G Man Looks at 2012

It's that time of the year that most of us set some admirable goals we hope to accomplish in the New Year.  Most people avow to eat better, get some exercise or give up some bad habit or vice.  By March they give up and resort to their more comfortable life style.  But, at least they try and must be encouraged to continue to seek continued improvement.   Super Heroes such as G Man support this ritual.  However, super human beings also have weaknesses and must continue to seek improvement.  In this vain G Man would like to share his results from 2011 and goals for 2012 in order to encourage his fans and followers to become better people and serve the G Man creed of Truth, Justice and the Texas Way.

In 2011 G Man announced his retirement from active Super Hero status and sought to accomplish the following:
  
Goal #l:  See as many baseball games as possible
Result:  Attended 56 games including one in Wrigley Field and one Astro game that included a complete tour of the Minute Maid Park facilities arranged by long time friends Barbara and Gene Coleman.

Dr. Gene Coleman, Houston Astros
Col. Buster Coats, USMC Retired

Goal #2: Ride my motorcycle more.
Result:  Only rode about 1500 miles. Failed to make sufficient improvement in this area.

Goal #3:  Go to work everyday if I felt like it. 
Result:  Went to work every scheduled day.  Only one day of those days did not meet criteria.

Overall evaluation:   Satisfactory. 

For 2012 G Man plans to keep Goals #1 and #2 and add the following goal for the coming year.

Goal #3:  Establish and adhere to a healthier lifestyle.

Goal #4:  Activate plan to name Hwy 105, "GMan Super Hero Highway".

G Man will continue to provide periodic progress reports on the above.  In addition, he will continue to host his Super Hero Fantasy Camps.  If anyone is interested feel free to contact Super Hero Consultant, Bobcat at lrcats@aol.com.

Happy New Year to all and remember help your neighbor.

It's Only Bench Racing Now

Restored 1976 250WR Husqvarna

While working at DuPont in the late 1990s I got to know a skilled welder and mechanic, Joe Wright.  Joe was a motocross racer in his younger days.  Periodically we would spend time "bench racing".  Joe was a Penton rider and I had told him about my old Husky in the barn.  During our periodic discussions Joe would suggest that I should get the old bike restored.  Since it had not been ridden in nearly 20 years and had been completely underwater in a couple of floods that completely engulfed the barn, I didn't give it much thought.  One day in 2003 Joe again brought up subject.  I asked him if he wanted to do it and to my surprise, he said, "Yes!".  

Several weeks later I loaded the sad looking bike and took it too him.  I fully expected Joe to say, "My bad, take it back home".  Joe worked on the bike in his free time and would occasionally call to get my approval to do something.   After about a year, it was ready to go.  After taking turns kick starting and pushing it down the street, it fired up.  Ah, Man, that two cycle ring a ding sound and smell of burning premix fuel got my adrenaline going.  

During that year I had been given an incentive opportunity to retire.  I had planned to work a couple of more years, but the offer was too good to turn down.  The timeline to my retirement and the final stages of the restoration were running parallel.  By the time I retired I had no hobbies.  I had given up golf, running, racquetball and stamp collecting.  I didn't hunt or fish. Facebook, fantasy football and blogging weren't in my future.  My kids were grown.  I had sold all of my rental property.  I needed a hobby  Why not dirt biking?  I had taken the Husky on a couple of rides, but I knew I didn't want to tear it up.  So a found a good deal on a "new" Suzuki DR350. 

Keep in mind I had not ridden since 1982.  Dirt Bike technology had progressed significantly during the last 20 years.  I rode the bike around the neighborhood and hit some of the short trails around the house.  I did manage to lay the bike down by the bayou when I hit a log I failed to see.  I did get a pretty nasty burn on my leg.   This bike was much faster, heavier and the seat height greater than my Husky. 

Recalling the excitement from thirty years earlier, I decided to enter a family enduro sponsored by the Houston Trail Riders in Sam Houston National Forest.  I bought a new helmet and boots, found an old jersey, kidney belt and shoulder pads.  We spent the night near Conroe and headed to the staging area early in the morning.  They even had an over 60 class.  As hard as I tried I could not get the bike to start.  So, we volunteered to help out the organizers and went home that afternoon.

Two weeks later Linda and I went back to Sam Houston to do some play riding.  I had some maps of the park.  It was a beautiful day.  Linda brought her books and I took off alone on some trails.  The woods trails were dry and not too difficult.  I knew I was old and out of shape and on a machine well above my current level.  I started out slowly just wanting to enjoy the woods and the feel of the bike between my legs.  The more I rode, the more my confidence returned.  Pretty soon I was riding over my head, washed out on a berm and hit the ground pretty hard.  My leg was sore but not a show stopper.  I got back to the truck and still felt good.  I told my wife I was going to make another loop.
I got lost.  It turned out I crossed a paved road and mistook it for the one we came on.  By now my groin was starting to really ache.  I stopped a few times to check my map and each time the groin was hurting more and more.  It was getting really difficult to start the bike.  I finally found someone to give me directions to get back.  By now I had covered 50 miles and I wasn't sure how many miles I could get out of a tank of gas.  I finally got back and I was hurting so bad, I had to get help to load the bike on the trailer.  Linda drove home.

The next day I could barely walk.  I went to the doctor and I has some major soft tissue tears to the groin muscle.  I was pretty much confined to the house for the next month.  After recovering, I had to try it again.  I took the new bike and the Husky to a local motocross track.  No one was there, so I decided to ride anyway.  Well, next day I was back at the doctor after falling again.   I had a broken thumb and rib.  I concluded the new bike was too heavy and powerful for me.  In addition, I was not in very good shape nor very coordinated any more.  It was then that I decided to buy my first street bike. 

Several years later, while recovering from my first knee replacement, I answered an employment ad at a local motorcycle dealership.  Four years later I am still working there part time.  I love going to work everyday.  Only problem I keep buying toys. 

On Any Sunday

Enduro riding is not much of a spectator sport. You don't ride laps. They are a point to point course.
If you want to watch someone, you had to go to a particular spot and wait for your favorite rider to pass, then go to the next point.  You might get to watch your rider two or three times on the course.  Therefore, my family pit crew would have to find something to do for four hours waiting on me to make it to the finish and go home.  With three young kids, it became less fun for my wife.  She found it was a lot more comfortable to take the kids to Lake Winnepesaukah and then come home, rather than entertaining them in some remote area of the South. 

By 1976 I had made friends with riders from all parts of the country with a similar enthusiasms to mine.  So I began to make the trips alone or with a local friend that just wanted to get out of town.  By this time I was a serious competitor.  I had a chance at every event to "trophy".  I even began training to improve my performance.  I started running distances at a local track and increased weight training.

I had purchased a new 250WR Husqvarna. At the time it was one of the most competitive enduro bikes.  The Japanese bikes were starting to become more and more popular as the European bike numbers dwindled.  Still, the Husqvarna and Penton were the dominant bikes "On any  Sunday".

Water crossing near Anderson, SC. Note Honda rider getting passed

By now I was able to finish every race I entered without being disqualified.  I was adept at keeping time.  My main weakness was riding in real muddy conditions and long, tight woods trails.  These were the sections that I lost time and usually determine whether I would trophy.  During 1976 and 1977 I collected about a dozen trophies,  numerous plaques and medals.  My best finish was second in my class in the Talladega National Forest Enduro.  I got some thirds and fourths and even got a trophy for finishing 13th at an Athens, GA event.

The enduro season ran from September through May of the next year.  A lot of time the weather was just cold.  I remember riding in East Tennessee on a nice 60 degree day, but it had been cold and snowy prior to that day.  When you got on the east side of the mountain snow and ice were still on the course.  One such ride was a 150 mile one day trial that started in Maryville, TN and went through the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.  During the course of the event you were in North Carolina as well as Tennessee.  It was extremely cold, but as long as you were riding hard your body heat was up and you didn't notice it.  The race finished up on a mountain and you had a ten mile ride just to get back to the staging area.  This was the time you should be able to relax.  However, When I started back down blisters on my had burst and I was bleeding through my gloves.   My rear end was raw from bouncing on the seat.  When I stood up on the pegs, my hands hurt.  When I sat on the seat, my butt hurt.  It was a long ten miles down the mountain.  I got a bronze plaque for that ride.

Another ride outside Greenville, SC I was doing well.  With about 10 miles to go, I had only lost about 8 points and was heading for another finish.  I was riding on a power line right of way with long sloping hills.  I had passed another rider at the top of one hill and was jumping the erosion humps with precision.  Suddenly I hit one but, there were two  humps. In an instant panic, I backed off the throttle before the rear wheel was airborne and quickly did a nose dive and flipped over the handle bars with the Husky running over me.  I was a little shook, but only had some sore ribs.  The rider I had passed earlier caught up, stopped and asked if I was OK.  The crash must have been spectacular as the other rider turned around and went back up the hill.  I restarted my bike and took off.  When I got to the bottom a water filled ditch had to be crossed.  With my confidence gone and chest hurting, I laid the bike down in the water, drowning out my bike.  As I pulled it out of the ditch, I looked up to see an ambulance making its way down the slope.  They were coming for me.  The paramedic checked me out, put a band aid on my nose and sent me on my way.  I finished out of the money that day.

By now, I was a decent rider and didn't fall very much.  But, when I did it was spectacular.  One fall took the hide off my arm from my elbow to my wrist.  Another time I fell on my shoulder.  That was the only time I went to the doctor and it was the emergency room, but nothing was broken.  The little finger on my right hand stayed swollen from clipping small trees in tight woods sections.  It was only after I quit riding did it get well.

By the end of 1977 I had cut back on the number of events.  My boys had started playing sports and I was coaching or watching their activities.  In addition,  my training had led me to increase my running.  I began to enter some 10K events.  By the time I moved back to Texas in late 1979, I rode only a couple events each year. 

After moving to Texas I had some neighbors that rode and I entered 8 or 10 enduros on the Texas circuit.  I had lost some interest as running had become a higher priority.  My last enduro was an enduro in Terlingua, TX in 1982.   I parked my Husky in the barn and it remained there for twenty years. 

The Last Enduro in the snow: Terlingua,Texas

Most Memorable Christmas

What was your most memorable Christmas?  I spent the first 22 Christmas' in Grapevine, Texas.  My parents moved to Beaumont in 1950, but all of our family still lived in and around Grapevine.  We always spent Christmas Eve at my Paternal Grandparents home and Christmas Day with my Mother's family.  It was usually cold and my brother and I would sleep in the feather bed on the "sleeping porch".

Grandmother, Granddad Wright and Cry Baby

We got to open the presents when we got up Christmas morning. My Grandfather had this old clock that chimed every hour.  We would go to bed early so we could get up early and open the gifts.  Seven o'clock was the magic time.

If I awoke during the night I would listen for the clock.  If it chimed six times, I knew I had only an hour left.  The clock also chimed one time on each half hour.  One time I awoke during the night and was in bed waiting for the chime.  Eventually it chimed.  One "bong", oh no.  I didn't know what time it was. I was afraid to get up and wake my parents until I knew what time it was.  So I just willed myself to stay awake for the next chime.  Surely it would ring seven times.  In thirty more minutes, it chimed again. One "bong".  Since I was pretty good at logic, I deducted that it was either one or one-thirty.  I went back to sleep.

All that said, my most memorable Christmas occurred in 1958.  I was 14, my cousin, Tommy Simmons, was 12 and my brother, Bob, was 11.  I had obtained my driver's license the previous summer.  Daddy Wall let me drive his old Ford coupe.  There wasn't a lot to do in Grapevine, especially on Christmas Eve.  We decided to drive out to the lake.  Being adventurous, we went "trail blazing" leaving the dirt road and driving across the field. As luck would have it, we got stuck.  Several attempts of backing up and going forward only resulted in getting deeper in the muck.  I tried to jack the rear up and put boards under the wheel.  We could only find small boards and that plan was not working.  The sun had gone down and the light was fading.  We were already late for dinner at my Grandmothers, when my little brother who had been standing around watching, said,  "Jimmy, we need to get back"  It was at that moment that I found an appropriate use for many of the words I had heard other kids say in school.

We gave up and I walked to some one's house and called my Dad.  He came and got the car out.
It was not a Merry, Merry Christmas Eve.  I heard all of the chimes on the clock that night.



Going WFO in the Deep South

Riding my first Husqvarna, I entered as many enduros as I could.  Most of my weekend buddies had drifted away and the family would load up the van for a weekend trip to places like Ball Ground and Dahlonega, Georgia, Calhoun Falls, South Carolina, Big Stone Gap, Virginia, Cadiz, Kentucky, Sand Mountain, Alabama and all over Tennessee.  We would camp out at mostly primitive sites. Sometimes in less than perfect conditions.  At one race in Georgia we had pitched the tent along a ridge.  Linda and Jennifer were in the van and the boys and I were in the tent.  Some times during the night a scary thunderstorm came through.  All five of us ended up sleeping in the van.

One enduro I left home without my helmet.  I wanted to blame someone, but couldn't as it was my fault. A stranger loaned me a helmet and I did pretty well.  Another time Linda lost my jeans at the washteria and I had to wear my double knit bell bottoms to the staging area. 

In addition to trophies, all entrants received a patch for riding the enduro.  By 1975 I was starting to collect a number of patches, but had not won a trophy yet.  I had joined the Southeast Enduro Riders Association and the AMA.  I started as a C-Class rider and was building points.  There were very few National Enduros so it was hard to accumulate points when you were finishing 50th with the "Big Boys".





I finally started keeping time after I hit some check points HOT (early).  This required a strip chart with mileage and all the turns and terrain listed, an accurate watch and the ability to know how to convert 24mph to 0.2mile.  Paying attention to the time was not that difficult, riding well enough to make a difference was. 

My first trophy came on a hare scramble in North Alabama.  A Hare Scramble or Hare and Hound is a race. No time keeping, fastest time wins.  They are somewhat of a cross between motocross and enduros.  Usually fifty to 80 miles on a course made up of five to ten mile laps. It had been raining prior to the race and started snowing the morning of the event.  Three or four of my friends entered.  It was awful.  Mud and more mud.  It took forever to make a lap.  The organizers finally stopped the race.  I had gone about three laps but was ahead of all but two in my class.  Picking up a third place trophy.

The next day at work was miserable.  Since motorcycles were not popular with DuPont, I had managed to keep my hobby a secret at work.  When I showed up that Monday I looked and felt pretty bad.  My boss looked a me and said, "what's wrong"?  I replied, "Nothing".  He said, "You were out playing in the snow all day yesterday, weren't you".   I didn't have to lie, just said, "Yes Sir".

(In the picture I'm wearing a Honda jersey.  As I mentioned in previous blogs, I was cheap.  I never raced a Honda, but I needed a jersey and this one was on sale.)

Enduro participation was open to anyone regardless of ability.  Most were classed by motorcycle displacement.

Usually 125cc, 200cc, 250cc and Open.  You might be riding against a guy wearing cowboy boots and a plastic rain suit or a world class rider.  One such hare scrambled took place not far from home. 

There was a three race hare scramble series scheduled near East Brainerd, Tennessee.  I was still riding my 1974 Husky and getting better.  I planned to enter all three races.  The course was an 80mile run, made up of 10 eight mile laps.  It was a well laid out course, that included some rocky sections, a steep hill or two, a really fast open section, a creek crossing and around several turnip fields.   The first of the three races occurred on another one of those really rainy days.  By then most of the competitive riders rode either Husqvarna or Penton dirt bikes.  Penton's HQ was in Ohio and Husky had a major sales office outside Nashville.  At the start of the first race, I noticed that there were three Husky Factory sponsored riders.  Some "Big Boys" showed up for the local race.  The course was tough.  The turnip fields were getting muddier and muddier with each lap and the creek crossing was getting deeper.  That day I found out the difference between a world class rider and a Class C local yokel.   One of the factory riders lapped me twice.   I can remember "dog paddling" through the turnip patch when one of them blew by me.  I finished the race and actually got third in my class.  No trophy, but I was given $10 for my performance.  I had lost my amateur standing. 

A month later the second leg of the series was scheduled and Penton sent 11 factory riders to compete with Husqvarnas.  Two of the three Penton brothers were there and one of them was the overall winner. 

The third race was uneventful.  I do recall a kid riding a 125cc Hodaka passing me in a wide open field.  And Mike dragging a big rock that looked like Texas with his 50cc Honda mini bike. We went back the next week and got the rock.  It is in our flower bed today

I ended my Pro Career with a total winnings of  ..........Ten Dollars.

In 1976 I moved up in the amateur ranks.



The Early Enduros

An enduro is an off road motorcycle event.  The competitors try to average exactly 24mph over an all-terrain course.  The course varies from 60 miles to 150 miles with hidden check points along the way.   The course itself consists of varying degrees of difficulty.  To the seasoned rider they must stay within the speed limit and ride the really tough sections as fast as they can.  You lose one point for every minute you are late and accelerated points for being early.  The riders are classed by bike size and ranked by the fewest accumulated points.  Therefore, on a 70 mile course a competitor can expect to be riding three to four hours.

The time had come for my first enduro.  Mike Duke, Ron Satterfield and I spent the night near Knoxville in preparation for our first event.  The weather was terrible.  It had rained for two days and it did not look like it would let up for the race.  I had no idea what I was doing and just planned to ride as hard as I could.  Because of the rain, we bought plastic rain suits to try to stay dry.  When my time to start arrived I was eager to get going.  That eagerness lasted about two minutes.  The first leg was a woods trail section that was nothing but mud.  I had not ridden in much mud and spent a lot of time with my feet on the ground trying to keep moving forward.  After an hour I had made about seven miles and all that remained of my plastic suit was the duct tape I used to tape in too my boots.  Since I was an hour late at the first check point, I was disqualified and officially shown as a DNF.  Enduros were a lot tougher than play riding on Flat Top Mountain.

Since there was an enduro somewhere in the Southeast every other week, I had more chances to redeem my self.  I rode several more and just tried to ride as fast as I could, but, I still had not covered the entire distance.  Then we went to an enduro in Dallas, GA.  The weather was warm and dry.  I decided I was going to complete the entire event.  After about 60 miles I was so far behind that the check points were closed.  But I stayed the course and finished the entire 80 mile course.  When I got back to the staging area, my crew was waiting on me.  Everyone else had loaded up and left. 

The fun of riding, coupled with the competition was exhilarating.  I rode every chance I got.  By now my kids were 3, 5 and 7.  Mike and Garrett had their own bikes and Jennifer would be riding one within a year.  It was a family affair.  We would load up and go to a red dirt field and practice riding and jumping.  Linda had a 90cc Hodaka.  She abandoned the bike after a trip to Flat Top.  Heights still tend to bother her.

The runs were on all types of terrain.  You could expect to ride dirt roads, hills, rocks, power line easements, cross creeks and home made bridges, cow trails and extremely tight woods trails.  In a National Enduro in Montgomery Bell Park near Nashville, the course took you down the middle of a rock bottom creek for about a mile.  The tight woods were where the winners were usually determined.

We had a Ford Econoline van.  We would load my bike and head to then next enduro. Usually camping in a tent and/or sleeping in the van. By now I was riding well enough that I had to start paying attention to timekeeping.  I had traded my Suzuki for a Yamaha 175cc.  I had outgrown the the smaller bike and was trying to justify a more competitive model.  In 1974 the European manufacturers made the best bikes.  The top riders were riding Bultacos, Ossas, Maicos, Pentons and Husqvarnas.

When I got an unexpected raise, I convinced my wife that I needed a new Husqvarna, a WR 250.  

I was ready for the big time now. 

Keep the Rubber Side Down

Growing up in SE Texas I never rode a motorcycle.  Never even gave it much thought.   I played all types of competitive sports and was pretty much a "goody two-shoes".  Motorcycles were for the "Bad Boys".  After finishing college at Lamar U and moving to Chattanooga, I was working with some guys that had dirt bikes.  Every weekend they would talk about going to the abandon strip mine on Flat Top Mountain and how much fun it was.  I was about to finish graduate school and thought that might be fun.  At their encouragement I bought my first bike.   A Suzuki 185cc dual purpose off road motorcycle.  I had driven autos, pickups, tractors, dump trucks and pulled about every kind of farm implement you can imagine, but never ridden a two-wheeler. 

Being the cheap guy I was (and still am), I found the best buy in Huntsville, Alabama.  When I got the bike home, I decided to give it a try.  It started on the first kick and I started out the drive way, when I hit the road, I got the brake and clutch confused and laid it down.  I had driven it 15 feet and already wrecked it.  (I believe this is known as for foreshadowing in the literary world).   The guys had promised to pick me up the next morning and take me to the mountains.  The next day I was excited and pretty nervous to say the least.  I didn't have any motorcycle gear so I but on my old Wranglers and Justin cowboy boots.  At least I was in somewhat of a comfort zone.

We got to Flat Top Mountain and I was advised to remove the rear view mirrors, which I did.
I don't recall much of the details of the day, but I know that I had a blast.  The terrain was rough and muddy with a lot of hills and ridges.   My buddies liked to climb hills.  It was on these hills that I removed the rest of the unnecessary equipment on the bike.

When I returned home that evening, I was hooked.  I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew that I had found a hobby I would pursue for a long time.  From that time forward every day off was spent on some mountain trail.  I removed what was left of the non essential equipment.  I replaced the original trial tires with a full set of knobby tires.  I installed a larger rear sprocket in order to improve my hill climbing.  I even bought a pair of lineman boots to replace my Justins. I was starting to fit in. 

I found out some of my graduate school classmates rode and I made some trips with them.  It was a lot more popular than I ever realized.  The Chattanooga area was a great place for trail riding.  Within 20 miles of town you could ride in places in Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia.  When I wasn't on the ground with my face in the mud, I saw some beautiful scenery.

My riding skill level was improving with each trip to the wilderness.  It was on Flat Top Mountain that I did my first "Wheelie".  I rode up an incline and when I hit the flat surface I was riding on the rear wheel.  My co riders were impressed.  I didn't tell them that it was an accident and it scared the crap out of me. 

That little Suzuki was a reliable bike. Since most of the maintenance required was replacing parts that I had broken, I was able to do it myself.  I replaced the factory fenders with some Preston Petty plastic ones.  Levers and cables were damaged.  Foot pegs and shift levers straightened.

After trail riding for about a year, I was starting to feel competitive with my friends.  When we were riding trails,  I had to pass the guy in front of me.  Someone  suggested that we should enter a competitive event.  They knew about some Enduro coming up in the Smoky Mountain area near Knoxville.  I didn't know what that was, but I was going to find out sooner than I realized.

Son, You Gotta, I Say, You Gotta Stay on Your Toes

About 30 years ago my elementary science teacher wife arranged for  about a dozen and half fertilized chicken eggs and an incubator to be delivered to her classroom.  The purpose was to expose a bunch of city slicker second graders to "farm life".  They did some scientific analysis each day and eventually the kids got to experience the creation of life. The cute little chicks pecked there way to freedom.  The kids loved it.
                                         
We brought the chickens home and kept them in a box in the utility room until the smell got too bad to tolerate.  During that time I managed to build a small pen behind the barn.  The kids named all the little chicks.  We had Chicken George, Chicken Little, Joe Chicken, Attila the Hen, Foghorn Leghorn,
Louise, Sam and an assortment of other names.  The chicks grew up quickly and and we had to juxtaposition some names as Joe Chicken turned out to be a hen and Chicken Little a rooster.  Soon the hens started laying eggs.  Yard eggs are the best.  You eat well in the country. 

It wasn't too long that I noticed some of the chickens missing.  One evening I went to feed them behind the barn and a really large owl was having his way with one of the hens.  It was a hungry Great Horned owl, not a horny Spotted Owl.  Apparently, some birds of prey were reducing the flock.  Efforts to protect the hens produced only minimal results.  Eventually, we were down to one hen and about three roosters. 

Soon  the roosters had gotten really big, and MEAN!  Chicken George, a white leghorn mix, would come after you if you turned your back on him.  Once I was going in the barn to feed the horses.  Something told me to turn around and Chicken George was bearing down on me.  I  drop kicked him about ten feet. He got up and gave me a "you got me this time, but you better watch out" look.  From then on Chicken George and I kept our distance.  The other two roosters disappeared.  Chicken George was too big for the owls and hawks to fool with.  The neighborhood dogs left him alone.  He was one "Bad Ass" Chicken. 

One day while I was at work, my wife went to feed the horses.  She failed to give Chicken George proper respect.  When she turned her back, Chicken George flanked her and flogged her from behind.
The spurs of a roster can be large and sharp.  He drew blood and frightened my wife.  She had already gotten fed up with the chickens.  Attila the Hen, the last remaining female, was laying her daily egg on the work bench in the garage.  This made gathering the egg easy, but it also increased the amount of chicken poop that had to be cleaned up. 

With blood dripping down her leg, she summoned our neighbor, A.J. Henderson,  to relocate Chicken George. AJ quickly brought an end to George's aggression and his short reign as King of the Farm.

Not long after Attila ventured too far from the garage and met her demise. And we returned to buying our eggs at Market Basket.

On most evenings a large owl can be seen in one of the trees near the barn searching for some prey.
The squirrels and snakes hide. The sudden appearance of this great bird can send chills up your spine. I wonder what would happen if Chicken George were still alive.  If  I were betting man, my money would be on Chicken George.

Get Along Little Doggies

Over the years I have been approached by numerous folks to purchase raffle tickets.  I have made it a principle to buy a few if the cost was small and the proceeds were going to a "good" cause. 

One year, while visiting my wife's home in Hemphill, Texas, we went to a Bluegrass Festival in nearby Bronson, TX.  They were selling tickets on numerous items that had been donated.   Shotgun, BBQ Grill, etc.  The drawings were held that day.  They also sold tickets for a new Jeep.  The drawing would be the next day and we would be heading back to Bevil Oaks.

I have been somewhat lucky in my lifetime as I have won a suit of clothes, a turkey, a case of whiskey and some smaller items.  One time I bought tickets from the Beaumont Junior League.  Since the tickets were only a dollar I bought ten.  I filled them out with all the family names, including our Basset Hound, Tex.   As luck would have it, Tex Wright's name was called at the formal function and he was the proud winner of a bottle of perfume.  Fortunately, you did not have to be present to win.  God only knows he could use the perfume. 


Upon returning home from our weekend in Deep SE Texas, there was a note on the kitchen table from my daughter.  It said to call a certain number that I had won a raffle.  My immediate reactions was, "Hot Dog, I won that Jeep!"  My daughter said, "No, it had something to do about winning a calf".  I then remembered buying a ticket from a co-worker that was raising money for the Boy Scouts.  I thought it was for a "side of beef".  Upon calling the number I found out that it was a bull calf "on the hoof". 

Since we already had horses and the pasture was fenced, I borrowed a stock trailer and drove to Spurger to pick him up.   The calf was a full blooded beefmaster.  We named him Bubba and begin to feed him.  Bubba was not a friendly little fellow, but grew a little more comfortable around people at feeding time. After about six months, Bubba was getting a little size on him.  I couldn't decide what to do with him.  Jennifer wasn't interested in joining the FFA.  The boys didn't rodeo.  One day when I put his feed in the pen where I fed him, I closed the gate.  Bubba looked around saw the gate closed and immediately jumped the fence.  It was at that point I knew that my cow punchin' days needed to come to an end.

My friend from Tennessee, Bobby Ward, was visiting so the two of us roped Bubba and took him to the butcher.   In a few days we had 450 pounds of beef.  I filled the freezer and gave some meat to a neighbor.  My other neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, wouldn't take any meat as she had got to know Bubba.    My wife and daughter refused to eat anyone they knew.

For the next year Mike, Garrett and I ate well.   One day we had HamBubbas, then BubbaBQ.  We had Bubba loaf and Shish Ka Bubba.  I think of Bubba every time I take my chlosterol medicine.

Some time I will tell you about raising chickens

It must have been in the Smoke House

About six months ago I bought a new truck.  It had a fancy key that remotely does all sorts of things before you get in the cab.  As luck would have it recently I couldn't find the key.  I looked for several days.  Since I always put keys in the same place, I was baffled.  I finally decided the most logical answer was that I inadvertently dropped in the garbage can when I threw some trash away.  The can was emptied and the key was gone.  Fortunately I had a second key with the key code. 

During the search I recalled an old family saying. Whenever something was missing and couldn't be located, My Aunt or Mother would say,  "It must have been in the Smoke House"  or "It must have been in the top drawer.  Growing up I never questioned the meaning of either statement,  I just knew that they both meant, "Whatever it was you were looking for was gone". 

Since I had not heard these sayings used outside the family, I asked my Mother what was the origin of the sayings.  Well living in rural Texas, everyone had a smoke house that was used for smoking meat. A fire box was outside and the smoke channelled into the small shed to cook and smoke meat.  Today this process is done with modern, and in many cases, portable equipment.  As time passed the "smoke houses were used less for cooking and in a lot of cases, storage facilities.  Somewhere in the family, after the conversion from meat to storage, the smoke house caught fire and burned to the ground, along with everything inside.   Thus, what was inside was gone and anytime something couldn't be found "It must have been in the Smoke House"

The other saying, according to my Aunt,  originated sometime in the mid 19th century when some of our family members were moving from Tennessee to Texas in a wagon.  Reaching their destination they discovered that the top drawer of the chest of drawers had fallen out of the wagon along the way and everything in it was gone.  Therefore, My key could have "been in the top drawer".

Oh, by the way, a new, programmed key costs $250.00.  Finding that out you could say that I was:

1. Hotter than a two-dollar pistol
2. Hotter than a depot stove
or
3. Hotter than a four-balled tom-cat.

Dreams

A couple of months ago I was walking across the motorcycle dealership floor and a 7 or 8 year old girl was sitting on a mini-mike.   I told her she looked good sitting there and mentioned to her Mother that she should get her that bike.  The young girl quickly informed me that she had a dream about riding that bike the other night.  I asked her if she had a lot of dreams about dirt bikes and her reply was, "No, I mostly dream about Justin Beiber"

Better Find a "Throw Down Buzzard"

I was awakened at 0645 this morning by a loud boom followed immediately with a total loss of electricity.
Entergy, the local power company,  was on the scene within 45 minutes and had the power back.  As I watched the Electrical Journeyman replace the blown breaker, I noticed he knocked something off the transformer.  Upon further review it was the critter in the photo that caused the short and he paid dearly for his unfortunate wandering. 

Notice the black tail that was burned

The incident brought back memories of my DuPont days when you conducted "Root Cause Failure Analysis"  to learn of causes and prevent future failures.  We have investigated power outages of many causes.  Snakes have been culprits before, but usually in substations where electrical leads are crossed on floor surfaces, not fifty feet in the air.  One similar incident occurred when a mother raccoon gave birth to three babies on the top of a substation.  One of the cute, cuddly critters fell into the "Hot" part of the apparatus and shut down half of the entire plant.  The two surviving siblings were rescued and later released into the wild. 

Anytime an electrical outage occurred, you immediately begin looking for some sort of cause.  Lightning was often the reason, but not always.  Some causes were difficult to identify such as failing lightning arrestors that seem to fail only on coastal locations after twenty years of service or dirty insulators that were a result of extended droughts and not getting rinsed with normal rainfall. 

Birds were a common suspect.  You would find a charred spot on a pole or cross arm and a dead bird nearby.  This was always a preferred "root cause" as it was considered more of an "Act of God" and did not require elaborate investigations and expensive fixes to prevent recurrence. Sometimes it was necessary to ask for help from the experts.  One such expert was a company consultant, Ed Wharton.

Ed was a very intelligent Electrical Engineer that was eager to help and always provided practical analysis and solutions.

It was on one such incident that my Power Distribution supervisor, Paul Pool, had called Ed to help with an investigation of an outage that caused significant production loss.  After numerous time in the field, studying systems, prints and computer reviews, they were not coming up with any possible causes.  With tongue in cheek,  Ed turned to Paul and said,  "You need to get a 'throw down buzzard'"! 

Considering the state of current affairs where too many people don't take responsibility for their actions, it is time for our current leader to set the example. put away his "Throw down buzzard" and take responsibility for his actions and quit blaming others.

Let's Play Two

Baseball, You Bet!  When I first started following baseball the major league baseball teams played games in the classic parks like Ebbets Field, The Polo Grounds, Comiskey Park, Yankee Stadium, Crosley Field, Fenway Park, Forbes Field and Wrigley Field.  Today, only Fenway and Wrigley remain.

I had the opportunity to see a game in Fenway, the old Yankee Stadium and Baltimore's Memorial Stadium. This winter one of my friends brother in law organized a trip to Wrigley Field and George Fortune and I managed to get on the invite list.  Twelve of us made the trip.  Other than two hour flight delays going and coming due to record rains in Chicago the trip was well worth the effort. 

I had set three goals for the trip.  One, see a game in Wrigley, two, eat a Chicago deep dish pizza and three, eat a Chicago Dog at the ball park.

The night of our arrival we piled into two cabs and went to Lou Minalti's for pizza.  We ordered five large deep dish pizzas.  We ate three and a half and carried the remaining one back to the hotel desk clerk that recommended the place.  I have to say it was probably the best pizza I have ever eaten.

Saturday was game day. First pitch was at 12:05.  We arrived at the park around 0730am.  A nostalgic setting for a classic park.  There is no parking.  We walked around the entire park.  The first 10,000 fans would be given a key chain.  At exactly 1005am they opened the gates.  We were in the first 10 in the park.

 I must have heard the words from various members of our group, including myself, "We're at Wrigley Field" The park was old.  It didn't have the amenities of the new ones.  No "Jumbotron".  Not an abundance of concession stands. But what an atmosphere!  The fans were nice and the help was courteous.

The Cubs beat the Astros 7-2.  I could have been a Cubs fan.

Do You Remember Where You Were When....?

As America was reminded this weekend of the Terrorists attack on the WTC ten years ago, many people reflected on where they were and what they were doing when they heard about the Terrorists attacks on our soil.  I was in a meeting in a DuPont conference room when the HR manager broke in and said a plane had hit the Twin Towers.  Most of us spent the rest of the day catching up on the events as they unfolded. 

Many of us recall similar situations on other historical events.  For my generation, most everyone can tell you where they were when President Kennedy was shot.  I was coming out of a class in the Engineering Building at Lamar University when Bobby Kinnear stopped and told me.  I also recall that I was visiting the Safety Supervisor in the Chambers Works, NJ plant when I learned of the Challenger exploding. 

The more I thought about these events, the more events I began to recall details. 

In 1956 Buster Coats told me in the court yard at Bingman Elementary School that Don Larsen had pitched a perfect game.  I didn't like the Yankees and I didn't want to believe this bit of information.

I also remember the first time I met George Fortune.  It was on a sand pile between our houses when we were both seven years old.  I remember when I first met Bobby Katz.  It was in Mrs Fore's fourth grade class.  He was wearing brown shoes while the rest of us went barefoot.  I thought he was a strange kid to wear shoes to class.

Do you remember where you were, when...?

G-Man Named Top Ten Super Hero

 

Internet powerhouse Blogspot.com released the results of its year-long study covering all of the great Super Heroes of the last two centuries.  As expected Superman and Batman were at top of the list.  However, local Super Hero, G-Man was included on the list for the first time.  A spokesman for Blogspot cited G-Man's accomplishments as being on a level with all of the better known Heroes.
He said, G-Man preferred to work in anonymity.  His habit of giving credit to others for many years had kept his accomplishments low key and mostly unrecognized. 
Upon hearing of his recognition many well known personalities praised his achievements.

Queen Elizabeth was quoted to say, "Sir 'G'" is truly a remarkable man.  One of the most dependable and effective supporters that I have ever known.      

 

The Duke once said, "G-Man made what I am"











Top Gun and Sneaky Mom, both sometime nemesis of G-Man acknowledge that G-Man was a fierce competitor.  They expressed relief that he had retired, but were still concerned about facing him in the competitive Fantasy Football league.




The entire staff of blogspot.com is pleased to recognize the outstanding contributions of
G-Man.  His work with aspiring Super Heroes and the popular Super Hero Fantasy Camps will continue to make impacts on the world for many generations.  Our staff would also like to endorse the local efforts to rename Hwy 105 to Super Hero Highway.  An appropriate tribute to one of the ten greatest Super Heroes of our time.

 

Long Live G-Man

Doctor Reality

Four knee replacements, two hips and about one dozen other surgeries

In the summer of 1961 I had surgery to remove two torn meniscus from my right knee due to some football injuries. Two years later I had the same surgery on the left knee.   My friend, Bob Katz, had similar surgeries about the same time.  Before we turned 21 neither of us had any cushioning between the femur and tibula.  Once the bone covering wore off, arthritis was sure to set in.  By the time we graduated from college, we both knew that at some point in our lives we would have joint replacements.  The questions would be when to do it and what physician to use.  It would be 40 more years before these questions would be answered. 

It just recently occurred to me that there is no easy way to find these answers.  Every year in March the top 64 basketball teams play a single elimination tournament to find out who is the best team.  The NFL culminates its championship with the biggest sports spectacular in the world, The Super Bowl. 

American Idol, Dancing With The Stars and Big Brother have selection process to pick the top person in their field of endeavor.  There are Top Ten C&W songs, places to retire,  dividend paying stocks, best seller books and Pulitzer Prize winners.  There is the Motor Trend Automobiles of the Year.  Fantasy Football leagues rank the players by position. 

It seems that you can get some idea of the "Best of the Best" in most every fields of expertise except physicians.  How do you really know what doctor to select to perform cataract surgery,  repair a torn rotator cuff, treat your gout, perform a root canal, diagnose a pain or, in my case, perform knee replacement surgery?

With the popularity of TV reality shows, I suggest that one of the major networks start a surgeon competition.  The first series could be doctors performing knee and hip replacements.  Each week one would be "cut".  The second week the patients would be the judges and the viewers would vote off one until one is declared the Top Saw Bones.  Then we would know.

Kick the Can Down the Road

Lately, I have been hearing our President and many other politicians talking about "kicking the can down the road".  I am wondering just what does that mean?  I know in my youth it was an activity. 

When I was young in Grapevine, Texas, as kids we usually walked where ever we wanted to go. Main St was the location of the Drug Store, Dime Store, Wilhoite's Filling Station, the Picture Show and THE Snow Cone stand and one was always the destination. Some kids would kick a can as they walked along the road. Sometimes a small group would take turns kicking the same can. Once you reached your destination, you would leave the can at the curb and kick it home on the return trip. In any case, our "kicking the can down the road" had a purpose. Entertainment! Competition


It was an inexpensive form of entertainment.  All you needed was to find a empty can in some one's trash.  Well, at my Grandfather's house on the corner of Worth and Dooley was an old Bois d arc tree.
At some point in time Mother Nature had caused that tree's trunk to lay on the ground and turn up toward the sky at it's end.  The bois d arc tree grew an inedible fruit that we called a "hedge apple" or "horse apple".  These hedge apples were about the size of a grapefruit.  They were perfect substitutes for "the can".  It was a simply ritual.  Go outside, pick out one already on the ground and start "kicking it down the road"  They rolled very well.  Only problem was after repeated kicks they emitted a sticky white substance that got on your shoes or feet if you didn't have any shoes.  Since they were biodegradable, they could be left anywhere.

I don't know how long that old bois d arc tree was when I live there.  I do know after 67 years it's still there and producing hedge apples.

In rural America in the fifties, kicking the can down the road entertained pre teen kids.  After three or four years we out grew that activity and moved on to more sophisticated diversions.  I hope this country can out grow "Kicking the Can" and move on to more sophisticated activities in 2012

The Snakes Crawl at Night... That's What They Say...

    

When you live in the country with the bayou as your property line, sooner or later you are going to encounter some snakes.  I have never seen a rattlesnake here, but have numerous encounters with many other species.  Several cottonmouths have been found on the back porch and a few other locations.  I once got bit by a copperhead while cleaning up after Hurricane Rita, but it didn't inject any venom.  I was wearing gloves and it felt like a wasp sting.  I still have the fang marks on my finger.

However, the two moments that gave me the most angst involved other species.

Many years ago I was sound asleep when my daughter woke me up at 3:00am saying, "There is a snake in the den."  While not fully awake, I blurted out, "Go watch it", while I find something to dispose of it.  All I could find was a small curtain rod.  When I went into the den, there it was on the mat between the den and the kitchen.  The snake was red and yellow and black.  Considering it was early, I was not fully awake and about to wet my pants, I decided not to take any chances on getting that riddle I learned in grade school correct.  So, I bludgeoned it. I then turned around to see my daughter was standing on top of the pool table.  Turned out it was "red next to black", a 15 inch milk snake.

The other situation involved a rather large king snake in the barn.

We had a couple of horses and the back corner of the barn was enclosed.  Hay was stacked in the back of the barn and the feed was in two 30 gal. fiber drums in the front.  The saddles were on the right side and the bridles were hanging on some hooks just inside and to the right of the door.  I kept a broom in there to sweep out the loose hay.  Even though I dislike snakes I disliked rats even more.  A large snake of some kind had made its home in the feed room and I left it alone to keep the rats out.

I fed the horses twice a day and I usually was looking for the snake.  But the times I forgot about the snake was when it would scare the crap out of me.  This went on for some time.  Each time I forgot to look for the snake, it would be there.  I decide to end this heart stopping scenario after one such incident. I had this dog that would kill snakes and decided it was time to call her to action.  

The snake had crawled into some loose hay and I got the broom to sweep out the loose hay in the front of the feed room to give the dog room to work.  As I moved the pile of hay to the door opening, I was somewhat apprehensive, but reasonable sure the snake was not in that pile. With a big thrust I swept most of the pile out the door.  Suddenly, at my feet appeared the snake.  With several large "Whoops", I beat the snake with the broom only to realize I was beating the shadow of the reins hanging by the door. 

I never saw that snake again and I moved the reins to the other side of the barn.

It's For the Kids

Several years ago I helped my son install an underground electrical fence around his yard.  He had just moved and his dog was wandering off.   A special collar is put around the dog's neck and when he crosses the line of the fence emitting a small electrical current the dog would receive a mild shock and not cross the fence.  Eventually the dog learns the boundary and won't cross the line even when the power is off.

This may seem cruel, but after a few little jolts, the dog is better off than he would be if he got run over by the milk man.  He quickly learns his boundaries and stays within them.

Since the government is scaling down the importance of our space program, I am proposing that they fund some of these highly intelligent scientists to develop human "dog collars"  They could design these for various public officials and/or politicians.  These programs would evaluate their actions against their defined purpose and responsibility of the position.  Whenever they deviated from the core purpose, they would receive a little shock.  Eventually, they would do the "right thing". 

Once developed, I would like to see them installed on the BISD school board.

Just Another Day in the Park

I developed my love for baseball as a kid in the early 50's.  The closest Major League  team, geographically speaking,  was the St. Louis Cardinals.  What I knew about the teams was what I read in the papers or an occasional sports magazine.  Everyone had a favorite team.  Some were Cardinal fans, a lot of Yankee fans, but for me, it was the Brooklyn Dodgers.  I would read the box scores everyday.  In the Sunday paper there was always a listing of all of the statistics.  There was usually a game on TV on Saturday, but I would rather be playing than watching.  Therefore, my connection to the Big Leagues was through the daily newspapers. 

Beaumont had a minor league team and some of those players made it to the "Show". Other than that, my only contact with the Big League teams came sometime in the 50's when the Ralph Kiner led Pirates played some other team at Stuart Stadium, the home of the Beaumont Exporters.  My Dad got me out of school early to go to the game.  I remember Kiner hitting a double off the green fence.

Other than that one occurrence, I had to settle to my daily routine of a bowl of Wheaties and reading the sports page every morning.  At the end of my senior year in high school, in 1962, Houston got a major league franchise and they become known as the Houston Colt .45s.  Major League baseball was only an hour and half away.

It was an impromptu decision that led to my first major league game.  One afternoon Bobby Katz, Gene Coleman, Jimmy Rutledge and myself decided to go to a game. By then we were all in college and had a little more freedom.  Sandy Koufax was scheduled to pitch for the Dodgers.  Jimmy had a new Chevy Corvair so we piled into his car and started the drive to Houston.  Country boys didn't go to the big city very often and there was no IH 10 at that time.  When we got to Houston the traffic was horrendous.  Not to fear, Jimmy had a CB radio and requested shortcuts to any "Good Buddy" that would listen. Nonetheless, we go to the park and bought our tickets.  Since it was "Koufax" and we were late we got SRO seats and sat in the aisle behind home plate. We had missed the first three innings.
The Colt .45s knocked Sandy out of the box in the fifth inning.  But we did get to see him pitch. 

After the game we couldn't remember where we parked and wandered around the park for an hour trying to find that Corvair.  But, we had finally seen a major league game. 

I lost contact with Jimmy over the years.  Bobby recently retired and moved back to Texas after working all over the US.  I moved back to Beaumont in 1980.  Gene, after marrying my next door neighbor and getting his doctorate in kinesiology, has been the Houston Astros Strength and Conditioning Coach for over 30 years.  We never lost our love of the game.

Another longtime friend, Buster Coats, who shared the same passion, but wasn't around to make that first game has worked overseas most of his career.  While planning a trip back to Texas, he suggested that Bobby and me meet up with him for an Astro game.  Gene's wife, Barbara, got wind of our trip and she suggested that we meet Gene and tour the Astro clubhouse and facilities.  We jumped on that offer like a "duck on a June bug" 

This past Saturday Buster, Bobby and myself met Gene and had one of the most enjoyable days I can remember.  We got to walk on the field, tour the dressing rooms, training room, weight room, video room, etc.  Gene was a gracious host and his stories about his years in the Big Leagues was most entertaining.  He reminisced about Yogi Berra, Nolan Ryan, Roger Clemens, Presidents Bush and  told many other anecdotes from his many years there. 

\
 

After the tour we got to our seats in the Crawford boxes early enough to watch batting practice.  Bobby's wife, Linda, got hit by a ball and the paramedics showed up with ice bags.  The nice young man that caught the ball gave it to Linda. 

In the eighth inning, Barbara, had arranged for the us to be the "Fans of the Game".  We were interviewed by the Fox roving reporter on TV. 

Since that first Colt .45 game, I have seen playoff games, two world series games,  an 18 inning game, games at Oakland, Chaviz Ravine, Fenway, Yankee Stadium, Baltimore, NY Mets, Texas Rangers, Philadelphia and spring training at Phoenix.  I still read the box scores, watch TV games and 100s of college and minor league games.  But, this past weekend with old friends tops them all.

Happy Father's Day

It has been 26 years since my Dad passed away and rarely does a day pass that I don't think about him and the positive influence he has had on me.  "Pop" was a WWII veteran and a Bronze Star recipient.  Like most of "The Greatest Generation" he rarely talked about the war or any of his other accomplishments for that matter.  He moved our family from Grapevine, Texas to Beaumont about 1950.  He resumed his college education that was cut short by the War and graduated from the
U of Houston in 1956. 

I can write many stories about my Dad.  But, I would like to share two experiences that I have never forgotten.  Two events that reflected his character and hopefully describe mine.
I was about five or six and he had taken me to a filling station in Grapevine.  When we got home he realized that I had a package of chewing gum and I had no money.  It was pretty obvious that I was on the verge of a "life of crime".  He explained to me the evils of stealing and took me back to the filling station and made me go inside and tell the owner what I had done and pay him for the gum.

As a young couple trying to raise two boys in the 50s, my parents didn't splurge on entertainment.  Most of their social life consisted of going to other couples houses and playing "42".  Since money was an issue, babysitters were out of the question and we kids were brought along and expected to behave while the adults played.  After returning home from one such evening,  my Dad called my aside and explained to me that he was displeased with my behavior.  Apparently I had responded to some other adults by saying, "Yeah" or "Huh".  It was that one night that I learned the proper response when questioned by any adult.  Yes or No was the minimum acceptable.  "Yes Sir or Ma'am" or "No Sir or Ma'am" were the preferred responses.  He explained that in such a manner that I have never forgotten.

To this day I will still say "Yes Ma'am" to women half my age.  I'm not taking any chances. 
Thanks, Pop.

Does it Help Put Pounds Out The Pipe?

I spent most of my career working in chemical manufacturing facilities.  Most of the products were of the commodity type and the key to success was maintaining your production and managing your costs. One of the things I learned along the way was to view your personnel as value adding resources and not fixed costs.  Two comments I heard along this subject have stuck with me for many years.  A plant manager once said, "The only people we need are operators and salesmen'.  "Everyone else was overhead".  The other comment came from an old friend, the late Thad Shook.  While discussing some proposed change, Thad stated, "How will that help us put pounds out the pipe?"

In order to meet reduced State funding Beaumont ISD recently announced plans to reduce costs without reducing "any" jobs.  I applaud the notion of  implementing cost reductions that do not reduce jobs.  However,  is this the best solution to help BISD "put pounds out the pipe"?  Like profitable businesses, I believe the affluent school districts behave in a similar manner and enjoy the fruits of success and forget to manage their costs in a prudent manner.  When finances turn, the quick fix is usually the elimination of jobs.  Many times reductions occur without understanding the value they add.

Comparing a school district to a manufacturing facility, All a school district needs is teachers, buildings and materials.  Every other job and activity is overhead.   For a simple example, lets assume that BISD has 20,000 students and the state requires a 15:1 student teacher ratio.  Then  the district would need 1334 teachers.  Since the school district employees about 3000 total employees, that would mean that 1666 employees or about $60million in salaries are overhead. 

BISD's Mission is to prepare graduates to be successful by providing the knowledge, skills and values necessary to compete in the real world.  Therefore, all of the 1666 positions should be evaluated on how they are adding value to the classroom teachers efforts to accomplish this mission.  If  these positions do not add value, they should be eliminated, regardless of the funding situation.  The same principle should be followed for EVERY expenditure in the district.  How does the purchase of a One Ton King Ranch Truck help "Put Pounds out the Pipe".  What is the added value of hiring an assistant to the Public Relations person? 

There was another saying I remember, but can't credit anyone in particular,  "If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there"

Come On And Take A Free Ride.

You may recall Tom Barnard from one of my earlier blogs.  I worked with Tom in Chattanooga for many years.  Tom was a confirmed bachelor and one of the best people you could know.  He would do anything within his power for you. Tom was not a handy man kind of guy.  He once called the power company when his bathroom light went out and it was only a tripped breaker.

Tom would buy a new vehicle every year or so and would sell the one he had.  In addition, he would move from apartment to apartment periodically for some reason I still don't understand.  When he changed abodes, he usually bought new furniture and would either sell his old stuff  cheaply or even give it away.  Since most of us co-workers were poor, young couples, we pretty much stood in line for Tom's next move. It was after one of these re-locations the following occurred.

My wife and I had gone to a local convenience store one evening for something.  While I was inside paying for the goods, Linda hollered for me to come outside saying, "You've got to see this".  Well, Tom had moved again and the "vultures" had moved in on his furniture.  He had given his old couch to Gene Satterwaite.  Gene had enlisted the help of Stan Fugate, who had a pickup, and, along with Tom's help, were moving it to his own place.  Stan and Tom were riding in the cab of the truck and Gene was laying on the couch in the back of the truck drinking a beer.  After leaving the four-way stop at the intersection of Ely Rd and Delashmitt, Stan accelerated enough to cause the couch to come out of the back of the truck bed with Gene riding it like a bucking bronc.  By the time I got outside they were carrying it across the street to reload in the truck. They never saw us.

Gene never dropped his beer.  When they returned to work the next morning, the plant cartoonist already had a sketch on the bulletin board.

Tom and Gene would later make the plant cartoons when they unloaded their boat on the side of the road when the tie-down strap broke as they rounded a curve.  I think alcohol might have been involved in this incident as well, but I can't say for sure.

I Didn't Mensa My Words...

How do you measure intelligence?  I am sure that if I "googled" this question, I would find thousands of articles written by various academic experts.  They would probably produce arguments about IQ tests and various other academic studies that measures a person's ability.  They would quote famous people and include a lot of words that us country boys can't understand. There would be talk of  medians, means, standard deviations, margin of error and other stuff. 

Having spent a career in the chemical industry, I had the opportunity to work with some very talented engineers.  Some had BS degrees and some had PhDs.  During the early 2000s I went to the plant medical section to see my friend, Doc Webb, the company physician.  As I walked into the medical section, Rick Stimek one of the above mentioned engineers was leaving his office.  When he left, Doc, a pretty smart guy himself,  asked, "Who do you think is the smartest person on the plant?".  Without hesitation, I responded, "I am".  He said, "What? Do you think you are  smarter than Rick, to which I replied, Yes"  "What about Dubnansky"  "Yep", I said.  Then he said, "What makes you think you are smarter than they are?"  My response was, "It depends upon whether you measure intelligence horizontally or vertically"  For example,  I know about Boyle's law, and other chemical engineering standards, but do I know enough to design a chemical plant?  No?  On the other hand, do either Rick or Rich know who won the American League batting title in 1954?  I do!  So, who is the smartest?  The person that knows a whole lot about something or someone that knows a little about a whole lot?   Was Albert Einstein smarter than Ken Jennings?

I remember asking my Mother one time what was my IQ and she wouldn't tell me. She gave me some philosophy about "Potential only meant that person hadn't done nothing yet" And, that only effort and attitude mattered.  To this day I don't know if it was low and she didn't want to hurt my feelings or it was high and she didn't want me to rest on my laurels. 

I have known people that I thought were smart and were not successful in life and some highly successful people that were not all that bright.  I remember a college professor with a PhD in Chemistry that couldn't figure out how to keep his dog in the back yard.  He kept checking the fence and  gates and each time when he put him out back, the dog would beat him to the front door.  His neighbor who was a high school graduate that worked at one of the local refineries solved his problem.  It appeared that the professor's house was built on piers and the dog would just run under the house.

By the way, it was Bobby Avila, Cleveland Indians 2B and he hit .341.

Super Hero Retires, Names Successor

Press Release: 

Today in an unexpected move The Super Hero known as "G-Man'  announced his retirement along with his Sidekick, Buddy.

 

"After nearly 50 years of fighting crime, promoting justice, and trying to live the 'Texan Way', my Sidekick,  Buddy,  and I have decided to retire from a proactive role of reducing evil and protecting damsels in distress where ever we are called.  Sidekick plans to spend his time collecting things,  reducing the size of his storage and the naming of Hwy 105, Super Hero Highway.  I plan to devote my energies to my Fantasy Football team, coaching and counseling aspiring apprentice super heroes and providing guidance, motivation and vision to my legion of fans and followers, mainly those that can be found in Section BB. 

Being looked up to by so many has taken its toll, and, I have to admit, I have slowed down a bit.  While attending the Royal Wedding, I had to get a running start to leap a tall building.  Sidekick has lost some efficiency as a master of disguise.  He was recognized in Hooters several months ago.  After much discussion over cheeseburgers, we have decided to turn over our stardom while we are still on the top of our game.  

The world will not be left defenseless with our departure as we have prepared for this moment for many years.  We have had many apprentices in training and have selected the most talented one to take my place.  We have worked many assignments together and he has performed in a talented and professional manner.  His talents are well suited for the 21st Century and the changing cultural we are experiencing.  I would like to take this moment to introduce,  Abdul, New Super Hero                        

Side kick and I would like to encourage everyone to be honest, do the right thing and call your Mamma's. We will continue to support the principles of truth, justice and the Texas Way.  Those wishing to make donations should designate them to the "George W. "Buddy" Fortune Backstop Youth Center" fund.  Peace and God Bless Texas!

This Rescue Didn't Require a Super Hero

Pattie at the Bath

( With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer)

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Cardinal nine that day
The score was 3 to 3 with but 3 more innings left to play.
And then when Mena died at first and Jude didn’t hit the ball,
Pattie left her seat to answer Mother Nature’s call.


As Pattie left unnoticed, Buchanan got a hit
Then Zentek drew a walk before Pattie could even sit.
Mathis stroked a single as we all stood up to cheer                                              
Pattie was in the process of recycling her last beer.


With the Cardinals out in front, with a one run lead
Kat received a call from her sister who was in need.
It was then that we realized that Pattie was not in her seat
She failed to witness the significance of Mathis’s fete.


Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout
But there is no joy at Vincent-Beck, The pretty Pattie is locked out.


Note:
While watching a college baseball game between Lamar and McNeese, Pattie went to the rest room and got locked in the stall. She had to call her sister, Kat, on her cell to come get her out. The two Caywood sisters are big baseball fans and have had seats in Section BB for several years. When she returned, everyone in our section was shaking their keys at her. While driving home, I recalled the poem of my youth, "Casey at the Bat" and shamelessly stole from it.