I remeber the song, but the girl?

I was on a long trip in my car the other day and as I listened to oldies on the radio it occurred to me, nearly every girl I ever dated reminded me of a song.

It all started, when I was nearing my teen years and the radio was playing day and night. Music, sports and girls were possibly the most important things in my life at the time. My freshman year we would sometimes meet after school at Sweeny’s Bakery for a Coke and a donut and listen to the jukebox, go to the sock hops after the big game or hang out Saturday nights at an impromptu gathering, all with music the central part of the event. Rock and Roll songs spoke to us as teens and music was an integral part of our young lives.  

The first song I remember associating with a girl was Buddy Holly’s Peggy Sue. Did sock hops or Buddy Holly give my age away?  You guessed it, the girls name was Peggy. I was barely thirteen at the time and we were at a party at her house. Back then every girl wanted a song named after her. Then there was Patricia, who happened to love Ricky Nelson more than she did me. And Leslie, who dumped me at a drive in movie while the Brothers Four were singing Greenfields. Did I mention I inadvertently called Leslie by another girls name while we were kissing. That may have had something to do with the break up, you think? Sometime later Joanne was in love with singer Roger Miller instead of me. Carlene owned every record Johnny Mathis ever made. I never visited Sheryl when Brenda Lee wasn’t on her record player.

I’m sure you get the picture. Memories are somehow conjoined with the music of our subconscious. When I married the love of my life I thought my new bride loved the music I always listened to. She never indicated she liked any music other than what I liked. We had been married a few years before I uncovered her stash of Barry Manilow tapes hidden away in the glove compartment of her car.

Still, whenever an oldie comes on the radio, I may think of those I dated long ago and wonder what they are doing today, but then I think of my wife of nearly twenty five years who never listened to any music but mine. She does not bring back old memories. She’s right by my side, sitting beside me, still listening to my favorite oldies without complaint. We no longer have a tape player and I thought about downloading Barry Manilow’s greatest hits for her birthday, but why spoil a good thing?

A Dog Named Jiggs

I wasn’t expecting a puppy for my fifth birthday. I wasn’t expecting anything. Things were really tough in those days and I wasn’t even thinking about it being my birthday, no one mentioned it.

My best friend Billy had leukemia and had passed away that windy November day. I was sad at the news and had been sleeping in my upstairs room when I heard my mother call. “Larry, it’s time for dinner.”

I got up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I noticed it was dark outside. And I turned on the bedroom light.

“Hurry, Larry,” I heard my sister call.

I wandered down stairs. The kitchen was lit up and the room filled with balloons. In the center of the table was a cake with candles burning. My dad was standing behind my mother and my sister was jumping up and down with a big smile on her face.

“Happy birthday,” they yelled as I came through the door.

“Wow! I forgot it was my birthday,” I said.

“Make a wish,” my sister said.

I made my wish and climbed up on a chair and blew out the candles.

My dad came from behind my mother and held out my present, a brown and white puppy with floppy ears and big brown eyes. I took the puppy, unable to speak in my excitement. I had always wanted a puppy, but my mother told me she didn’t want a dog in the house. I looked down at the little thing in my arms and couldn’t believe it was true. It looked up at me and licked me in the face.

“Look!” I exclaimed, “Jiggs likes me.”

“Jiggs,” my dad said. “What kind of a name is that for a dog?”

I looked at my dad. “He’s my dog and I like the name Jiggs,” I said.

“Then Jiggs it is,” Dad said. “Who wants ice cream with birthday cake?”

We all had birthday cake before dinner that day. The day I lost my best friend Billy, I gained a puppy that would be a bitter sweet story in itself. 

Several months after my birthday, my parents separated and got a divorce. By that time Jiggs had grown into a mischievous teenager, chasing cars and getting injured on more than one occasion. Jiggs didn’t seem to realize chasing cars was dangerous, but he survived the scrapes with the moving vehicles.

It was during the divorce that my two sisters and I were taken to live with an aunt an uncle in Patton Valley, a tiny community in Oregon, not far from the town where I was born. We arrived at the farm of my aunt and uncle, but my dog Jiggs was nowhere to be seen. My uncle said Jiggs jumped out of the pickup truck somewhere between Sheridan and Patton Valley. That should have been the end of the story of Jiggs, but the story takes up again nearly ten years later.

I was a teenager starting my junior year in high school. My sisters and I were living with my father in McMinnville, Oregon. My father had a sewing machine store and was on the road several days a week demonstrating the features of the latest sewing machines. On a Friday afternoon he came home with a story that to this day I am certain was something not too short of a miracle.

“I think I found Jiggs,” my father said at the supper table. “He was your dog Larry, and I think he might still remember you.”

“Where? When can I see him?”

“I checked with the people and they say we can see him tomorrow morning. They were just as surprised as I was that this may be Jiggs. They renamed him, but he answers to Jiggs and seemed to know me. The people found him nearly ten years ago at their front door in Hillsboro, a town Uncle Ray passed through on his way home to Patton Valley. The time frame fits and the area fits, and get this, the dog chased cars until it got seriously injured and nearly had to be put down. After that accident he never chased a car again.”

The next day we visited the people we believed had Jiggs. When I called Jiggs, the dog, now old and slow, immediately came up to me and jumped up. I petted him and my dad, the people and I talked about what we should do. The people with the dog had a boy who had known the dog as his own from the time he was two years old, when Jiggs had shown up on their doorstep.  I couldn’t imagine taking the dog from him, they were so close, like Jiggs and I were so many years earlier. We went home to McMinnville and I, somewhat saddened by the event, was moved by the experience. I may never have remembered Jiggs the way I have, had not that day later in my life happened. Jiggs came into my life at a sad time. I had lost my best friend and then my parents went through a divorce and we three kids were placed in a strange home with an aunt and uncle. I could have remembered Jiggs for those sad days in my life, but that all changed that day, when I found Jiggs in a home with another boy. Now, Jiggs reminds me of those things we don’t have control over in our lives, and regardless of how bad we think things are, there is always a greater purpose at work. Jiggs took my mind off the loss of my best friend and filled my days with joy for several months, then went on to another home, to lift the spirit in another young boy.  

Jiggs reminds me today that there are many things we don’t understand and there are things we don’t need to understand. We need to count our blessings today and not worry, for tomorrow will take care of itself.    

Bullet Bob and the benchwarmers

I attended my high school reunion a few years back and made the mistake of attending the Homecoming football game. My high school was clearly the underdog and, while we all like to see the underdog win, this was not to be. By the start of the second half, the rival team was four touchdowns in the lead and they had already started using their second string. By the third quarter the rival team was using a few of their third string and all of the fourth string against my school’s starting team. It was a disaster, but it brought back memories of a homecoming game I played in many years earlier, and although I was on the winning team that time, the real story was the player who got his fifteen minutes of fame in that one game.

We had a second-string quarterback who had warmed the bench most of the season, but with our team clearly in the lead, the coach was determined to give all those on the bench a chance to show their mettle. So was the case with the second-string quarterback, later nick named, Bullet Bob, by the state’s largest newspaper. Anxious to make a good showing, Bullet Bob threw a pass and we immediately scored a touchdown. After our defensive team got possession of the ball again, our Bullet Bob called for another long pass and we scored another touchdown. By the time the game had ended, the bench  had scored more touchdowns than the starting team and the sports reporters were clamoring all over themselves to get an interview with Bullet Bob.

Bullet Bob never went on to play college ball, nor did he ever have another near flawless night on the high school grid-iron, but that one night he was the hero, he got the sports page headlines and his, once-in-a-lifetime, fifteen minutes of fame. For the rest of his life Bullet Bob never made the sports page headlines or any other headlines for that matter and as the years went by he was known simply as Bob, but that one evening on the grid-iron was the highlight of his life and the one moment of glory every bench warmer longs for. So here’s to the coaches who give the Bullet Bobs of the world a chance for their fifteen minutes of fame and here’s to the bench warmers, may they all have the opportunity Bullet Bob had so many years ago.

Life Doesn't Get Any Better Than This

 

I had a little business to do in the quaint historical German town of Regensburg. Fortunately for me, I was able to spend a few evenings in the beer garden of my hotel. A friend said I couldn’t find a bad beer in Germany and although I was only there for a few days, I concluded he was right. I’m going back soon to continue the search.

What’s with the men’s room at the Munich airport? Going to the restroom was a unique experience. All the urinals have a common ‘house fly’ image fused into the porcelain, dead center in the bowl. I was told it cut down on the cleaning requirements for the restroom. This leads me to wonder if German men are poor shots, or are they just not paying attention to their business when their zippers are down? Either way, I have to agree a target makes the restroom experience more interesting even if it is only a fly. By the way, the restrooms were cleaner than I have seen them on prior trips.

Even though my stay was only four days, I managed to gain two pounds. Bavarian food, German beer and Pretzels and all consumed in a setting that brought me back in history 500 years. I can’t wait to return and spend more time sight seeing, lounging in the beer gardens and dining in the authentic Bavarian restaurants. Life doesn’t get any better than this.

Why Billy and Jiggs are special to me

I was nearing my fifth birthday when our family moved to Sheridan, a tiny town in western Oregon. That’s where I met Billy, a boy my age, who lived across the street from our house. Billy was only allowed to play indoors, but we soon became best friends.

 It was the late nineteen-forties, before the days of television or electronic devices. Billy and I spent the autumn days using our imaginations to keep us occupied. Our favorite pastime was acting out western themes in Billy’s bedroom using our collection of miniature cowboy figurines and a western village made from empty cereal boxes.

Billy’s dad had built shelves on every wall of Billy’s bedroom and lining the shelves was a western village made from shredded wheat boxes. In those days, Nabisco Shredded Wheat could be purchased in a rectangular box that was decorated like a western building. Among the many choices were, a bunk house, a saloon, and the most coveted sheriff’s office complete with jail. Billy had nearly all of the cereal box buildings.

 One morning, as I doused the final biscuit of shredded wheat with milk and blanketed it with sugar, I could hardly wait to add the empty box, a frontier hotel, to the collection in Billy’s room. That day I anxiously loaded my collection of miniature metal cowboys into the box and rushed across the street to Billy’s house, excited to share my newest treasure. But this morning there were a lot of people at Billy’s house. I knocked on the door and Billy’s dad answered. I could see tears in his eyes and knew something was wrong.

“Billy has gone to be with God,” he said.

For a moment I just looked up at him and stared. Billy’s dad was a tall man and he squatted down and took me in his arms and hugged me.

“You were his best friend,” he said. “Billy loved it when you came to visit.”

I looked down at the box filled with metal cowboy figurines. “I was bringing these to give to Billy,” I said.

He stared at the box in my hands. “Come here,” he said, taking my hand. He led me, through the crowd in the living room and we ended up in Billy’s bedroom.

I stared at Billy’s empty bed and looked up at the frontier village we had built. It was lining the walls like always.

“Where do you think Billy would want this?” Billy’s dad asked scanning the dozen or so buildings of the western town.

I checked every building, the Sheriff’s office with the jail, the saloon with swinging doors and the corral with horses, a cowboy on a bucking bronco and another cowboy swinging a lasso. My eyes stopped at the church. It was white with a tall steeple and a big front door. I pulled Billy’s favorite cowboy from the box and handed it to his father. “Put him at the door of the church,” I said. “Maybe he can go visit Billy.”

Billy’s dad opened the door of the church and placed the cowboy at the door. I imagined the cowboy was walking into the church and was the first visitor Billy would have in Heaven.

That afternoon I was sad, very sad. I told my mother about Billy and sat on my bed, wondering what I would do without my friend. My older sister came home from school and I told her about Billy. She said I could play with her and brought a game into my room, but I didn’t feel like playing. I curled up on the bed and fell asleep.

“Larry,” my mother called from downstairs, waking me up. “Time for dinner.”

I got up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I noticed it was dark outside, and I turned on the bedroom light. “Hurry, Larry,” my sister anxiously called.

I stumbled down stairs, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The kitchen was brightly lit and balloons dangled from the chairs. In the center of the table was a cake with five burning candles. My father was standing behind my mother. My younger sister, with blond curls dancing from her head, was jumping up and down, a big smile on her face.

“Happy birthday,” they all screamed as I entered the room.

“Wow! I forgot it was my birthday,” I said.

“Hurry make a wish,” my sister said.

I made a wish and climbed up on a chair and blew out the candles.

My dad came from behind my mother and held out my present, a brown and white puppy with floppy ears and big brown eyes. I took the puppy, unable to speak. I had always wanted a dog and looked down at the little thing in my arms. I couldn’t believe it was true. It looked up at me with sad eyes and licked my face.

“Look!” I exclaimed, “Jiggs likes me.”

“Jiggs,” my dad said. “What kind of a name is that for a dog?”

I looked at my dad. “He’s my dog and I like the name Jiggs.”

“Then Jiggs it is,” my dad said.

I didn’t have Jiggs very long, but that’s another story. To this day, when I see a child with cancer I remember my two best friends, Billy and Jiggs, and I offer up a prayer for children with cancer and remember Billy and Jiggs, my two best friends.

Natural Disasters

Fortunately not many of us are faced with natural disasters, maybe that’s why we are fascinated with them. Everyday, somewhere in the world there are people thrown into a disaster they were not expecting and they are called on to react to uncontrollable circumstances.

I was in Portland, Oregon on May 18th, 1980, the day Mt. St. Helens decided to wreck her havoc on the area. I remember the ash covering the streets, the nightly news coverage and the terrible loss of life when 47 people were lost to the eruption. granted, Mt. St. Helens was the first volcano that the USGS was able to get there hands around and accurately predict an eruption was eminent, but what if a super volcano decided to wake up and you were the person on the scene, the one everyone else was relying on to save the day? Would you run and leave everyone else to fend for themselves, warn your closest family members so they would be saved, or put yourself in harms way in order to save as many lives as possible?

I wrote Caldera, not as a typical disaster novel, but as a study of the people who are forced to make decisions that affect all our lives in a natural disaster. After all, those who must make the decisions that affect our lives in extraordinary circumstances are not unlike the rest of us. They have families, loved ones, and tough decisions to make which should put those they are there to protect first and foremost in their plans. We all hope they will not think of themselves first and leave the rest of us to our fate.