Once in a while I come across an old old song by Bobby Bare.(This is an old, old, old song in blobfish years.) The name of it is "500 miles from home". This song became a favorite the instant I heard it in the 1960s. It struck a chord with me because I had hitch-hiked a lot when I was a kid. A whole lot more than my parents ever knew about! Living in La Sal, near Moab, I found that "thumbing" got me into Moab or Monticello much more easily than trying to arrange rides. (Thumbing could be pretty tense. I remember being stranded near Church Rock, 20 miles north of Monticello, for many hours one Sunday afternoon with NO traffic and a snowstorm blowing in, and me in a t-shirt.)
I yearned greatly for my old home town of Alma, Co. In about 1956, when I was about fifteen, I announced to my parents one day that I had saved almost enough money in my baby-sitting account to ride the Trailways Bus from Moab to Fairplay, Co. and back again two weeks later. All I needed was a few dollars for spending money. They agreed and my plans were made. Jack and Margie said they they were looking forward to seeing me.
Problem. The bus came through Moab at 3:30 a.m. Dad woke me up at 2:30 and we were on our way. We got into town soon after three o'clock on a warm July morning. Dad offered to sit with me 'til the bus arrived. I said "oh, no, I will be just fine." As his taillights disappeared around the corner I broke into a run. I was danged if I was going to waste 13 dollars and a few cents on bus fare!
I got to the north end of town in really good time, heavy suitcase and all. Ten or fifteen minutes went by. Here came the bus. The wind-draft off that big old thing 'bout blew me over. I felt some real remorse as I stood there in the darkness.
I absolutely cannot remember who picked me up and dropped me off at Crescent Junction. My next ride was with a trucker. Hmmm... Maybe he picked me up in Moab! Hey, this happened 53 years ago! I should remember everything?? He told me to be ready for a very sudden jolt at any time. He said it was his policy to slam on the brakes full blast if he saw anything that remotely resembled a cop-car. People who gave kids like me rides were in great need of someone to talk to. He dropped me in
Grand Junction.
My next ride was with a guy who was having some car trouble. No surprise. 63.28% of all cars had trouble in those days. We made it through Montrose before his car boiled over. He told me to watch the car while he (A looked for a large tin can and (B walked down to the river to fill it. I was silently cursing my luck as he wandered along the highway and then down to the river - a river that I couldn't even SEE! Being a stupidly loyal kid, I could not jump out and flag down the next driver.
I sat there wishing I had elected to take the north route through Glenwood Springs, but being trapped on Hoosier Pass with NO traffic didn't appeal to me. I knew that feeling. We chugged into Gunnison without further incident. As I stood there on the east end of Gunnison, my heart sank. Here came an older car pulling a large trailer house. Being a stupidly caring lad I could not say "go 'way. Move on!" The auto was filled with a huge family of Hispanic people. They spoke more English with their hands than they did with their mouths. There were at least four of us in the front seat and who knows how many urchins in the back. I thought I could see about ten legs and eleven arms back there, all moving randomly about. A very happy family indeed. The driver, whom I shall call Pepe, cheerfully regaled me with nonstop chatter as we crawled along.
My mood was a strange cross between despair at our turtle-pace and my growing admiration for this beautiful family. If there were ten people in the car, and if you multiply that by thirty two, then there had to have been 320 teeth smiling at me the whole way. I knew nothing of heaven but this seemed pretty close to it. They told me they were off to Saguache. With heavy heart I saw Monarch Pass coming up. Being a stupidly selfish boy, I said "my aunt lives here in Sargents. I'd better stop and say hello." They dropped me off and I sadly watched them drive away. Really, I could have run beside them for the first 300 feet. That car was that slow.
My next ride was with a guy who introduced himself as a rodeo performer. About 500 yards up Monarch Pass, we went flying around the old mobile home. I ducked my head to avoid being recognized. This rodeo guy was driving a '50 ford. Remember those old '50 fords? They could HAUL. As we raced across South Park (yes, THAT South Park) this guy said he traveled North America on the rodeo circuit. Broncs, bulls, he rode 'em all. He made belts and other leather goods to pay the bills between events. He may not have been a real person. He may have been a country song posing as a person. He told me all about his endless injuries; broken teeth, broken arms, broken legs and other broken appendages. I wished like crazy that I could have gotten one of his belts, but my thirteen dollars and a few cents was very precious to me. The belt would have become a useless lifetime momento. I was a size 32 at the time and I'm an expanding 42 these days.
I didn't have a watch, so I must have asked each benefactor fifty times what time it was. He dropped me off in Fairplay at 4:30 p.m. The bus had only beaten me by about 15 minutes. I felt like the king of the world as I trudged through town, savoring all those familiar sights.
Six miles to go. I'll bet you have never heard of a PlymFord. Warren Good was an eccentric genius/handyman/mechanic/inventor. He had done something nobody had probably thought of. He had combined a trashed out old Plymouth with a thrashed out old Ford. The Good kids (yeah, for the most part, they were good kids) called this thing a PlymFord. Warren went sailing past me heading up Fairplay Hill doing about forty mph. He cleared the top doing about 30 mph, which is a testament to his ingenuity. Soon he reappeared, having finally recognized me.
The whole trip was almost exactly 500 miles. From my house at Cal Uranium in San Juan County, Ut. to my brother Jack's house in Alma Co. in less than 14 and a half hours. No freeway in those days. Two fun-filled weeks later I was on the bus heading for home. Well, I couldn't have fibbed to Jack saying I had to leave at 2:30 a.m. when he knew the westbound bus left in the afternoon.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
More Misadventures at Chuckarama
A person on a serious crash diet shouldn't think Chuck-a-rama. However, I have discovered a very healthful menu there. Grandma and I were there at 11:00 a.m. when they opened. Less competition that way. People in search of food can be very dangerous. My menu goes like this. Start with a simple salad. Then move over to the pot roast. Today it was pot TURKEY roast, but that was o.k. I can dip up anything in that tray except the potatoes. Turkey, carrots and onions. Good stuff. And probably okayed by Dr. Oz. (Do you think that is his real name?) Not! Then on to the WHOLE WHEAT rolls. No butter. "A" whole wheat roll! ONE ww roll. And that's it. Marie Osmond herself couldn't have steered me any better. I was so proud of myself that I allowed myself a sliver of carrot cake. Carrot cake is more vegetable than junk food if you avoid the frosting.
To my dismay, the carrot cake, instead of being light and fluffy, was sludgy and heavy. Unlike anything I had ever experienced. I shoved it aside. Grandma looked at me somewhat askance as I went for some peach turnover. The crust looked dark, but I thought nothing of it. INEDIBLE. The crust was burned beyond repair. I was not going to let one small dessert issue ruin my otherwise excellent meal. Grandma looked downright suspicious as I went and got my favorite, chocolate pudding. The nice thing about chock puddin' is: a very full dish doesn't look much fuller than a regular dish. I assured her that the peach dish would have had more calories.
The place was filling up with crying children. The people behind us on her side kept banging the seat, jarring her quite badly. She said, "this never fails." She got up to leave. "Right behind you", I said as I finished the last bite of pudding. As she turned the corner, I quickly ate the perfect peach streudel and wolfed down the perfect carrot cake, frosting and all. I caught up with her before she got even halfway to the car.
To my dismay, the carrot cake, instead of being light and fluffy, was sludgy and heavy. Unlike anything I had ever experienced. I shoved it aside. Grandma looked at me somewhat askance as I went for some peach turnover. The crust looked dark, but I thought nothing of it. INEDIBLE. The crust was burned beyond repair. I was not going to let one small dessert issue ruin my otherwise excellent meal. Grandma looked downright suspicious as I went and got my favorite, chocolate pudding. The nice thing about chock puddin' is: a very full dish doesn't look much fuller than a regular dish. I assured her that the peach dish would have had more calories.
The place was filling up with crying children. The people behind us on her side kept banging the seat, jarring her quite badly. She said, "this never fails." She got up to leave. "Right behind you", I said as I finished the last bite of pudding. As she turned the corner, I quickly ate the perfect peach streudel and wolfed down the perfect carrot cake, frosting and all. I caught up with her before she got even halfway to the car.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Fogblob
We all hate fog. Fog seems to be the most universally despised weather condition. Pilots hate it. Ship's captains hate it. Some love Phoenix for the heat. Some love Minneapolis for the cold. But we all hate fog. Jodi, Todd and the Big Kids are leaving the SLC fog and heading out into the fog of the Uintah Basin to see Barb, Amanda and the Little kids. I'm jealous. It's worth braving the fog to see that group!
Well, anyhoo, we all have a favorite fog story to tell. The story often goes like this: Ya couldn't see the railroad tracks that ya were standing on at 12:00 o'clock noon. Ya couldn't see the powerful headlight of the approaching train! Ya hadda stoop over and feel the track so's ya would know which way to jump just as the train came whistling past!
My friend Buster told of driving in the "thickest fog of all time". He had the good fortune to get behind another motorist. He admitted that he was tailgating like crazy. This went on for mle after mile. The other driver suddenly stopped. Buster was lost and spooked. The other fella opened his door. Buster opened his door. The other guy stood up. Buster stood up. The other guy said "what are you doing in my driveway?"
My best/worst fog story goes thusly. Uh oh, another Moab story. I had just bought my first auto, a '55 pontiac. (Well, this doesn't include the $5.00 I spent to help buy a $20.00 Buick with some of my Carbon College friends.) That car had real good springs but no shocks. This allowed us to overfill the Buick with a ho-bunch of crazies and go down the main street of Price, hopping up and down, causing the green car to imitate a giant grasshopper, almost leaving the pavement on the upswing. What fun! The ticket we got was more than we paid for the car.
Burton! Wake up! Hey, Flagboy, get back to the story. Coincidentally, my friend and co-worker at the uranium mine, Buce, had also just bought a '55 Pontiac. Identical! Same lime-green and white. Heading into Christmas of 1961, I was excited to head for Price, home of my girlfriend, now known as "Grandma". Bruce was going in the same direction (to Utah County)for the holidays. We decided to travel through the heavy fog caravan style, just in case of mechanical problems. I was leading as we left Moab at about 6:00 p.m., having just finished our shift. Price lay 120 miles ahead.
Bruce was a bit of a drinker. He had a pint of "Old Sunny Brook" to help keep him company, along with his girlfriend and her four children. SIX PEOPLE IN THAT CAR! We no sooner left Moab than I lost his headlights in my rear view mirror. I stopped, assuming it was one of those "routine" stops for one of the young children. His car didn't appear for awhile. I turned back, wondering if he was already experiencing mechanical problems, so common in those days. Mistake. Here he came, hustling right along, trying to catch up with me.
I spun around and tried to catch him. The fog was so thick that I could only see about three white stripes ahead. I pushed the ol' greenie. I knew he would be wondering where in the heck I had disappeared to. I soon glanced at my speedometer. Seventy miles per hour?? Wow! I would knock his rear bumper into his radiator if I caught up at that speed. I slowed to about 30 mph, which was still a bit fast for the conditions.
Nice Christmas. Lotsa fun. When I arrived at the mine on the next workday, Bruce came running up to me. "What in the he** were you doing? How the he** fast were you going? I drove 80 miles per hour all the way to price looking for you"
Well, anyhoo, we all have a favorite fog story to tell. The story often goes like this: Ya couldn't see the railroad tracks that ya were standing on at 12:00 o'clock noon. Ya couldn't see the powerful headlight of the approaching train! Ya hadda stoop over and feel the track so's ya would know which way to jump just as the train came whistling past!
My friend Buster told of driving in the "thickest fog of all time". He had the good fortune to get behind another motorist. He admitted that he was tailgating like crazy. This went on for mle after mile. The other driver suddenly stopped. Buster was lost and spooked. The other fella opened his door. Buster opened his door. The other guy stood up. Buster stood up. The other guy said "what are you doing in my driveway?"
My best/worst fog story goes thusly. Uh oh, another Moab story. I had just bought my first auto, a '55 pontiac. (Well, this doesn't include the $5.00 I spent to help buy a $20.00 Buick with some of my Carbon College friends.) That car had real good springs but no shocks. This allowed us to overfill the Buick with a ho-bunch of crazies and go down the main street of Price, hopping up and down, causing the green car to imitate a giant grasshopper, almost leaving the pavement on the upswing. What fun! The ticket we got was more than we paid for the car.
Burton! Wake up! Hey, Flagboy, get back to the story. Coincidentally, my friend and co-worker at the uranium mine, Buce, had also just bought a '55 Pontiac. Identical! Same lime-green and white. Heading into Christmas of 1961, I was excited to head for Price, home of my girlfriend, now known as "Grandma". Bruce was going in the same direction (to Utah County)for the holidays. We decided to travel through the heavy fog caravan style, just in case of mechanical problems. I was leading as we left Moab at about 6:00 p.m., having just finished our shift. Price lay 120 miles ahead.
Bruce was a bit of a drinker. He had a pint of "Old Sunny Brook" to help keep him company, along with his girlfriend and her four children. SIX PEOPLE IN THAT CAR! We no sooner left Moab than I lost his headlights in my rear view mirror. I stopped, assuming it was one of those "routine" stops for one of the young children. His car didn't appear for awhile. I turned back, wondering if he was already experiencing mechanical problems, so common in those days. Mistake. Here he came, hustling right along, trying to catch up with me.
I spun around and tried to catch him. The fog was so thick that I could only see about three white stripes ahead. I pushed the ol' greenie. I knew he would be wondering where in the heck I had disappeared to. I soon glanced at my speedometer. Seventy miles per hour?? Wow! I would knock his rear bumper into his radiator if I caught up at that speed. I slowed to about 30 mph, which was still a bit fast for the conditions.
Nice Christmas. Lotsa fun. When I arrived at the mine on the next workday, Bruce came running up to me. "What in the he** were you doing? How the he** fast were you going? I drove 80 miles per hour all the way to price looking for you"
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Jan
Here's a tidbit from Mowabb, Eutaw, circa 1955 or 1956. In my little mining camp where I lived for seven years, (Cal Uranium), near Moab, Utah, we had power from a big ol' generator. For the first year I was there, we actually had lights, but no plumbing. The mine managers and engineers made a wrong turn in a tunnel and actually missed the uranium vein. The company went broke and we soon found ourselves the only residents in a cabin in an abandoned mining camp. The manager asked my dad to stay on and look after the place for free rent plus $150.00 per month. I was the only kid on a deserted plateau near a huge red cliff. Life was lonely but not so bad. Seven years total, living among the lizards. not so bad.
Anyway, let's get to my tidbit. When Mom, Eddie and I first arrived to join Dad, (Dec, 1953), the camp was bustling with people. Jack, Margie and little Jacqui lived in the first cabin, Curt Moran lived in the second one, we had the third one and Bob Brady had the fourth one. Everyone else lived in trailer houses scattered about. One trailer was occupied by Jan, aged eleven. I was twelve. Jan was one of these extreme "hypers". Blonde, cute, and always on the move. She took a big figurative bag of energy, controversy and contention with her everywhere she went. But she was fun.
When the mine closed, Jan moved to Moab, 35 miles away. I saw her from time to time, but she was always in one frenzied situation or another. Fast-forward about 2 years. Now I'm fourteen or so and she's 12. (My memory is tricking me.) I'm sure I was 2 years older, but who's counting? Somehow, I nonchalantly asked her if she would like to go to a movie. {Yes, Mowabb had a movie theater in 1955. Sheesh.}
We no sooner got seated when a group of four or five boys her age sat down right behind us. Ugh! Well, they started right in, pulling her hair, giggling, whispering too loudly and taunting her. She would twist in her seat and tell them what a bunch of morons they were. Their noise level kept rising. I was afraid that we were all going to be thrown out. Other patrons kept staring at us in disgust. This stuff went on for at least a half hour. My patience ran out. I worried about their incredible offense to the people around us, but I was also concerned about the complete lack of respect they were showing for Jan. She was a real fireball. She held her own quite well. Finally, I turned to them and said, "hey, can you guys hold it down a little bit?" They immediately froze in their tracks. Well, in their seats. Not a peep out of them.
We sat in silence for ten minutes or so. I was beginning to pick up on the movie. Suddenly, Jan got up and stepped out. Bathroom call? Candy bar time? Oh, no. After five more minutes the manager was standing over me, asking me to step out into the lobby. {Yes, that theater even had a lobby.} With question marks plastered all over my face, {okay, figuratively}, I followed him out. I wondered how he even knew who I was. He was angry. He told me that Jan had walked out crying. As she passed him she said, "Gene Burton has just humiliated me in front of my friends." Then, she was gone into the night.
I was understandably shocked. I told him my side of the story. He went over and filled two bags of popcorn, one for him and one for me. We talked about everything under the sun. He was easy to talk to because he was my age. His dad owned the theater. (Yes, they had popcorn in 1955.) I never did get back to the movie. But I did stay after and help him sweep up all of the mess. In those extremely ancient days people threw all of their containers and wrappers on the floor. What a chore!
He and I became such good friends that I, uh I... uh... uh can't remember his name.
Epilogue: I found out later that her mom jumped all over her. "Gene was your first real date! And you treat him like this! You should be ashamed!" etc. etc.
Anyway, let's get to my tidbit. When Mom, Eddie and I first arrived to join Dad, (Dec, 1953), the camp was bustling with people. Jack, Margie and little Jacqui lived in the first cabin, Curt Moran lived in the second one, we had the third one and Bob Brady had the fourth one. Everyone else lived in trailer houses scattered about. One trailer was occupied by Jan, aged eleven. I was twelve. Jan was one of these extreme "hypers". Blonde, cute, and always on the move. She took a big figurative bag of energy, controversy and contention with her everywhere she went. But she was fun.
When the mine closed, Jan moved to Moab, 35 miles away. I saw her from time to time, but she was always in one frenzied situation or another. Fast-forward about 2 years. Now I'm fourteen or so and she's 12. (My memory is tricking me.) I'm sure I was 2 years older, but who's counting? Somehow, I nonchalantly asked her if she would like to go to a movie. {Yes, Mowabb had a movie theater in 1955. Sheesh.}
We no sooner got seated when a group of four or five boys her age sat down right behind us. Ugh! Well, they started right in, pulling her hair, giggling, whispering too loudly and taunting her. She would twist in her seat and tell them what a bunch of morons they were. Their noise level kept rising. I was afraid that we were all going to be thrown out. Other patrons kept staring at us in disgust. This stuff went on for at least a half hour. My patience ran out. I worried about their incredible offense to the people around us, but I was also concerned about the complete lack of respect they were showing for Jan. She was a real fireball. She held her own quite well. Finally, I turned to them and said, "hey, can you guys hold it down a little bit?" They immediately froze in their tracks. Well, in their seats. Not a peep out of them.
We sat in silence for ten minutes or so. I was beginning to pick up on the movie. Suddenly, Jan got up and stepped out. Bathroom call? Candy bar time? Oh, no. After five more minutes the manager was standing over me, asking me to step out into the lobby. {Yes, that theater even had a lobby.} With question marks plastered all over my face, {okay, figuratively}, I followed him out. I wondered how he even knew who I was. He was angry. He told me that Jan had walked out crying. As she passed him she said, "Gene Burton has just humiliated me in front of my friends." Then, she was gone into the night.
I was understandably shocked. I told him my side of the story. He went over and filled two bags of popcorn, one for him and one for me. We talked about everything under the sun. He was easy to talk to because he was my age. His dad owned the theater. (Yes, they had popcorn in 1955.) I never did get back to the movie. But I did stay after and help him sweep up all of the mess. In those extremely ancient days people threw all of their containers and wrappers on the floor. What a chore!
He and I became such good friends that I, uh I... uh... uh can't remember his name.
Epilogue: I found out later that her mom jumped all over her. "Gene was your first real date! And you treat him like this! You should be ashamed!" etc. etc.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Halloween Blob
The time has arrived for my Halloween blob. It is all about dreams and nightmares. OR IS IT? HAhahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.... There will be three sequences. Are they true, or are they false? Heh heh. Could they be half-dreams, concocted in the mind of a retired ol' feller with too much thinkin' time on his hands? Snurk snurk.
1) I did a 10 mile hike on a hot summer day. I was exhausted, hot and sweaty. Finally, I was less than one mile from home. I wasn't sure I could finish. Suddenly a big ol' Suburban pulled up beside me. It was a friend; one whom shall remain nameless. He yelled ''hello" and offered me a ride. My heart sank. His vehicle was loaded beyond capacity. There must have been 10 or 15 people in there. Oh, did I mention that I also felt kinda, uh, smelly? I declined his offer. "Jump in. We'll make room!". I watched as all those people scrunched, wiggled, and rearranged. I climbed into a space about half my size. "Okay. I'm in!" He drove through the twisting, winding streets until we were home. HIS home. I thanked him and set out for my home.... which was MORE than one mile away.
2) I was a contestant on "Jeopardy." In Final Jeopardy, Alex gave the question (answer). "What famous building was the only one where people could drill a hole in an outside wall, pound a peg into the hole and hang a drinking cup on the peg?" Well, of course, we all missed it. Alex gave the answer (question). "It was the White house", he declared with a condescending grin. As I awakened, I wondwred if this was just for the residents or for all people who visited. That could be millions of cups. But what did it matter if this was JUST a dream? I wondered if I had really been on Jeopardy or if I had actually seen this question, concerning the earliest days of the White House, long before modern plumbing.
3) I accidentally spilled a liquid dollar bill.
Nnnighhhtmaaarre! The answer is in code. Aatbbhcceddy eewffeggrhhe iiajjlkkl lldmmrnneooappmqqs. Happy Halloween!!!
1) I did a 10 mile hike on a hot summer day. I was exhausted, hot and sweaty. Finally, I was less than one mile from home. I wasn't sure I could finish. Suddenly a big ol' Suburban pulled up beside me. It was a friend; one whom shall remain nameless. He yelled ''hello" and offered me a ride. My heart sank. His vehicle was loaded beyond capacity. There must have been 10 or 15 people in there. Oh, did I mention that I also felt kinda, uh, smelly? I declined his offer. "Jump in. We'll make room!". I watched as all those people scrunched, wiggled, and rearranged. I climbed into a space about half my size. "Okay. I'm in!" He drove through the twisting, winding streets until we were home. HIS home. I thanked him and set out for my home.... which was MORE than one mile away.
2) I was a contestant on "Jeopardy." In Final Jeopardy, Alex gave the question (answer). "What famous building was the only one where people could drill a hole in an outside wall, pound a peg into the hole and hang a drinking cup on the peg?" Well, of course, we all missed it. Alex gave the answer (question). "It was the White house", he declared with a condescending grin. As I awakened, I wondwred if this was just for the residents or for all people who visited. That could be millions of cups. But what did it matter if this was JUST a dream? I wondered if I had really been on Jeopardy or if I had actually seen this question, concerning the earliest days of the White House, long before modern plumbing.
3) I accidentally spilled a liquid dollar bill.
Nnnighhhtmaaarre! The answer is in code. Aatbbhcceddy eewffeggrhhe iiajjlkkl lldmmrnneooappmqqs. Happy Halloween!!!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Shirts
Boy, ya lose one little scrap of paper and your blobbin' days are over. At least for awhile. But, Jodi, when she isn't STEPPING on STITCH, seems to get me going in a forward motion again. I managed to comment on Barbara's blog. Surprazz, surprazz. When we were at the rappelling event one family made sure that the announcer mentioned that their guy was a MARINE. We all smiled. Ben would never let himself be so flagrently bragged on.
I mentioned in a response to Barb's blog that I only have two shirts. I lied. I have over 40 shirts. Why so many, you might ask. It's a long story and you can stop reading right here if you like. GET BACK HERE! It happened like this. I had a normal number of shirts. But the Penneys in the Cottonwoos Mall was selling everything, even the shelves. I bought a royal blue shirt at half price because I was headed for a BYU game. ROYAL blue is the TRUE Cougar blue! Ya got that?
The clothing was selling out like Carlos Boozer has been selling out the Jazz. Inexplicably, everything in Penneys pretty much sold out except the men's shirts. They dropped to 60% off. I bought a couple more. Seventy percent off. This was kinda fun, considering that we live only 2 blocks away. Eighty percent off. Wheeeee! On the tragic day when Penneys was closing that store forever, every item in the joint was selling for 90%off plus 15%off that total. Hmmm. 90% off a $40 dollar shirt equals $4.00. 15 off that is 60 cents. Beautiful $40 shirts for $3.40? Oh, yeah. They were all long sleeve with winter coming on. A huge assortment in my size. OH, YEAH.
We got there as the doors were opening. I started draping shirts over my left arm so my right hand would be free for some fast work. I piled up so many shirts that I could barely see over the pile. My arm was beginning to hurt. All things in moderation, they say. Heh heh. By this time a large crowd had gathered, and I knew I was done. I headed for the checkstand.
Suddenly, I was told to leave the store. Maybe moderation is a good standard after all. Not only was I told to leave the store, but to never come back. Well, yeah, that's easy to say on the day the store is closing forever. Was it the clerk telling me this? The manager? No, it was my wife. Maudeen had only found one pathetic little shirt. I told her how very sorry I was as I shoved past her to the land-o-glory. The checkstand.
All apologies if this sounds like a ruler event.
I mentioned in a response to Barb's blog that I only have two shirts. I lied. I have over 40 shirts. Why so many, you might ask. It's a long story and you can stop reading right here if you like. GET BACK HERE! It happened like this. I had a normal number of shirts. But the Penneys in the Cottonwoos Mall was selling everything, even the shelves. I bought a royal blue shirt at half price because I was headed for a BYU game. ROYAL blue is the TRUE Cougar blue! Ya got that?
The clothing was selling out like Carlos Boozer has been selling out the Jazz. Inexplicably, everything in Penneys pretty much sold out except the men's shirts. They dropped to 60% off. I bought a couple more. Seventy percent off. This was kinda fun, considering that we live only 2 blocks away. Eighty percent off. Wheeeee! On the tragic day when Penneys was closing that store forever, every item in the joint was selling for 90%off plus 15%off that total. Hmmm. 90% off a $40 dollar shirt equals $4.00. 15 off that is 60 cents. Beautiful $40 shirts for $3.40? Oh, yeah. They were all long sleeve with winter coming on. A huge assortment in my size. OH, YEAH.
We got there as the doors were opening. I started draping shirts over my left arm so my right hand would be free for some fast work. I piled up so many shirts that I could barely see over the pile. My arm was beginning to hurt. All things in moderation, they say. Heh heh. By this time a large crowd had gathered, and I knew I was done. I headed for the checkstand.
Suddenly, I was told to leave the store. Maybe moderation is a good standard after all. Not only was I told to leave the store, but to never come back. Well, yeah, that's easy to say on the day the store is closing forever. Was it the clerk telling me this? The manager? No, it was my wife. Maudeen had only found one pathetic little shirt. I told her how very sorry I was as I shoved past her to the land-o-glory. The checkstand.
All apologies if this sounds like a ruler event.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Ben's Adventure
Beware of the blob, it creeps and leaps, and slides and glides across the floor; right through the door, and all AROUND the wall... Help! The blob is back. If only for a moment. Gotta report on Ben Hevelone's adventure.
Ben's employer, ITT, is a huge supporter of Special Olympics. So they sponsor a ho-bunch of their employees (at a thousand dollar donation each) to drop 240 feet off the roof of the American Towers Hotel. They rappel down the northwest corner. The big boss even went down. The event was held on Friday, Aug 21.
Anyone who wanted to could go down, if they could find a sponsor or cough up the moola. I was concerned about finding a shady spot and a chair, so I took a small bucket and a pillow. I was not gonna stand for 1.5 hours! Well, when I got there I found a beautiful plaza with lovely seats near the restaurant. They had raspberry water and pineapple water for everyone to drink. It was really a well planned event, But I felt a bit like Jed Clampett arriving in Beverly Hills.
One lady kept glancing at this older fellow with a bucket and a pillow. Finally, she said, "Skyler, go say 'hi' to grandpa." It was SHELLY! Barb, Dean and the little mutton bustin' buckaroo soon arrived. The people were a-droppin' off the roof. Ben was scheduled for 1:30 but he went down at about 1:20. Very prompt.
Some of Utah's most famous dignitaries were sailing off that roof. Mayor Ralph Becker, the director of Special Olympics, at least one auto dealer and many others. I felt so fortunate to find a parking spot less than one block away. In the hot sun, of course. But I had no change. Very serious. I asked a lady if she had change for a dollar. She did not. I asked her if she had ANY change. She found a quarter and I gave her my dollar. That bought me some time. I went racing up the street looking for change. I eventually put 8 quarters in the meter and I was off to the event.
The participants were constantly being yelled at by their relatives to turn around for photo purposes. Many could not or would not turn around. They were frozen with their faces against the wall, determined to be alive at the landing. A very few of them looked down from the roof and said "huh uh. I ain't doin' this." Ben got turned around really well during his descent and Shelly and Barb got some great pictures. Go to "Cabin Fever" soon, (but not yet) for some great shots. You will also see Eli gettin' bucked off a huge, dangerous uh........... sheep. Also check Q-tips for more cute kids.
When Ben got down, he rushed into the dressing room where all the rappellers had their stuff stored (in alphabetical order). He grabbed a B H bag and came out to meet with us. As we were congratulating him, Barb and Shelly were going through his bag, looking for good stuff. (Maybe some coupons and gift certificates and things.) They soon discovered that this WAS NOT Ben's bag. He had grabbed the wrong one. He went racing back inside, hoping to get the exchange made before the other B H started calling 911. Fortunately, the guy was droppin' from the sky and knew nothing about it. Oh, yeah, who was this mysterious "other" B H? It was Bob Harmon, the president of Harmon Foods.
Well, the party soon broke up. Barb said, "Dad, can we take you to your car?" I said "why, where are you parked? She said, "under the hotel, of course. The parking is free!"
Jed Clampett slided and glided up the boiling hot sidewalk to his car.
Ben's employer, ITT, is a huge supporter of Special Olympics. So they sponsor a ho-bunch of their employees (at a thousand dollar donation each) to drop 240 feet off the roof of the American Towers Hotel. They rappel down the northwest corner. The big boss even went down. The event was held on Friday, Aug 21.
Anyone who wanted to could go down, if they could find a sponsor or cough up the moola. I was concerned about finding a shady spot and a chair, so I took a small bucket and a pillow. I was not gonna stand for 1.5 hours! Well, when I got there I found a beautiful plaza with lovely seats near the restaurant. They had raspberry water and pineapple water for everyone to drink. It was really a well planned event, But I felt a bit like Jed Clampett arriving in Beverly Hills.
One lady kept glancing at this older fellow with a bucket and a pillow. Finally, she said, "Skyler, go say 'hi' to grandpa." It was SHELLY! Barb, Dean and the little mutton bustin' buckaroo soon arrived. The people were a-droppin' off the roof. Ben was scheduled for 1:30 but he went down at about 1:20. Very prompt.
Some of Utah's most famous dignitaries were sailing off that roof. Mayor Ralph Becker, the director of Special Olympics, at least one auto dealer and many others. I felt so fortunate to find a parking spot less than one block away. In the hot sun, of course. But I had no change. Very serious. I asked a lady if she had change for a dollar. She did not. I asked her if she had ANY change. She found a quarter and I gave her my dollar. That bought me some time. I went racing up the street looking for change. I eventually put 8 quarters in the meter and I was off to the event.
The participants were constantly being yelled at by their relatives to turn around for photo purposes. Many could not or would not turn around. They were frozen with their faces against the wall, determined to be alive at the landing. A very few of them looked down from the roof and said "huh uh. I ain't doin' this." Ben got turned around really well during his descent and Shelly and Barb got some great pictures. Go to "Cabin Fever" soon, (but not yet) for some great shots. You will also see Eli gettin' bucked off a huge, dangerous uh........... sheep. Also check Q-tips for more cute kids.
When Ben got down, he rushed into the dressing room where all the rappellers had their stuff stored (in alphabetical order). He grabbed a B H bag and came out to meet with us. As we were congratulating him, Barb and Shelly were going through his bag, looking for good stuff. (Maybe some coupons and gift certificates and things.) They soon discovered that this WAS NOT Ben's bag. He had grabbed the wrong one. He went racing back inside, hoping to get the exchange made before the other B H started calling 911. Fortunately, the guy was droppin' from the sky and knew nothing about it. Oh, yeah, who was this mysterious "other" B H? It was Bob Harmon, the president of Harmon Foods.
Well, the party soon broke up. Barb said, "Dad, can we take you to your car?" I said "why, where are you parked? She said, "under the hotel, of course. The parking is free!"
Jed Clampett slided and glided up the boiling hot sidewalk to his car.
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