and another boy that was a member of the Houston Fondren family.  At the Camp Mystic dance,  Lucy Johnson and the daughter of Governor Connelly were present.

After being at Camp Stewart for about six weeks, I started getting sick.  I had an extremely sore throat. So bad that I could only eat ice cream.  My whole body ached.  After several trips to the camp infirmary, they finally decided I needed to see the doctor in town.  I had come down with mononucleosis.  They sent me back home on the train.  By the time I got home I had lost 20 lbs.

About a month later I got a check for my services.  Don't remember the amount, but it wasn't much.
The money didn't matter as I developed an appreciation for the beauty of the Texas Hill Country.


Next:  Getting a little more serious about working.

Summer Job

For teenagers in the 60's it was hard to find part time or summer jobs.  There was no fast food restaurants or shopping malls that employed students in mass. When you could find a job to make a little spending money, it was usually for a short duration. 

I was always looking for some work.  The first I remember was cleaning up the little league field after the games when I was 13.  My job was to pick up the trash and put it in the garbage.  I think I made $5 each game.  Unfortunately, I had not developed a very good work ethic at that time and my Mother did most of the work.  I didn't last very long on that job.

I excelled on the next job.  It started in my 8th grade year at MacArthur Jr. High.  Each morning before classes I had to go to the cafeteria before school started and take all of the folding chairs off the tables and set them up for lunch.  After the last lunch period I would go stack them on the tables so the floors could be cleaned and mopped.  I remember working with Bill Coward.  We got the routine down and could get it done in a hurry.  Compensation for this was a free lunch in the cafeteria and either two cartons of milk or two desserts.  I opted for the two milks, except on Friday when it was cherry cobbler day and I got two desserts and bought the second milk.  I think lunch was about thirty cents at that time.  Held that job for two years.

Summer jobs were hard to find as a young teenager.  A couple of summers I got to work for the school district delivering the new text books to the schools.  It was fun and never seemed to be "work". I don't recall the pay, but the total was something short of $100.

It was the summer job I got after my senior year in high school that has the date August 10, 1962 etched in my mind.  I was looking for work when I heard of a construction company that needed a laborer/dump truck driver.  I was told to report for work the following Monday.  I never told them I had never driven a dump truck before nor did I have a commercial license.  I studied the book and passed the test the next day.   The company was building filling stations in the area.  I was to drive the truck when needed and work with the labor crew the rest of the time.  The very first morning I was told to help load debris in the truck and then take it to the dump.  Driving the truck was no problem.  I had been in a dump truck before but only as a passenger.  When I got to the dump, I had no idea how to operate the lift.  I knew it had something to do with the two levers protruding through the floor board.  I begin to try various combinations to get the lift to work.  I was beginning to think I was going to have to unload the junk by hand when I finally figured out how the bed lifted.   When I got back to the job site, the boss wanted to know why it took so long.  

I would go to the sand pit, haul building materials and numerous trips to the dump.  Even had to go to a railroad siding one day with several crew members to transfer asphalt from a rail car to the dump truck.  Southeast Texas summer heat caused the asphalt to stick to the bottom of my tennis shoes, making my feet really hot.  Not easy work for $1.25/hr. 

Once I mastered the dump truck, I looked forward to driving.  The ground work was tough.  Most of my duties centered around preparing foundations for pouring the slab.  One of the crew members was and old man that always grabbed the hand tamp to pack the fill sand.  I noticed he always worked at a very slow rate.  Had to be easy. One day I grabbed the tamp before he did.
Turned out the thing was a lot heavier than I realized.  After about ten minutes I gave it back to the old guy.  It was then I realized his forearms were about twice the size of mine.

Back to August 10th.  We were sent to a previously built station on the Corner of College and Lindbergh to make some repairs.  During that period of time oyster shells were used as road base.  The oysters were put down wet and then rolled to pack them.  When dry, it set up as a solid base and asphalt was used to top it off, making a nice road, drive, etc.  This particular station had an apron constructed in this manner.  Due to the unstable SE Texas gumbo soil and a plethora of 18 wheelers parking on this spot, the approach kept failing.  The construction manager decided that it must all be dug up and replaced with concrete.   Since hauling off the spoils required the dump truck, I was sent with the crew.  The job was fairly simple.  Dig it up and load the truck.

It required the use of a grub hoe, a shovel and lots and lots of muscle.

You simply just busted up the asphalt and oyster shell and shoveled it.  Simply enough you might think.  And, why was August 10th significant?  Well that date is the second highest temperature recorded in Beaumont, 107 degrees.  It was brutal.  I would hammer for awhile, then go to the water cooler.  Bust some more oyster shell and go to the bathroom.  It was during one of those water breaks that I knew I wanted to go to college.

I gained a lot of respect for those guys that were doing it for a living, especially Scatter, the old man on the tamper.

Coming next: Working as a counselor at a summer camp.

Pills Are For Sellin' Not Takin'

My Great-Grandfather, Zachary Taylor Wall and my Grandfather, Clifford Wall were both pharmacists in Grapevine, Texas.  I even have a copy of a prescription that was written by Z. T. Wall in 1879.  The actual drug is difficult to read, but underneath it says with whiskey.  Grapevine was a "dry" town in the 19th Century. 

Growing up under two generations of drug store owners, my Mother (Babe as we affectionately called her)  had plenty of exposure to the business.  I recall a conversation I had with her when she was in her early 80s about her medications.  She told me that she wasn't taking all of them.  When I questioned her about it, she replied that, in her family, pills were for selling, not taking. 

Babe was only 15 when her Mother died during the Great Depression.  Forced to take over the household during difficult economic times, she was very resourceful and remained so her entire life.
I recall meals at home growing up.  It didn't take long to learn that what wasn't eaten during the week was going to show up in the soup on the weekend.

I have been accused of being cheap, tight, chintzy, etc.  A trait that I don't deny.  But, as you can see from the above I came about it honestly. 

Upon moving back to Texas during the 80's, I decided that I needed a new belt to wear with my jeans.  Of course, I needed one with my name on the back.  While shopping at a local store, I noticed a table full of belts.  Apparently they were defects or had been returned.  One caught my eye and it was the size I was looking for.  Only problem, the name on the back was "Greg".  Since the belts were only $2.88 each, I decided it would be fine.  I bought the belt and begin wearing it. At social gatherings people would come up to me and call me Greg.  After a couple of years my niece and nephew gave me a belt for Christmas with "Jim" on the back.  I'd still be wearing the "Greg" belt today if it would fit.

Several years later we moved to the country.  For Christmas, I thought I would get the kids in the real spirit of Christmas.  We would go out in the woods and find a suitable Christmas tree and cut it down.  Since furs and few cedars grow in Southeast Texas, we cut down a small pine and then cut off the top six feet to use as our tree.  I must admit  that it was a bit sparse, but it got decorated anyway. Years later I heard my daughter talking with my friend, Don Webb.  He mentioned the story about the tree and Jennifer said, "Yes, that was the Christmas I learned the meaning of frugal".

This past week I took my wife to the doctor for some discomfort she was experiencing.  He prescribed a couple of medications and three B-12 shots.  I was told that the pharmacy could give her the shots as a courtesy.  We got the medication, sans whiskey, but the pharmacist said they don't give shots.  I was told to go to the Minute Clinic, but I knew they would charge me.  So, being the frugal person I am, I told my wife I would give her the shots.  She asked me if I had ever given a shot before and I told her I had.  After giving her the shot the next day, I confessed that I had given shots before, but they were to the horses.