Boxing Christmas

The code of fair play which rules most games is not apparent in the boxing racket.

Jimmy Cannon, sportswriter

My younger brother, Terry, and I each received a pair of maroon boxing gloves for Christmas.  Anxious to try them out, we built a makeshift boxing ring in the upstairs bedroom using twine wrapped around bedposts and chair backs to form a not so squared circle.  We invited our parents to be spectators to our main event.  Dad helped us lace up our gloves, and gave us the last minute instructions of a referee.  “Boys have a good clean fight.”  He said.  “Now shake hands and go to your corner.  When the bell sounds come out boxing.  And may the best man win.”

No problem, I said silently to myself, as I returned to my corner, “I’m the biggest and best, and I will whip his little ass.”  Mom and Dad sat side by side on the bed-bleachers, and Dad spoke the bell – “Bong!”  The fight for the championship of the Arnold family was on.

My brother charged out of his corner toward me with head down and arms flailing like a drowning swimmer.  I had little defense against his windmill barrage, and he quickly and repeatedly landed several stinging blows to my face and body.  His style was not what I had expected.  Like most younger brothers and sisters, he wasn’t playing by the rules -- that’s what I should have expected.  I mistakenly thought we would have a boxing match involving strategy and slow circling and quick jabs and clinches and breaks and occasionally a solidly landed counter punch, just like the real boxers described by Don Dunphy on the radio every Friday night.  Something was radically going wrong with my vision of humbling domination of this mutant little gnat with flapping wings and the sting of a bothersome bee.

However, none of his blows hurt more than when Mom and Dad began cheering for the “little shit”.  How could they root for him?  I’m the big brother here.  I’m the biggest.  I’m the best.  He’s not doing it right.  But who could I whine to about his unorthodox and unprofessional boxing tactics -- the partisan crowd?  The bell finally sounded and the fight was over.  I knew he would be declared the winner on younger brother browny points.  That night, in the upstairs bedroom surrounded by a ring of twine and with the hangover of defeat pounding in my head, I confirmed something about sibling rivalry that I had always suspected ever since my little brother entered the family -- They really did like him best.

Observation of the day!

I like to keep my bed room chilly. No heat even in the chilly weather we have been having her in Sunny Southern California.

One of my favorite things is to wake up, do my business and get a little chilly myself. Then jump back under my blankly, headed covered and feel the warmth and comfort it offers. Only thing that might make it better is someone to cuddle with.

Other stuff. Hot chocolate with whipped cream, pumpkin pie, pop corn, French onion soup, fires, Christmas Trees, the ocean, a sunset and good friends.

Warm Christmas cheers to everything and everybody that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Now back to my blankly.

Little Sammy Carl.

Traditions Are An Important Part Of Christmas Spirit.

Well, we are one day closer to Christmas. Parties and dinners are in full swing. Shopping keeps sucking away at our pocket books. There is Christmas spirit in the air, although it's never like it was when we were kids.

Christmas is a time for family traditions. I suppose these traditions are still being built by this generation.

I recall most every Christmas of my youth, but somehow it isn't the same today, and that's how it should for us of the older generation.

My father owned a small grocery. On Christmas Eve the store would be busy with last minute grocery shoppers for their holiday dinners. Some of the regular customers hung around the stove talking Marion Giant basketball. Yes, we had a stove that burned lumps of coal. At about six the store would empty out, I would sweep the sidewalk and we would be off to Grandmas for Christmas Eve dinner. That tradition died when she did. That's all right we all have to move on.

The traditions we developed in our family were not for me, but what my kids remember from their childhood Christmases. At first I tried to go with my traditions of Christmas, but that never seemed to work. This was their time to plant the seeds of new family traditions in their minds. Today, it's what they remember from those in innocent years.

All that's gone now. I'm an old man living alone, but with lots supportive friends. It's not the same, but it's not supposed to be. We all move on, but maintain our memories.

I always remembered how the old generation progressed in their Christmas trees. They started with natural trees, some eventually move on to artificial trees, and the as old people were left by themselves they go to the little artificial tree that sets in the middle of the dining room table. I have moved to no tree, but that doesn't mean I don't have beautiful Christmas trees around me. The Hotel del has a wonderful tree in their lobby. The city of Coronado has a giant tree in Rotary Park. I go to many friends homes and it is always wonderful to feel the warmth of their homes at Christmas time.

It's Still a wonderful time of year. It's a marker in our lives..

Merry Christmas!

Sammy

Thanks

SAN-SFO-EUG, as Mark used to post on Facebook to let everyone know where he was off to. My trip is to meet up and spend Thanksgiving with my brothers, Terry and Jim in Oregon.

As we get older, it is so important to get together to give thanks for the lives that we have been given to these three boys from a smallish town in Indiana. We all are  continually in wonderment, as to how we had such good and successful lives and careers. We all acknowledge, it was our parents who gave us the sense of honesty and hard work. As with most of us, while it is happening we didn't always understand our parents, until we could reflect through the clear lenses of the life we lived. It was a simpler time, but the moral compass has not changed, only the direction of society.

Have a nice day. EUG-SFO-SAN on Saturday.

Sam

The Gifts That Keep On Giving!

It's that time of year again, deciding, selecting and buying Christmas gifts for family and friends? Or in my case for myself. I will always like my Christmas gift to myself. It will be just right. Santa always gets me the right gift for myself. But isn't Christmas time for giving? Yes, it is. And I will also give more than I receive, as it should be.

Real Christmas gifts often seem to get lost in the piles of wrappings and ribbons. Shopping has become a task with a hassle. I hate gift cards. They say a lot about the time and thought that went into the gift buying process. It's too easy. Requires no thought. You can rationalize that the person gets what he or she wants. That's true, but it also says I don't have time.

True giving requires thought. True giving requires paying attention. It also doesn't mean spending too much to impress, or answering every wish on Santa's wish list from your children. Why do babies play more with the packaging than the gift. Because it doesn't take much to make them happy. My friend, Carolina, told me once about her Christmas gifts as a very poor child in Mexico. Her gift might be simply an orange or a pair of socks. And she was thankful.

There is also a question I have ask myself many times, "What do you give a person who has most everything, and if they don't have it, they buy it." Never really found an answer to that.

What was the best Christmas gift you ever got? Mine was my first bike. I think I was about seven or eight. It was just what I wanted,the right make(Monarch) and the right color (maroon). The only thing that kind of upset me was the fact that my brother, who is three years younger, got his bike at the same time. Why did I have to wait three years longer than he did? I guess they really did like him best. I know this was my favorite gift as a kid, because I can remember every minute of that Christmas morning, and the feeling of pure surprise and joy I felt in my heart.

The best gifts are not necessarily the most expensive. They are gifts that say, "I paid attention to what you might like. It is often a gift the person didn't even know they wanted or needed.

The last gift from my son, Mark, was a gift in my name to the Hurricane Sandy Relief Fund in New Jersey, where he lived. That was special because I truly am blessed with an abundant life and this captures a Christmas spirit of giving. That's the type of person Mark was.

 However, it was the gift the year before that perhaps meant the most to me. It was something I can touch, feel and think of him every time I use it. It brings a smile and a memory of my Markie.

He text me asking for my address. He said he was sending me a gift that keeps on giving. I looked forward to receiving it in the mail, curious about this son with a great sense of humor would get his old dad. It was a Nose Hair Trimmer with an attachment for the eyebrows as well. At my age you grow hair everyplace except the place you need it. I had often thought about buying one. But my kid made laugh. It required thought and observation.that seemingly silly gift was just as important to me as that bicycle I got as a kid. I smile every time I use it, and I cry when I write about. It was truly a gift that keeps on giving.

Merry Christmas shopping. It is a task of thinking, not necessarily spending

Sammy Carl

Observations of the Day!

1. After my near near death experience last Sunday, I thought about this yesterday.  I went to Costco and was walking around and the thought occurred to me,"What if I would have left the earth last Sunday, I would not be here and the other people there would have been walking around just as they are". It is proof the world goes on with or without you.

2. Gosh I've got a lot of people who care.

3. One of the hospital doctors name is Dr. Warm. Could his nurse be Fuzzy?

4. I've been in a number of ICUs, Coronary Care Units and regular hospital rooms. Coronado Sharp Hospital ICU unit could use some serious upgrading. My room was more cubby hole than room. The staff, however, was marvelous.

5. I love my friend girls. They all were there to cheer their Papi up.

6. With all the years in medical science you would think they. would have found away to walk down the Hall without your butt showing.

7.Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

8. God loves you, and so do I.

9. It's raining today and I'm not bitching.

Have a nice day!

Sam

I Can See It From Here!

There is an old expression that when people are in a small town in the middle of nowhere,"It's not the end of the earth, but I can see it from here.

As many of you know, I had a heart incidence this week. I spent my fun day doing my usual stuff. I went to 8 o'clock service at the Rock. I look forward to this service more and more every week. I then came back over the Bridge to Coronado to the Firehouse for some breakfast and some football with my friends. The Chargers played the second game, so I watched two NFL games. One beer only, for those of you who are counting. I went home about four. and laid down and watched part of the SNF game and a couple of other shows and surfing around. At about 10:15 I took my pills and went to bed. I began to feel something's a little off in my chest. When you have had heart disease as long as I have, you know and listen to your body. I still didn't think too much of it, but something was going on, and I kind of sat up on one elbow. That's when it hit me. BLAM!, It was like a shot and someone hitting my chest with a 2x4. It was like a bolt of lighting. It all most seemed like it was outside.  For a nano second I said, "What the h??? wa.... I realized my defribilulater had fired. I'd never felt anything like it. I had asked my doctor once what happens after the first shock, just wait for the second? I wondered how my feelings might be if I got the first shot. It was just that. Wait to see if there is another fire in the hole. In about 10 or so minutes BANG! There it was. The doctor once told me, if you have one shot, it may have been just a miss fire, but if you get the second, go to the ER.

Like an idiot, I dressed and drove myself to the hospital. Probably stupid, no not probably, was stupid. I think it was not wanting to draw the attention of my neighbors because in Coronado you get not only the ambulance, but the hook and ladder sirens blaring, shaking the earth.

I walked into the ER. They attached the usual attachments BAM! Number Three. I noticed the RNs watch the monitor. They would watch and then look at me because they knew what was about to happen. BAM! Number Four. That was a dozy. They finally took control of my heart through medications.

I was admitted. I was hoping to be released next day, but they wanted to keep me one more night.

After I realized what the initial firing was, I had to ask my self, "is this it?"

Ever since Mark and Jeff's deaths, and reading a couple of books on near death experiences giving us a glimpse of heaven, I wondered at that God selected minute, before you see the light, what would the the near near death experience would be like. I had that thought, as I contemplated if this was my moment of transition. I wasn't at the gates of heaven, but I could see them from here.

I lived to see another day, but I was close to seeing what that moment would be like.

What I read in those moments: Ecclesiastes Chapter 3 and Psalms 23.

I am the most blessed man on earth. I believe in God and Heaven. None of us are getting out of this thing alive.  I continue to ask myself, why have I been so blessed? What does God want me to do? For sure I thank him everyday for the blessings he has bestowed on this kid from Indiana.

Have a great day, and I am on my way home to live another day of my extraordinary life.

Sam

The Death of Captain Waskow

Ernie Pyle was one of the greatest war correspondence of WWII. His reports were beautifully written and captured a war and its soldiers of a different time. On this Veterans Day, 2013, as these old soldiers are dying away, we are reminded of those who gave their lives in the service of their country.

The Death of Captain Waskow

By Ernie Pyle

AT THE FRONT LINES IN ITALY -- In this war I have known a lot of officers who were loved and respected by the soldiers under them.  But never have I crossed the trail of a man as beloved as Capt. Henry T. Waskow of Belton, Tex.

Captain Waskow was a company commander in the 36th division.  He had been in this company since long before he left the States.  He was very young, only in his middle 20s, but he carried in him a sincerity and gentleness that made people want to be guided by him.

“After my own father, he comes next,” a sergeant told me.

“He always looked after us,” a soldier said.  “He’d go to bat for us every time.”

“I’ve never known him to do anything unkind.,” another one said.

I was at the foot of the mule train the night they brought Captain Waskow down.  The moon was nearly full at the time, and you could see far up the trail, and even part way across the valley.  Soldiers made shadows as they walked.

Dead men had been coming down the mountain all evening, lashed onto the backs of mules.  They came lying belly down across the wooden packsaddle, the heads hanging down on the left side of the mule, their stiffened legs sticking awkwardly from the other side, bobbing up and down as the mule walked.

The Italian mule skinners were afraid to walk beside the dead men, so Americans had to lead the mules down that night..  Even the Americans were reluctant to unlash and lift the bodies, when they got to the bottom, so an officer had to do it himself and ask others to help.

The first one came early in the morning.  They slid him down from the mule, and stood him on his feet for a moment.  In the half light he might have been merely a sick man standing there leaning on the other.  Then they laid him on the ground in the shadow of the stone wall alongside the road.

I don’t know who the first one was.  You feel small in the presence of dead men and ashamed of being alive, and you don’t ask silly questions.

We left him there beside the road, that first one, and we all went back to the cowshed and sat on watercans or lay on the straw, waiting for the next batch of mules.

Somebody said the dead soldier had been dead for four days, and then nobody said anything more about him.  We talked for an hour or more ; the dead man lay all alone, outside in the shadow of the wall.

Then a soldier came into the cowshed and said there were some more bodies outside.  We went out into the road.  Four mules stood there in the moonlight, in the road where the trail came down off the mountain.  The soldiers who led them down stood there waiting.

"This one is Captain Waskow,” one of them said quickly.

Two men unlashed his body from the mule and lifted it off and laid in the shadow beside the stone wall  Other men took the other bodies off.  Finally, there were five lying end to end in a long row.  You don’t cover up dead men in combat zones.  They just lie there in the shadows until somebody else comes after them.

The uncertain mules moved off to their olive orchards.  The men in the road seemed reluctant to leave.  They stood around, and gradually I could sense them moving, one by one, close to Captain Waskow’s body.  Not so much to look, I think, as to say something in finality to him and to themselves.  I stood close by and could hear.

One soldier came and looked down, and he said out loud:

“God damn it!”. That's all he said, and then he walked away.

Another one came, and he said, “God damn it to hell anyway!”  He looked down for a few last moments and then turned and left.

Another man came.  I think it was an officer.  It was hard to tell officers from men in the half light, for everybody was grimy and dirty.  The man looked down into the dead captain’s face and the spoke directly to him, as though he were alive.

“I’m sorry, old man."

Then a soldier came and stood beside the officer and bent over, and he to spoke to his dead captain, 

not in a whisper but awfully tenderly, and he said:

“I’m sorry, sir.

Then the first man squatted down, and he reached down and took the captain’s hand, and he sat there for a full five minutes holding the dead hand in his own and looking intently into the dead face.  And he never uttered a sound all the time he sat there.

Finally he put his hand down.  He reached up and gently straightened the points of the captain’s shirt collar, and then he sort of rearranged the tattered edges of his uniform around the wound, and then he got up and walked away down the road in the moonlight all alone.

God bless our Veterans, both living and dead. God Bless America.

Samuel Arnold

LTJG USNR

Memories From My Honeycomb

The mind is a magnificent human computer, storing millions of bits. It is a storage vault of big things and little things, and you wonder why they even remain in your memory. Your brain is like a honey comb with many little storage cells, each containing a tidbit of your life.

As we get older, we tend to spend more time going through the archives of our minds. Sometimes you run across things, and you can only ask, 'why do I remember is insignificant event?' One of these nuggets has been around in my mind for many years ago. I think I was about five or six years old. I know WWII was in progress. I had a little metal Piper Cub airplane I loved to play with. I can still remember where I was playing with it next to the house. Apparently, I left it outside one day. When I looked for it the next day, I went back to the exact spot where I had been playing with it, and it wasn't there. I looked and looked every place and came back to the original spot several times over several days expecting it to appear. But it was lost forever. Why is that memory stored in the early combs of my life and still surfaces from time to time? My mind is flooded with these meaningless tidbits that sneak out to remind me of my momentary moments.

My nephew died last year of a brain tumor. During the last part of his life he would hallucinate and say things that were strange and unconnected. It came out jumbled. I believe it was these little nuggets of stored memory that all came out at the same time and were linked together because they appeared together, not because they were together.

The actress, Marilu Henner, has a rare condition called H-SAM. Only 11 other people in the world have it.  She can recall every moment of her life. She can remember when and where she met a person, even if it was years before. I wonder if it is a curse or a blessing. Maybe there was a time when we all had this skill of memory, or perhaps it's a dimension we will aquire, as we pass to the other side.

Before Mark died he appeared on Celebrity Apprentice. One of the celebrities was Marylu Henner. She was on the team that was learning about the technical aspects of the LG appliances that Mark was demonstrating. It kind of neat to know that if I ever meet Marilu, she will a remember my Mark.

I love these tidbits. They were not big deals. They were moments in my life. When these memory moments are put in the context of the bigger things in your life, they encompass your whole life. Maybe they are part of the life that is said to pass by when you die.

So I will go on making the memories of my life for the final video.

Have a nice day,

Sammy Carl

Teachers!

What makes a great teacher? Great preachers are great teachers. Even though one is secular and the other more spiritual, they share a common denominator, the ability to relate and motivate their students on a basic level.

Great teachers are charismatic. Real down to earth people. You want to listen, participate and learn from them. They know there subject intimately, but can bring it down to the fundemental understanding for the student. When a foundation is fundamentally sound a great structure can be built. Ask any successful sports coach, and they will tell you, first teach the fundementals and winning will come. Watch a good team and a bad team sometime. You can tell the difference.

Perhaps the greatest teacher was Jesus Christ himself. As people gathered around, he most always taught lessons in the form of parables. Parables are stories that the common man can understand, relate to and learn from. We know he changed lives.

We have all known brilliant people who are at the top of their profession, but cannot teach a lick. They should stick to the lab and the library A good teacher's education never stops. A good teacher wants to learn from other great teachers. A good teacher never stops teaching. The teaching of a subject may transform into a teaching of life's lessons. As they say" a teaching moment." Think of a person that took time and interest in you and taught you from their experience and knowledge.

.

Take a minute think about those teachers who changed your life. I still know the names of my elementary teachers. Mrs Renbarger taught senior English. 100 spelling words a week made me a good speller. Two of my sister-laws are great teachers. Professor Proulx was an inspiration at Michigan State. Thinking of those teachers is a pleasant journey down memory lane. They made a difference and that's all you can ask.

Never miss an opportunity to teach and mentor. This insures that down the road, your students will remember how you helped them along life's journey. There is no higher honor than to pay it forward.

Have a nice day!

Sam

Before You Are Alone!

I actually wrote this poem about my great-aunt "Tie".  She passed away at 99, never married. She was the proverbial old maid aunt.  As an old lady, she lived with our family. no one paid too much attention to her. She was the genealogist of the family. I actually used some of her research, when I did my own. I often thought, if I could just be able to ask her about her life and the stories she could tell.  I had so many unanswered questions. We always wait too long. Now I find this applies to me as well. This poem is now about me and any older person with stories to tell. don't wait until it is too late.

Sam

I sit quietly, patiently, out of the way,

Ready to answer the questions, that nobody asks.

You’re too busy to ask,

Please see me as a whole person, not just an old person.

Look deep behind my eyes,

Beyond the wrinkled and sagging and spotted face.

See a person who lived your life in another time.

Playing, going to school, falling in love, raising a family,

Wars and depression, turning points, hard times, glad times.

I am a resource to your life,

A living witness to a history of a time -- mine.

Please let me search my softer memory and tell you my stories.

Someday in the dark corner of the attic, you will turn to ask,

And you will be alone.

For now, I will sit quietly, patiently, out of the way,

Ready to answer the questions, that nobody asks.

Have a blessed day.

Sam

Honest Smoke!

Despite the fact that the Surgeon General’s report on smoking and health showed no evidence that smoking early in life is a symbol of growing up, nearly every smoker my own colleagues and I have interviewed over the past ten years reported, that this was indeed the original reason for taking up the custom.

Arthur Homer Cain

 I was an early experimenter in smoking.  I started smoking in the open and in front of my parents at the ripe old age of sixteen, but I was sampling the vice long before I came out of the smoking closet or in the case at Beaver Dam Lake, a two holed out-house.  I didn’t do drugs or drink alcohol in high school -- smoking was my sin of choice. 

Smoking today is viewed quite differently than it was in the days of my youth.  Smoking is now viewed by society as the mother of all vices and no-smoking policies are enforced by non-smoking, holier than thou, mostly reformed smokers -- the smoking police.  You can see the poor smoking wretches huddled outside their office buildings on very cold, blustery days trying to keep warm, but always serving their personal demon.  It’s the price they pay for their sin.  And I must say I don’t really care.  It’s a rotten dirty death dealing habit.  However, coffin nails are still a matter of personal choice -- this is America.

Most everybody, particularly in the fifties and sixties smoked.  Most of my friends smoked in high school.  My old Ford must have looked like it was on fire, as smoke from our before school cigarettes poured out of the car as we stepped out to go into the school building.  Cigarettes and cigars were advertised on television.  In every movie, actors both men and women all puffed away on the screen.  I saw an old clip of Janis Joplin, the legendary rock star who eventually died of a heroin overdose, on a Dick Cavette show in the sixties, and she sat right next to him smoking a cigarette, blowing the smoke his way.  Smoking was considered cool, sophisticated and just normal.

One warm summer day, with way too much time on our hands, my neighborhood friends, Frank Wilson, Jerry Weisenauer and I decided we wanted to have a smoke and spent some time trying to figure out where we could get the tobacco.  I came up with the solution to our nicotine dilemma.  I knew that Uncle Jake, our next door neighbor, kept his cigars in a smoking cabinet in his living room.  It was in the afternoon, and I figured I could perhaps sneak into his house without anyone knowing and steal a cigar.  I was right.  There was nobody downstairs.  I figured that if I were caught in the house I would just say I had come over to visit.  The cigars were right where they should be.  I quickly grabbed one and silently sped out the door with no one being the wiser.  Ha! Ha! What a clever boy was I.

We disappeared under a big leafy bush tent that served as both our hide-out and the left field fence of the back lot baseball field.  We lit up and passed it around.  My brother, Terry, joined us a little later to share a few puffs.

Mom called that it was time to come and get washed up for supper and everybody went home.  As I passed her on the way into the house, she smelled the cigar smoke on my breath and clothes.  Why did I think she could not smell the smell of a smelly cigar?  She asked if I had been smoking.  I quickly admitted the crime with a quiet and mumbled, “Yes”.  How could I do anything but admit the truth with the evidential smell clinging to every part of me? 

“Where did you get the cigar? 

”We found it.  It was all wrapped”.  Honest!

Mom was mad, of course, but this was not the first time I had been caught using the forbidden “weed”.  I fully expected she would tell Dad, and there would be some level of punishment administered.  Based on past smoking convictions, I wasn’t too worried about what punishment might be handed out.  I could take it like the man I was pretending to be.  However, this was a crime of a repeat offender who had perjured himself under questioning by my ultimate judges -- my parents.  As I found out, I was subject to larger crimes and punishment and a life’s lesson learning event of most epic proportions.

When Jerry got home, his mom asked the same motherly smoking question, as to where we got the cigar, and he was too quick to say, “Sam stole it from Uncle Jake’s house.”  (Uh-oh!)

Of course, Mrs. Weisenauer was not one to keep a secret, so she called my Mother and told her the truth, according to Jerry.  Terry and I were quickly banished to our beds without supper, a frequent form of punishment for rather serious offenses.  I could live with it, although I was hungry.  A little later I heard Dad coming up the stairs -- Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! (Uh-oh!)  As he entered our room, I could see that he held his house slipper in his hand.  He whacked my butt good, and then moved to the other side of the room to administer the same punishment to my brother.  Although I’m sure there were other spankings, this was the only spanking I ever remember my Dad giving me.  It hurt, but I could live with it.  I figured that my punishment was over, and I had made it once again through the sentence.  (Uh-oh!)  The paddling was a good one, but not nearly the punishment that was still coming.

He said,  “That was for smoking, but that’s not the end of it.  (Uh-oh!)  For stealing and for lying about where you got the cigar you, Jerry and Frank are going to go over to Uncle Jake’s tomorrow and tell him that you stole one of his cigars, and you are to do the talking.  (Uh-oh!)  “What about Terry?”, I asked.  “He wasn’t in on the stealing, so he doesn’t have to go”, Dad replied.  I guess in legal terms, he was considered an accessory after the fact.  I thought to myself, “Boy, that doesn’t seem fair (I knew enough to keep my mouth shut though).  This has gotten way out of hand.  This is really serious.  I’m not sure I can take it.  Another house slipper whack would be better than this.”

The three of us walked into the Campbell’s house about noon the next day.  They were all seated around the table in the kitchen getting ready for lunch.  I did the talking, as instructed, and told them what I had done and that we were very very sorry.  There were even a couple of tears shed.  We were forgiven, but in retrospect, they must have had to do everything possible to keep their snickers muffled at our obvious pain.  It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do.  I suppose that was a secondary lesson learned.  Do what you have to do and get on with it.  This experience made me more of a man than any cigarette or cigar ever did. 

It was lessons learned about honesty and confession.  It didn’t stop me from smoking for a long time, but it did teach me about the importance of honesty and a personal code of conduct that I have carried with me all of my life.  The consequences of dishonesty and lying are too great, and it had nothing to do with a spanking.

Honesty is at the core of my soul, and my parents lovingly placed it there.  They understood how and when to teach the most important lessons of life.

Honesty is always the best policy; confession is good for the soul, and the country still needs is a good five-cent cigar.

Have a nice day!

Little Sammy Carl

This Just In

All the news you need to know or not!

1.A woman was arrested in a high speed chase in the Poway area. When finally stopped after crashing into some rocks. She was only wearing underwear. Police arrested her for suspicion of driving under the influence. I hope she paid attention to her mom about the clean underwear thingy.

Ya think????

2.Mariano Rivera Bobblehead  train transporting them to NewYork had mechanical problems and the delivery truck broke down on the way to the ballpark, leaving thousands of fans waiting in line through the fourth inning with many still not getting a Bobblehead. BTW Yankees lost 7-0.

Do you think there was any swearing involved?

3.Pope Francis excommunicates Austrailion priest for advocating women rights as clergy and homosexuality. The letter of excommunication was written in Latin.

So much for the modern-church! Latin?????

4. Apple maps gives directions the Fairbanks airport by cutting across a runway.

This is only a problem if the driver does not recognize it as a runway. Let's hope it's not an indication of Apple losing its edge and driving off a cliff by mistake. 

5. OJ caught in a crime in Nevada prison theft. He was stealing cookies from the cafeteria.

No wonder he's getting fat.

6. Cam Newton of Carolina Panthers was fined $10,000 for violating dress rules of the NFL.You may remember he was fined for a non- regulation T-shirt. Seems he had an Under Armour logo clip on his helmet.

Trouble maker. Next thing you know he'll be wearing his Jersey to a strip club. Another violation.

7. It is legal for a blind person to buy a gun in Iowa.

Talk about not being able to hit the broad side of a barn

Have a nice day!

Saumy Carl

This Just In!

All the news you need to know, or not.

1. Marijuana themed restaurant rejected by Paciific Beach.

Imagine that.

2. Minnesota High School typos the cover of class year book. Moorehead instead of Morehead.

Great editing and attention to detail. Can't wait to get you in the workforce.

3. Selena Gomez wears impossibly short shorts reports the Huffington Post.

Not possible.

4. Apple will now offer a male voiced Suri.

She never did listen.

5. The other day I overheard a woman using voice Google, saying "Restaurants in Little Italy." Then she mentioned that all the restaurants were Italian. She was looking for non-Italian restaurant.

I'll be damned.

6. Marlboro Man becomes Metro-sexual with artificial cigarettes.

7. Old news. Congress to vote on Syria after they get back from vacation.

Lucky for them the vote was put on hold, by none other than Mr.Putin.

8. Miley Cyrus!

Nuff said.

9. Announcement from a good friend from the extreme left about the next meeting agenda for her Pax Salon group. "We have the pleasure of guest xxxxx ,who (before he dropped out) the Green Party candidate for Mayor ofSt. Paul. His topic will be curbside composting.

I'm sure there will be a big turnout. Next week; Growning pot in a pot and tree hugging when your arms are too short.

10. I heard the other day, if you put Preparation- H on your saggy skin under your eyes, it tightens the skin and makes you look younger.

Might work, but gives a whole new meaning to the word "butt-face".

That's all the news you need to know, until next time. Now you know it.

Have a nice day!

Sammy Carl.

Catch and Release!

I earned enough money in my career to have comfortable financial security. As a young manager, I was underpaid. As I grew in my job responsibilities and finished out my business career, I was overpaid. In the end it all evened out. I achieved much more than I ever dreamed possible. I am the most blessed man in the world, and more importantly, I know it.

Although some might not believe me, money was never that important to me.  Financial security was always my goal. Just enough to eliminate the fear of a big bad wolf knocking on my door in old age. I provided well for my family and lived comfortably, but I didn't need money to be happy. Money was merely the score card. Living within the Golden Mean was my personal lifestyle. I think of myself as a giver. Midwestern roots and my parent's example were always at my core. Humility is a virtue. I have known several very rich people in my life. The good ones never forgot where they came from. The not so good ones flaunted their wealth, and tried to hide where they came from. I often wonder at the amount of money some people make and still want more. How much is enough?

I have enough money to pretty much buy whatever I want. But I don't want it if I don't need it. Today, I pretty much live my life as a minimalist. I live within my modest pensions, but the money I have put away saves me from unexpected emergencies. I have no physical assets, except a seven year old Camry and my clothes. My one luxury I have is that my back door opens to the Pacific Ocean and the beach. Coronado is always where I wanted to be from the moment I set foot on this island Nirvana on earth. I am comfortable and I am blessed. I have enough. I need no more.

Maslov's Heirarchy of Needs starts with filling the basic needs of life, food and shelter. Hopefully, you progress filling each level of needs until you get to the top of life. At this pinnacle is the need to reach a point of self-accualization and self-realization. It is an understanding of what you and your life has been about. There is no money involved. I like to think reaching this pinnacle is my greatest accomplishment in life. I realize I have been truly blessed. I know who I am.

When I first arrived in Coronado, January 6, 1960 to begin my adult life, I had an education, a job and clothes. I didn't own a car. When I leave, I will pretty much be the same person, looking forward to rewards ahead. Today, I look across the bay from my bedroom window, and I see where I began. I will go out where I began. Most of my life's accumulated money will go to establish two scholarship funds in honor of my son and my nephew, who passed away at too early an age and my parents. I am paying it forward in the hope it will affect a young person's future, and they will be as blessed, as I have been.

In the end, I caught the money, and it was fun, but it is more fun to release it to live on, helping someone else.

Life is good, the future is better!

Have a nice day!

Sammy

Where Were You?

Today is one of those dates that is tattooed in our national conscience. There will be many stories told in honor of this day of American tragedy. It has its own brand name. 9/11, and you need to say no more. Your mind will flashback to that awful unbelievable day. It changed America for ever.

Everyone who was old enough to witness it will have a flashback. Kids, who were too young to remember, are now in there teens. They know the tragedy, but they did not see it. Today the question will be asked, "Where were you when you first heard about it ?" Everyone will recall exactly where they were and what they were doing and what they did for the rest of the day.

Another tragedy in our history was November 23, 1963, the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. It's a day where I remember exactly where I was. I was working in a restaurant in West LA. We were getting ready to open for lunch. I was walking towards the bar and a cook came out and said the president had been shot. If I were there today, I could point to the exact spot I was standing when I heard the news. I remember the rest of the day. People came into the restaurant for lunch. In some cases I told the guests what happened for the first time. The rest of the afternoon the people just stayed  at their tables talking. I'm sure, just as I do, those people remember the place where they heard the news.

I woke up at about 8:45 to a beautiful September morning in Minnesota. As was my habit, I turned on the bedroom TV. The first plane had hit the tower. It was still being reported as a small plane crashing into the World Trade Center. As I watched, I saw a huge ball of flames from a second explosion blow through the second tower. What is happening? The news started reporting the fact that they were large commercial jets. Then came the report of the pentagon. What is happening? Then the report of the plane crash in Pennsylvania. What is happening? I even ask myself if these events were coincidence because the events were so unbelievable. For the rest of the day Americans were glued to the TV wondering that same question, as never ending images of tradgedy flashed before our unbelieving eyes. Then America witnessed the crumbling of the very symbols of NYC itself. They were gone in a heap of tangled ruble in seconds. People, white with ash, were running down the street for their lives. If it had been a movie, this super special effect would have been hard to believe.

One of the images of the many that remains in my mind from that day is when all aircraft in the air were ordered to land. There is a map somewhere in the United States that shows a bright dot for every plane in the sky. I watched my TV screen, as one by one their lights disappeared until America was dark. It was truly a dark dark day in the lives of everyone, except for the bastards who did it in the name of Allah.

So that was my day, 9/11 2001. I look forward to reading and hearing all the stories that will be told today about this day of a number and what they were doing. What we do know is America lives on with the resilience that is our DNA.

RIP for those who died that day, including a little piece of America.

We will ever forget. God Bless America!

Sam

Mark Angel in the Sky!

Wispy and white in the sky so blue
Was an angel I thought that I knew.
Could this be my Marky just floating by
Checking on his old dad from the sky?
The warmth of the sun is taking you away.
Oh how I wish you could stay.
I miss you every day, but what can I do?
Look to the sky for the next time you are in the blue.
Good to see you my son.

Love,

Dad

The New Math in College Football!

While we are on the subject of colleges, I'd like to add a few thoughts about the Big Ten Conferance. First of all next year there will be 14 teams in the "Big Ten". What's wrong with this picture. Is this the math being taught now? The only number that makes sense is the money they anticipate from TV revenues. It's all about the money, but we knew that.

Every conference has realigned with new members, while original members join new conferences. The New Big East was formed in which half of the conference was in the West, but now it has been realigned a second time within a year, dropping football as a "sponsored sport". Teams in the West are no longer in the East? However there are only three of ten member schools in the New New Big East Conference that are actually in what most consider the Eastern states. The most Western school in the Big East is Creighton, which is in Omaha. Confused yet??

Now to get back to my conference, the Big 10 going on fourteen. I'm a traditionalist, as are most old guys. The traditional Big 10 was rough and rugged, good old Midwestern toughness and values. Many were and are land grant colleges. Land grant colleges were formed when the government allocated land to build colleges as training grounds for a practical usable education. Many we're originally called "Agriculture and Applied Science". Actually In the fifties, the Big Ten had only nine schools. Michigan State was added as the tenth member, replacing the University of Chicago, who had dropped out a few years before. Penn State was added a few years ago. That made some sense because Michigan State and Penn State were the first Land Grant colleges and Penn State fit the profile of the other Big Ten schools. But now its the Big Ten with eleven members. Then they added Nebraska. That makes some sense, because Nebraska is next to Iowa???? Now it's a twelve team Big Ten.

Wait a minute, in 2014 Rutgers and Maryland will be joining the Big Ten, making it a fourteen team league. The Athletic Director at Michigan SState stated at an IMG conference that the Big Ten could expand to a sixteen team conference. He said a fourteen team conference is hard to schedule and align. The Eastern and Western Conference of the Big Ten will be organized around time zones. Huh??. What happened to traditional rivalries. The Big Ten has always wanted Notre Dame in the conference, after all Notre Dame has long rivalries with Big Ten Schools. I think Notre Dame is smart avoiding conference membership, at least for now. They make enough money on their own.

I don't know what I have accomplished here. They more I write about the more
I confuse myself. Let"s just say the college football is not about tradition anymore. It's the way of the world, old man. Get used to it.

I think I'll take a nap!

Have a Nice Day!

Sammy

GO RIGHT THROUGH THAT LINE OF BLUE, BITCHES!

For those who are Spartans. the rest of you may leave.
Go right through that line of blue were the original words to the MSU Fight Song.  It was later changed to, Go right through for MSU.  How wimpy.  It should have never been changed.

Michigan State University began as an idea that the future of the State of Michigan depended on the education of its farmers in the science of agriculture.  Farms out east were dying for lack of knowledge about soil fertility.  And out west, gold was discovered, and it was feared that the young men of Michigan might abandon their farms for California.  A firm grasp of agriculture, engineering, and the natural sciences was essential for farming success, but no other college taught it. The college’s very reason for being was to give everyday working people the opportunity to participate in an educational experience that could be applied to their everyday lives and, hopefully, make them better..  Michigan State has always celebrated people who got their hands dirty.

Michigan State’s rivalry with the University of Michigan is not simply one of those silly, but serious rivalries created on athletic fields.  The University of Michigan opposed to the foundation of the College of Agriculture (MAC) from the start.  It argued publicly that the college was a failure and disappointment.  They urged that the new school be joined to THE university and use the buildings for a reformatory school.  How quaint and how arrogant, but typical of some of the attitudes down the road.

The University of Michigan is a first class institution with a first class national reputation.  The people of State of Michigan, its students and alumni have a right to be very proud of this status.  It is also an elitist school, except in its recruitment of athletes of course, just like Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Berkeley, Brown, Georgetown etc.  Elitist schools by definition consider themselves to be better than anybody else, whether they are or not.  Academic excellence does not necessarily guarantee success.  It is a combination of academics and individual internal drive that ultimately determines success.  The first president of the Agricultural School of the State of Michigan (MSU), said about the school, “Good enough for the proudest, cheap enough for the poorest.”  I don’t know if it’s the cheapest, but it is certainly good enough for the proudest.  I am very proud of where I went to college.

I always laugh when I think back to Bill Clinton’s statement about the cabinet he would form.  “It will look a lot like America,” he stated.  Of course his definition of how America looked was that we were all millionaires who went to an eastern liberal elitist institutions.  It represents the arrogance of “The best and the brightest.”  “We will decide what is best for the masses, who are not as smart or as well educated as we.” 

Michigan State was known as “a Cow College” and “Moo U” by the folks down the road in Ann Arbor.  So what?  That was the basic premise on which it was originally founded.  Serving a need is critical for survival, whether it is a business or an educational institution.  You can’t forget your heritage or your customers.

Michigan State struggled to survive, and it did, beyond what the founders could possibly envision.  MSU may always be viewed as second class citizens by the folks in Ann Arbor, but that’s what makes Michigan State better.  We don’t care.  We like being the underdog -- underdogs have to work harder to succeed.  We just keep going and growing.  It builds character.

Land-grant institutions were created to be concerned about providing access to knowledge to broad segments of the population and to conduct primary research.  Comprehensive teaching and research.  Broad access is not, however, a reason to lower expectations of a university or its students.  Broad access offers an opportunity to blend a quality education with a broader qualified base of the population.  To me this is the very basis for education in America.  Educating a broad base of the population is not to be accomplished by a dumbing down process where the lowest common denominator determines the scholastic level of its students.  There is a place that fits everybody who desires an education beyond high school.  Everyone is equal in the eyes of God, but he did not make everybody handsome nor equal in every ability,.  This is a core value of education that all colleges and universities and their faculty and students need to keep in mind.  Helping people to reach their full potential is the primary goal of any educational institution.  Michigan State does that well.  Its made up of real people who work hard.

John Hannah, the president of Michigan State, who in my opinion and in the opinion of others contributed the most to making Michigan State what it is today, liked to say “Only people matter”.  Spartans represent the spectrum of society from all over the world.  There is a place for the super student and the student who struggles with academics, but succeeds because he or she has a will to succeed..  Thanks to the creative leadership of President John Hannah in the fifties and sixties, Michigan State became a broad based first class educational institution.  From MAC to MSU in a hundred years.

Somewhere in the eighties, primary research seemed to take the front seat in many institutions of higher learning.  Michigan State was no exception.  Research and serving the students got out of balance.  However, today Michigan State has reasserted the Guiding Principles of MSU’s special parentage as a research-intensive land-grant university where people matter.  The strength of the university is the ability to blend research-active faculty and student focused-orientations.

Today, although it is a full-fledged multi-discipline university with an excellent reputation as an institution, it never quite moved away from its grounding in the work ethic and serving ordinary citizens.

MSU, we love thy shadows.

Seeing Red!

My late nephew, Jeff, was blind the last few years of his life. He died from a brain tumor that was with him most of his life, and finally got ahead of the treatment. He started to lose his sight about ten years ago. Two brain surgeries and years of chemo couldn't ultimetely contain it. In their attempt to get the tumor they took his optic nerves. Jeff was a brave young man who always kept his sense of humor. He worked for the Universityo of Arizona Athletic Department in group sales, a job loved. He worked until he could no longer work.

On a trip to Tucson, Jeff took me to SAAVI, the social service for the blind. It was there I was introduced to his counselor. She was a pretty young woman, who was blind from birth. She lived on her own with her guide dog and eventually got married. Certainly an example of a good person living a full life without sight.

Jeff, lived most of his life with sight. He knew what color was. He knew the red of a rose and the colors of a rainbow. He could always see and remember color in the rear view of his mind's eye. His counselor could not. How do you describe color to a person who has never seen or experienced color? How do you describe a red fire truck, or one of those stupid yellow ones to a person who has never seen red or yellow? They can touch the shape, but there is no shape or touch to color. How do you describe the colors of the rainbow? Color surrounds us every day of our lives. It lives on in those who became blind after seeing. Don't miss the color of your life. We are blessed.

Have a nice day!

Sam

Observation of the Day!

There is dignity in all work. Just do it!

Happy Labor Day!

Sammy Carl

Die Hard!

It's not easy to die when you aren't dead. During the last couple of months, I have been wrestling with my Will and Trust and instructions as to what to do after I am not there to do it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ready to die right away. I'm in good shape for the shape I'm in. It's just that dealing with this "stuff" is kind of complicated. I want to make it as easy on those left behind. I am a minimalist, so I don't have a lot of "stuff", but yet we all have debris we don't even think about until it comes time to think about it. Find a lawyer, name an executor and backup, bank accounts, stock accounts, IRA, car, clothes, jewelry, funeral/memorial wishes, cremation or burial, ashes or caskets, which funeral home, computer, family pictures, notifications with phone numbers, instructions about instructions, and I'm sure I have forgotten something.

Sometimes you think, let them worry about it, but that's not the right thing to do. I am a man who does the right thing. I urge you all of you to do the right thing. When your survivors and friends are in mourning, they don't need to add to that grief by taking care of "stuff" you didn't take care of and left behind with no direction. Nobody really plans to die, but none of us are getting out of this thing alive. Only God knows when and where. Mark and Jeff's untimely deaths proved that.

And one other thing, always wear clean underwear.

Have a nice day!

Sam

2 Shades of Gray!

My first car was my grandma's 1949 4-door battleship gray with a straight stick. My current car is a Toyota Camry, 4-door battleship gray with some sparkleys.  When I bought this 2007 Camry in October of 06, I wondered, given my age, if this would be my last car. That was nearly seven years ago, and I'm still kicking. So I have been wondering if I should get another car to carry me off into the sunset. Maybe splurge a little with an expensive flashy midlife crisis type mobile. Perhaps a convertable. I once had a white '58 Chevy convertible. It was my first self bought car. I traded it in for a blue bottom of the line straight stick Corvair a few years later ( You figure that move out, I sure can't.)

In between the two gray bombers were many kinds of cars. I've had a Mercedes and a Porsche, but they were not a 500 or a Cabrerra. They were a 230 and a 944, not the top of the line. I've had Fords, Chevys, Hondas, Oldsmobiles, Mercuries, Cadillacs and Buicks. It is hard to remember all the cars I have had.

I've never worried about gas mileage and other questions of the car nuts. I always bought a car by its looks. I've always liked black cars, but actually had only a few. Brown,  yellow, gray,gray, gray. Never had a red car. Always liked red, but I guess my personality didn't  fit with red. I like red shirts, but I don't look good in them. I'm a brown, gray guy I guess.

There was a day when your car defined you. I think it's true today for some, but not me, or maybe in reality it does. I think, although I am very financially secure and could buy pretty much any type of make or model I want, I am still a minimalist. I have nothing to prove. My Camry only has 63,000 miles on it, so I think it maybe just maybe the one to carry me out of here. It's the right color.

Have a nice day!

Sam

This Just In!

ALL THE NEWS THAT'S FIT TO PRINT, OR NOT!

1. RGIII fined by NFL for wearing and unauthorized tee shirt of field It said, "Operation Patience" referring to his need to be patient in healing his injury.

That explains why they wear jock straps. Don't want to get fined for panty lines.

2. Ben Affleck to play Batman.

Don't know what Mark would think about that, but I caught his urn shaking a bit this morning.

3.Vin Sculley back for his 65th year broadcasting the Dodgers. He will be 85 years old.

I was ten when he started. Guess he's a bandwagon guy now that the Dodgers are winning again.

4.Wisconsin Dells voted top vacation destination by teens.

Really???? It was also dubbed in times past as the world's tackiest resort. I guess the nerds rule, or is it the other way around?

5. Could Mayor Bob Finer's escapades actually be an episode of Mad Men?

 I wonder if he smokes after sexual harassment?

6. The Triple A Philadelphia farm club, the Leigh Valley Ironpigs (Yah that's right) held an essay contest to give away a funeral. (Yah, that's right) it will happen during the sixth inning.

 Perhaps the Padres should enter.

7. According to the Huffinton Post stripper's flaming nipple tassels set off fire alarm.

Now, that's hot!

8. What is known as a French kiss in many parts of the world is know as an English kiss in France.

Or a Bob Filner kiss in San Diego.

9. Is a hybrid Cadillac Escalade an oxymoron?

Have a nice day.

Sammy

Nearer My God!

Someone in my small group from the Rock Church ask me how long I had been a Christian. It seemed like a simple and straight question, requiring a simple straight forward answer.  My first quick answer was, "All my life". That was true. I hand gone to church all of my life. I was born into the Quaker (First Friends) in Marion, Indiana.

When I got married, I converted to Catholicism. I was a Catholic for 42 years. I left the Catholic Church because of the pediphila scandals and coverup by the church.  It seemed that the protection of the church was more important than the children who were molested.

I discovered the Rock Church about six years ago. A couple of friends ask me to come.The Rock Church is a Mega church, evangelical, non-denominational,having about 13,000 members. At first I did not quit understand the raised hands during the high energy worship band. However, when I  heard Miles McPherson speak, he truly spoke to me. He uses the Bible to talk about our real life. He does it with humor and conviction. I actually heard the message of the sermon, something I rarely did in my Catholic days, when my mind often wandered into the bushes.

One of the things that caught my attention was the diversity of the congregation. All ages, sizes, complexions, tattoos and tank tops. When I saw all this and the size of the congregation, I said to myself, "I don't know what it is, but something's going on here." When I moved to San Diego full time the Rock became my rock.

Even though it is a Mega church, it becomes smaller when you join one of the small groups close to home. Our group have become good friends. The Rock has over a hundred volunteer ministries that puts Christian work to work in the community. I actually know more people from the Rock than any church that I have ever attended. I look forward every Sunday service.

It was at the Rock I discovered what it meant to be a Christian. I guess I am a quiet Christian. I don't preach about the wages of sin. If I find someone who seems to be searching or having a tough time with life, I ask them if they had tried God and invite that them to church. I tell them that it may be somewhat different than your previous experience. You can't force people to God. It's like a druggie or alcoholic, they can't be forced to treatment. They must make the decision for themselves.

I became a true Christian when I finally understood what it means to be a Christian. In other words, I GET IT. To "get it" is to finally understand, the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit. It not about religion, it's about having a personal relationship with God. If we tried to live our lives more like Jesus, the world would be a better place, and we would be better, not perfect, people at all levels of society. What would Jesus do? (WWJD) is a pretty good philosophy, even if you are not a Christian.

When I see the congregation raise their hands to God and worship, they are truly feeling God's presence. It is a feeling of genuine joy. I love when I see broken people come to Altar call in tears, I know they have found a way to peace in their lives. Being a Christian is always a work in progress.
Christ brings out the good in people.

When Mark passed away, it was my faith that got me through it. I assigned no blame to God. "WHY God, why? " never entered my mind because I knew it was God's plan for Mark.

In the future I will explore my path to be nearer to God.

Have a blessed day

Samuel

Custer's Last Stand

A neon drive-in casts long shadows across a vast parking lot as the sun drops behind a distant hill.  A large neon sign buzzes in the foreground. . . Mel’s Drive-In, while in the background, “Rock Around The Clock” blares from the radio of a beautiful decked and channeled, white with red trim, tuck-and rolled ‘58 Chevy Impala that glides into the drive-in.

The opening scene in American Graffiti from the original script.

We lived American Graffiti in Marion, Indiana -- my home town.  Custer’s Last Stand was the Mel’s Drive-In of “Marion Graffiti”.  I imagine every teenager of the fifties and early sixties had a Mel’s Drive-In or a Custer’s Last Stand in their town that evokes the same wonderful memories of those by-gone innocent days of a high school summer.  Custer’s Last Stand was a classic 1950’s drive-in restaurant on the by-pass.  It was Bob Custer’s place.  It was our place.  It was the gathering place on those warm Indiana nights

A driver’s license and a car were the only passports needed to participate in the rituals of youth at Custer’s Last Stand.  Transportation came in a variety of shapes, sizes and ownership.  It might be a friend’s car, your family car, or if you were lucky, your own car.  I was one of the lucky ones. 

My car looked like it might belong to a grandma -- actually it was a car formerly owned by a grandma -- mine.  It was a 1949 four-door Ford sedan, battleship gray in color, with a straight stick.   The closest thing to customizing it was a quick-turn knob I attached to the steering wheel.  My car was hardly a symbol of cool, but it was all mine.

Some kids borrowed their family’s car to cruise Custer’s.  Borrowing the family car was the low end of cool, but it did represent a degree of independence and freedom.  Girls were often the prime borrowers of their families’ cars, since the boys often provided their transportation.  Girls didn’t have to be cool.  They were the object of cool. 

Some cars circled round and round -- some parked.  Circling Custer’s Last Stand was a little like the Indians circling General Custer and his troops at Little Bighorn.  Cars were backed into parking places on the back row in order to have a prime view of the parade of teenage freedom.  The stars of the parade were the half-finished customized ‘49 Mercs with gray primer, lowered rear-ends, chopped tops, de-chromed and leaded in, dual exhausts, smooth custom mufflers rumbling, radios blaring out the sounds of the fifties and drivers’ left arms cocked in open windows.  Customized cars were cool.  Cruisin’ Custer’s was cool.

If we had any money, we’d punch the call button on the speaker and wait to hear the familiar, “May I take your order please?”  “I’ll have an order of fries, double ketchup and a Coke”.  A car-hop, an auto waitress, would bring the order to the car and carefully (most of the time) attach the tray to the door.  It was the haute cuisine of the times.  Fries and a Coke were cool.

Custer’s Last Stand was more than fries and a Coke.  Custer’s was a place to see and be seen.  If you weren’t seen, you were missed.  It was a place for cruisin’ and buzzin’ and parkin’, squealin’ tires a little, dates and sittin’ close, hangin’ with the guys and checkin’ out the chicks.  It was a gathering place, and a place for making plans.  It was a place to be together and ask the “whys” of the deaths of our friends, Larry and Jim.  They peeled out of Custer’s one warm summer night and got themselves killed.  Our plans didn’t include tragedies, but for the first time we caught a glimpse of our mortality, but it didn’t last long.  Custer’s was the center of our universe, and we were immortal.  Custer’s was the coolest.

We leaned on the fenders wearing the styles of the times, ducktails, pegged pants, senior cords, saddle shoes, white bucks and penny loafers; smokin’ cigarettes, eatin’ fries, drinkin’ Cokes and talkin’ ‘bout “stuff”.  It was a James Dean thing.  He was our icon of cool, wearing his red jacket with the collar turned up and his teenage frustrations out front.  He was our Rebel without a Cause.  James Dean had been born in Marion, just like us, and we felt he was our kindred spirit, expressing our inner most thoughts and feelings as the teenagers of the times.  James Dean was cool.

James Dean was killed in a high-speed car crash, September 30, 1955.  It was the day our music died.  I was just starting college and sitting in my dorm room when I learned the tragic news.  I felt the deep shock you feel when a famous person you like and can relate to meets a too soon death.  His death served as a symbol of a coming of age, the carefree days of Custer’s were gone forever, and the rest of my life was beginning.  It was my personal Custer’s Last Stand.

Custer’s Last Stand was eventually torn down and replaced by a McDonald’s.

Have a nice day!

Sammy Carl
MHS Class of '55