Last Minute Christmas

   Celebrating Christmas this year would be paying tribute to a tradition, nothing more. The pandemic, or as I like to say, the damnpemic, has made life unbearable for many.  I had no reason to celebrate this tragic year. I would prefer it fade or disappear without any recognition that it even existed.

     Visiting my few friends was not something I’d done for months. My one hold-out routine was weekly grocery shopping, and even that wasn’t necessary since they could be delivered to my door. My stubbornness wouldn’t relinquish all of my freedoms. So, I chose to pick out fruits, vegetables, and assorted meats as my remaining rebellious act to thumb my nose at the virus.

     Every year a gang of kids would play ball in the empty lot next to my house. I would often sit on my porch grilling hot dogs, which I shared with them as I watched until darkness sent them home. The gang called me Mister B. The B stands for baseball. I gave them all the bats and balls I stored in the garage for my grandkids. They hadn’t been used in years since my son and his family moved away. This year in 2020 there was no baseball next door, thanks to the damnpemic. I missed watching the games and the antics of the young boys and girls. It reminded me of my younger days.

     December 23rd, and there was no Christmas tree at my house. No holiday decorations of any kind. I guess I should change my name to Scrooge. The neighbor's decorated houses, like this was their last chance for celebration. I knew most of them, but we didn’t socialize even in good times. I turned in early as always. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, but there would be no celebration for me. 

     I woke early on the 24^th and stepped out the front door the get the newspaper. I was old school, no Internet news for me. What I found was a fully decorated Christmas tree with baseball card ornaments. The cards were not of professional players but the neighborhood kids, each with a handwritten Christmas message. On the porch next to the tree, I found a wrapped present from the kids. A package of hot dogs, buns, and cracker jacks with a note. “Merry Christmas, Mister B”

     I laughed out loud, “Time to fire up the grill.”

The Man in Red

Somewhere at a university in France, there’s a picture of me posted on a wall. I was sought after and eventually found. I didn’t resist.

* * * 

     Let me start at the beginning. We had just arrived in Boudreaux and decided to walk around the city ending up in a plaza. It was Friday, and people filled the streets enjoying the pleasant weather and fun activities.

     There were four of us from the States, anxious to experience the French heritage and world-renown French wines. It was easy to be mesmerized by the atmosphere as we wandered through the square. I walked ahead of our group taking in the sights. My wife, her sister, and my cousin stood back observing the activities.

     As I stood watching a parade, a pretty young college girl came over to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and spoke to me in French. It’s truly is a romantic language. It could be one of the only languages where they are telling you to buzz off and you would just smile and say, Merci.

     Why would this beautiful young girl want to speak to me? I’m in my mid-sixties and she looked to be twenty-ish. I had no answer but I couldn’t keep from smiling. 

     I turned toward her expecting to say, “Parlez vous Anglais?” I had practiced the phrase in case I came across a situation like this. I wanted to be a courteous and respectful tourist, but instead, I said, “Do you speak English?” What a disappointment. Three little French words and I blew it. 

     Without any hesitation, the young girl switched from French to English faster than I could say, “Wow.”

     The young French beauty said. “We’re on a scavenger hunt and need a picture of a man wearing a red shirt. “Can you help us?”  The shirt I wore that day was Ferrari Red and it even had a racing stripe. “Well, certainly,” I responded. Why wouldn’t I want my picture taken with a French supermodel?

     She immediately walked over to her college friends and brought back a tall young man to stand next to me as she took a photo of us. Not quite what I expected but still a memorable experience. It was a good plan to send the stunning young girl to ask a favor from a stranger.

     Standing a fair distance behind me was my wife, cousin and his wife puzzled, but not surprised, that I had stumbled into an interesting scenario. Why? Well, because I always do, I don’t know why it’s just the way it is.

     After the co-ed took the picture she thanked me, kissed me on the cheek, and hugged me. No! That’s only in my mind. In reality, Miss Universe simply said, “Thank you.”

     The goddess and her young troupe of college students moved on to find the next item on the list for the scavenger hunt. I stood, satisfied that this was another unexpected experience. 

     My cousin Tom walked up and said, “Do you still have your wallet?”

Unsolicited Advice

There seems to be a lot of smart people in this world, but I’m not sure if I’m one. On Facebook I am constantly given advice about politics, Covid 19, guns, racism, lives that matter, sexuality and other topics that I apparently need guidance on. 

     I guess I should say thanks, even though I never asked for any advice. I’m sure people are just trying to help me live a better life and since they know the answers to all the important questions it would be unfair to exclude me from that information.

    If I’m to be honest, I prefer reading interesting stories, post about fixing things, vacation photos, jokes/cartoons, old memories, but maybe that’s shows how shallow I am. It’s not that I’m unaware of these hot topics or have opinions on them, but my life does not revolve around them. 

     There are many food pictures on Facebook. People share their morning meal, lunch sandwich or dinner entree. I’ve never been a big fan of these, but if I have to choose between looking at your dinners entree and a gun post, show me the meal. “Just Saying. . . “

Free Wine

There’s a little known government program that provides one bottle of wine each month to retirees on social security. The program is called Wine Therapy Forever (WTF). Most people are unaware of this unique benefit. 

     It’s not activated automatically. You must sign-up for it. Simply call the governors office to initiate WTF. It’s important to be persistent since many people won’t be familiar with the program. 

     Here’s the conversation I had when I first signed up.

     “Hello, I’d like to speak with someone about WTF.”

     I could hear the frustrated sigh from lady on the phone before she spoke. “That’s rude. Can you just give me more details on the issue?” 

     “I’m retired and I’d like to sign up for WTF.”

     “Sir there’s no need to become hostile.”

     I scratched my head. “Sorry, I just want my wine.”

     “You’re not the first whiner today.” She informed me. “What’s the problem?”

     “I want to be on the list.”

     She laughed. “Oh! You’re definitely on my list.”

     “So, when will I get the first shipment? I prefer red.”

     She sounded like a bull snarling before the charge. “Red, like the color of my face right now.”

     “I can’t be 100% sure, but okay let’s go with that.”

     “Good to know. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

     “Yes, just screw tops please. My fingers don’t work like they used to.”

     “You can’t see, but my finger is working overtime.” The irritation in her voice was prevalent.

     “Thanks, have a nice day.” She didn’t answer. I heard the line go dead. She’s probably rushing off to place my order. 

     That was three weeks ago and still no wine, maybe I should call back, but this time I’ll ask for the governor. I mean if anyone knows WTF I’m sure it’s him.

A Perfect Thanksgiving Meal for 2020

I think it’s safe to say this year has presented us with many challenges, and few opportunities to celebrate. Thanksgiving is typically done with flair, for good reason because it starts the holiday season. This year will be a little different. Let’s say it’s been downsized. That’s a familiar word although not a pleasant one, but 2020 hasn’t been pleasant so the word choice is appropriate. 

     Many of you may be struggling on whether to have the traditional turkey feast with all the trimmings or shoot for a meal that would represent 2020 in a more real light. Whatever you decide, do it with gusto, it’s time we thumb our nose at 2020 and help escort this year and the events out of our life. 

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Is it time to worry?

Difficult times cause people to worry, but does worry really help. Some experts say worrying is healthy, even a sign of intelligence. There’s a whole list of benefits the experts list regarding worry, but when has worry ever solved your problems. 

     I agree that we all worry on occasion with regard to danger especially when associated with our kids, but I disagree with the so called experts that worry is a positive emotion. I don’t mean to be cavalier about how you live life, but continuing to live a full life is as important as safeguarding life. 

     Being cautious and worrying are drastically different. I believe in caution, I wear a mask and social distance, but I don’t avoid life. To me being cautious means you take the proper steps to minimize danger, but since I take those steps, I see no reason to worry.

     The news media promotes worry, but it mutates into hysteria. The daily news is happy to tell us how many deaths and new cases of COVID there are, but how often do they tell us the percentage of recovery? Balanced news reporting would be a welcomed change. 

     Rest assured, I wear a mask and social distance every time I’m in public, but I don’t avoid life and I don’t worry. If you do your best to protect yourself and others, there is no point in worrying. 

     I grew up in the 60’s when Mad Magazine was popular. The character on the cover was Alfred E. Newman and he had many sayings, but one was “What me worry?” That may contribute to my opinion on worry. “Just Saying . . .”

Choices that Matter

There’s a lot of controversy these days, some of it maybe unintentional, but some are intentional. I sometimes wonder why the group that promotes black lives chose the slogan Black Lives Matter versus All Lives Matter. 

     The undeniable truth is that black lives do matter but the phase excludes others. If the group had chosen the more inclusive phrase All Lives Matter they would have achieved their point by simply emphasizing that all lives are equal and matter in the same way. This to me seems to be a more positive approach, but then again it’s easy to look back in time and see a different approach. 

     Why is the choice of a slogan important? Simply because in today’s world people are easily offended. Many people chose to be offended rather than ignoring a verbal comment. It’s true some verbal comments are intended to offend, but many are just looking at the topic from a different perspective. 

     So my question is, what are the objectives of a group like BLM? I guess the easy answer is to emphasis  the importance of black lives. But, would they have changed their slogan if they knew some people would find it offensive or was it intended to offend. It’s up to each of us to chose whether we are offended. It’s true we have a choice.

     Black lives do matter, so I’m not offended by that slogan, but I think the message could have been worded in a more inclusive way. As always you can decide. “Just Saying . . .”

Gaslight Square

Some lives are inspiring, yet others are not. Everybody has a story. This is Ty Taylor’s.

Things were going great for the ambitious newsboy until he hit a speed bump. Grace, a beautiful dancer eager to break into Hollywood stardom. She had everything Ty thought he wanted in a girl. Stacy his close friend and confidant was everything he needed.

* * *

Ty sold the St. Louis Post Dispatch newspaper in Gaslight Square. You probably never heard of him, but he knew influential people. He couldn’t have predicted how important Grace and Stacy would be to him. They both had a big impact on his life but in very different ways. Ty was personable and did favors for many of the club owners. Because of his contacts, he easily floated from one club to another and soaked in all the entertainment. He a student of the Square knew the history, which he used to endear himself the club owners and the performers.

From the stodgy '50s to the mod '60s, many up-and-coming comedians and singers gained valuable exposure in the St. Louis clubs. Venues like the Gaslight, Golden Eagle, Natchez Queen Riverboat, and the jazz and blues clubs attracted beatniks, artists, and wealthy customers.

The Victorian-style architecture added to the mystique and grandeur of the Square named for its streetlamps. Ty knew this history and aided the club owners by encouraging them to use church pews, chandeliers, recycled stained glass, and marble bathtubs to decorate these ornate buildings. Brothers Dick and Paul Mutrux, considered to be pioneers of the Square, were the first to recognize the benefits of Ty’s suggestions for their club called The Gaslight. Ty reaped the profits from his advice. 

            Ty at eighteen lived the high life, like nothing he ever imagined. His hopes were coming true with no worries and no end in sight. He had saved more money than he ever expected. Still, he needed a stash of cash to fulfill his dream of becoming a successful businessman. Ty first met Grace, as she stepped on the sidewalk outside of the Crystal Palace.

            “Haven’t seen you around here?” He winked.

            Grace smiled. “I just started dancing here last week. I’m a singer too.”

            “Ty’s my name. I’d be happy to show you around town.” Offering her his hand,  “you might need a tour guide.”

            Grace turned to leave. “I’ll let you know. I don’t plan on being here long. I’ve got my eyes set on Hollywood.”

            “Big ambitions.” Ty leaned against the building. “I know people. I might be able to help you.”

            “Big dreams take big ambitions.” She stopped. “Who do you know?”

            “All the club owners and most of the entertainers.”

            She hesitated. “Meet me at Peacock Alley tonight at seven. . .  I’m Grace.” Then she waved and sashayed down the street.

            They met that night as planned and had an immediate connection. Ty was hooked. He spent as much time with her as possible. Trying to impress her, he dug deep into his savings, spending money he earmarked for his dreams. Grace loved being pampered and felt she deserved the best. Ty adored her, and she knew it. He forgot about his dreams to live hers. 

            Stacy seen Ty fall for someone before, he was an all in type of guy. She could see Grace captivated him, but could she be trusted to be kind to his heart. Stacy wanted to caution him, but he wouldn’t listen. 

            Three weeks later, Grace met him in the afternoon at Forest Park. Ty showed up early anxious to show her all the sights, but she had another agenda.

            “Ty, I’ve got a great opportunity that I can’t pass up.”

            His face beamed with excitement. “That’s great! What is it?”

            “A Hollywood movie contract. I leave next week.” She frowned. “I know it’s unexpected, but it’s too good to pass up.”

            Shocked by her announcement, his shoulders drooped. “What about us?”

            “We’ve had a great time, but you knew I never wanted anything permanent. I told you my dreams.”

            “But,  I . . . I thought we had something special.”

 "We do, and I'll always remember you, but I can’t stay.” And with that, she turned and walked away.  

            That’s when he realized, Grace seemed happy to share his money, but not her dreams. Flat broke and broken-hearted, he thought his life was over. Ty’s dive into the bottle was hard and fast. A year had passed before a friend helped him recover and believe in himself. 

Stacy recognized Ty spiraling downward. She had seen him at his best and now his worst. They met when he wheeled and dealt his way around the Square, months before ever he laid eyes on Grace. They hung out together but only as friends. She washed dishes at the Roaring Twenties, working her way through college, not a flashy entertainer like Grace. At first, Stacy may have appeared plain, even dull, until you got to know her. She was a law student at Washington University, highly intelligent and not dull. Ty's dynamic personality attracted Stacy but she worried about his lifestyle and the change after he split with Grace.

Stacy cornered him after breakfast. He had already been drinking heavily. “Ty, you don’t seem to be yourself.” Stacy narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

Making up a reason to see him, she said. "Okay. I'm off early today. Can you help move something in my apartment?"

Ty never refused to help a friend. “Sure. What time?” 

“I’m finished here at noon.” She set the dishcloth down. “Can you meet me out front?”

They met, and he helped her rearrange the furniture in her apartment, then they talked for a long while. Stacy made a point to keep Ty busy so she could keep an eye on him and to make sure he didn’t have too much time to think about his problems. In time Ty straightened out his life, thanks to her. They became close, more than casual friends.

His sobriety only lasted until Grace re-entered his life. Hollywood came to town to shoot an episode of Route 66in Gaslight Square. Grace had a part in the episode with her new director boyfriend, her chance to make it big. Ty found out through his business contacts that Grace had a part in the show. He discovered a way to get a bit part on the show. He thought it might be his chance to reunite with Grace. 

Big crowds gathered to watch the filming, even celebrities in town, like Miles Davis, Dick Gregory, and the Smothers Brothers, came to watch the production of an episode of the popular series.

 At a break in the filming, Ty approached Grace. “Nice to see you again. It looks like things are going well for you.”

            “Oh! Ty!” Grace looked over her shoulder. “Yes, Hollywood is where I’m meant to be.”

            "Do you have time for coffee?" Ty shrugged his shoulders. “We could catch up on old times.”

            “I’m so busy. Trace and I moved in together last month. He’s my director.” Grace took a drag off her pink cigarette. “He’s working on getting a part for me in a movie being shot in Spain.” 

            "That's great," Ty said, feeling lost for words.

Stacy waved at Ty then walked toward him. Grace put her hand on her hip and said. “Someone’s looking for you.”

"That's Stacy. She's a friend. You may know her from when you danced at the Roaring Twenties. She worked in the kitchen.”

“I didn’t know the kitchen staff,” She tossed her hair. “ . . . we had so little in common.” Grace smiled. “Sorry, I need to go and study my lines. Nice to see you again."

Ty felt shunned and embarrassed. Grace never spoke to him again. He expected her to be different, but not aloof.  Stacy took his arm, but he pulled away and told her he needed some time alone. Ty had forgotten how Stacy saved his life.

She left him alone for months as he returned to the bottle. Stacy didn’t want to be the one who pulled him out of the gutter again. He would have to ask. His drinking got worse day by day. 

She would see him on the street and do her best to talk with him. “Ty, people are asking about you.” Her eyes were tearing up. “You’re still needed. Don’t let the drinking ruin your reputation.”

“I--I don need nobody. Leave me . . . to my . . . own self.” His mumbled speech accented by the wobbled walk showed Stacy he wasn’t ready to help himself. 

Stacy worried about him and wanted to help, but she knew she couldn't save him unless he wanted to be saved.

Months later Ty walked into the kitchen a different man, clear-eyed and confident. 

"Stacy, I know I don't deserve your friendship, but I need it. It' been a month since I had a drink. I'm determined to stay clean, but your support would make it easier."

“Ty, I’ve been waiting months to hear you say that.” She dropped the dish towel and hugged him. “I’ve always been your biggest supporter.”   

Ty realized he needed her, and now he knew she felt the same. He never again drank.

Life got better for Ty and Stacy. They became a couple that supported each other in every way. Ty never lost his passion for business and continued his path to success. He and Stacy were married after she graduated from law school. The wedding was a grand affair. The club owners pitched in to support their friends. 

The downfall of Gaslight Square started in 1964 with the murder of Lillian Heller in the lobby of her apartment. Crime quickly spread. Ty could see the downward spiral of the glitzy venues.

Ty, a businessman at heart, saw an opportunity. He wasn’t educated, but he had street smarts, and with help from Stacy he negotiated a sale for of the gaslights to Six Flags St. Louis. The profit from this deal funded his dream, a manufacturing business that produced gaslight fixtures called Light the Night. The movie moguls were his most prominent clients. Price never appeared an issue. He and Stacy have traveled all over the world promoting their business to the movie industry. In all that time, they never saw Grace, but read about her in the Hollywood times. The story followed the path of the once aspiring actress who could no longer find a job on a movie set except as a dishwasher. Life falters as quickly as it soars.

Junk Option

My phone gives me the option to file an email in the junk folder. What that does is send all messages from that sender directly to junk mail without me ever having to see them. I’ve been using it frequently to send all the political emails to junk mail. It’s really cool.

I appreciate that function and would like to have that ability on my TV. Since the technology exist on phones it can be argued that the capability should be available on television. 

I’d even pay a small fee for this feature. To file political commercials and annoying reality shows in the junk category would be terrific.

I’m not sure how everyone will agree with my proposal, but I think it’s time we have the option to delete annoyances. Feel free to file this post as junk if you choose. I will not be offended. “Just Saying . . . “

Mobile Phone Companies

Recently we changed over our cell phone service to Spectrum. We had been with ATT for many years, but they like all phone companies are never give the best rate to loyal customers. That’s just the way it is. The best prices are always reserved for new customers. I guess they think the cumbersome process of cancelling the service will frustrate people and they’ll just give up. Well, guess what? That makes me more determined.

     In order to switch services we had to have ATT unlock our phones. Sounds easy, but not so much. Even after they emailed us the procedure to unlock the phone, it didn’t work properly. Spectrum struggled with making the changeover saying we might need to buy new phones. Really, maybe you should try harder. After 3 hours the phones were successfully transferred to Spectrum. 

    Great problem solved. Well, not entirely. I checked my ATT online account to see if I there was an unpaid balance. There was not. I then removed my credit cards and email address from the site. A month later I received a bill in the mailbox from ATT. There indeed was a balance of a penny that I owed. Let me restate that, my balance on the account was 1 cent.  Now, I’m not sure how much the bulk mail charge is for ATT, but I bet it exceeds a penny.

    I couldn’t pay the bill online since my credit cards were deleted from the account. So, I decided it would be fun to go to the ATT store with my bill and a bright shiny penny to complete my transaction. I walked into the store with my mask properly fitted and explained I wanted to pay my bill. The agent was happy to help until he discovered I no longer had an active account. This was a problem he needed to discuss with the manager. I waited with my penny payment in hand when after about 10 minutes the agent returned. The manager was not able to accept my payment, giving me the same reason as the agent. He told me to ignore the bill as it was only a penny and he assured me they would not send me to collection. I left not confident the issue was resolved, but unconcerned with the penny debacle.

     Another month passes when we receive another bill from ATT requesting payment of a penny by Oct 22, 2020. That’s another bulk mail charge for ATT. I see another fun opportunity in my future, but my wife hijacks my plans by calling ATT to inquire about the bill. They ask for the password to our account, but I’ve deleted everything, so she tells them we don’t know the password. They have our old account number, that should be adequate. 

     It turns out to be to big of a problem without consulting the manager. A few minutes later the manager came on the line and told us everything was resolved. The charge has been deleted. Although I’m happy the issue was resolved, but slightly disappointed I didn’t have a second opportunity to go to the ATT store. I’m always looking for a good time.  “Just Saying . . .”

Book Shop Secrets

This story was written for a club contest. The assignment was to write a story for the decade 1940 to 1950. I chose to write a fictional story about a book shop owner during WWII. During the pandemic I took up the hobby of paint by numbers. This is the painting I did, which inspired this story.  I hope you enjoy reading it. 

 

Tattered book bindings, warped shelves, and uneven floorboards were a few things that made this shop memorable. Josef spent many late hours at the shop during the war, sometimes all night.

The shop was both a retreat and a meeting place where plans were made and hopes realized. It became a book exchange. Villagers took books and brought some in, sharing what little they had with others.

* * *

Late one the evening under a dim light in the back of the shop, Josef sorted books by category. He heard the bell jingle as the German Officer entered the store. The officer roamed around looking at book titles. Josef was of German descent but born and raised a Frenchman. He ignored the officer and continued his work.

            “Why are there so many books about politics?” the officer asked.

            Josef peered over the top of his glasses. “People are curious.”

            “Curiosity killed the cat.” The officer grinned. “Where’s the owner?”

            “So, I see that you are curious as well?”

            The officer picked up a book titled Crusade for Democracy. “Why would a German shop owner promote anti-German politics?”

            “I am just the clerk, but the shop sells what people want.”  

            The officer tossed the book on the floor and glared at Josef. “Tell the owner I’ll be back to talk about support for the fatherland.”

Josef kept hope alive in the town of Vire, during World War II. His town in the Normandy region of France was almost destroyed by the bombing. Four hundred townspeople died, and ninety-five percent of the buildings were left uninhabitable.

            The store survived and became a place of refuge in desperate times. It was a sanctuary. The citizens needed a distraction. No one would have guessed books would be the answer. Josef gave books away to help people believe in something. He held readings in the basement, story time for the children. They were the most vulnerable, and some were now orphans.

            The shop became a place where people shared food, stories, friendship, and books, most importantly books. The doors were left unlocked; people were welcome anytime, day or night. Josef sorted, arranged, and repaired books. It’s what he did to make sure people could find everything they needed. 

            To look at Josef, one might assume he was weak. He was a bookworm and a writer of words, but his most notable publication was the underground newspaper of the French Resistance. So, he wasn’t strong of body, but his strength came from what he believed, from his will and determination for justice. Words were the weapon. 

            The presence of the German troops in town taunted and tested the villagers trying to get information from them about the resistance movements. No one talked. The underground newspaper gave them hope that relief was on the way, and that the American and British troops would come to their aid.

            A week later, the officer came back to the shop demanding to see the owner.

            The officer pointed to Josef. “Your name Josef is German. Ja?”

            “I am French, born and raised in Vire.”

            The officer drew his Luger from its holster. “You’re a traitor to your heritage.”

            “My allegiance is to my nation and country, France.”

            Blood rushed to the angry German's face. Without another word, he fired, and Josef fell back into a bookcase. The bullet pierced a book held by the shopkeeper. His body lay motionless as blood dripped from his wound. The officer flipped the closed sign on the door as he exited the shop, leaving his victim lying on the floor.

            Within hours the German SS troops came to the shop to claim the body but found nothing. The shop was filled with people browsing through the shelves looking for treasures. They were questioned about the incident, but no one heard or knew anything. Many claimed the shop had been full of people all day and suggested the soldiers had the wrong address. 

            The soldier approached an older woman. “ I found this outside this shop. There’s an article written by Josef.” He removed the newspaper from underneath his arm and opened it, showing it was from the French Resistance.

            “Why is that important?” The old lady's eyes narrowed as she stared intently. “There’s nothing here to find, you’ve looked around, now it’s time for you to leave.”

            He smirked, “Should I leave the paper here for you to read?”

             “Why? Don’t you think I have a copy?  Besides you haven’t finished reading it.” She stood firm with her hands on her hips.

            He called the other soldiers and left the shop tossing the newspaper in the trash on his way out.

            The old woman was right. There was no evidence to be found, no blood, no body, no bullet casing, and no bullet-pierced book. It was June 1st, 1944. Five days later, US troops landed at Normandy.

* * *

            “Many years have past and many things have changed since the end of WWII.” Jules turned to look at the tourists and said, “That’s how my grandfather supported the war effort.” Then he stood and slid his chair to the table. “Now, let’s take a walk across the street to his shop. I want you to look around and tell me what you see and how it makes you feel. There are some books that date back to the war years.”

            This small group of tourists walked through the shop doors and searched the bookcases. Each person was looking for the perfect souvenir. Reproductions of the French Resistance newspaper with an article written by Josef turned out to be a big seller. A gentleman from the group was standing at the checkout counter when his eyes were drawn to a book on display behind the counter. With a fixed stare, the man peered at the book encased in plastic. The bullet hole was clearly visible, as were the blood-stained pages. The title of the book was Crusade for Democracy.  

            He turned toward Jules and said. “So, Josef died a hero?”

            “Yes . . . but not in 1944.” Jules paused. “He passed away in 2018, on his one-hundredth birthday. He spent his later years at the bookshop, many days sitting on the bench in the front of the store reading and reminiscing.”

Teddy's Nightmare

 

Teddy’s Nightmare

 

A framed bear’s arm adorned the wall like a trophy, honoring the human spirit and the struggle to survive. 

* * * 

I looked down the hallway in this old abandoned building in Detroit where I grew up. The paint was chipped and a few scraps of wallpaper still clung to the wall. Sad to think this now noiseless complex was once a vibrant apartment building filled with children’s laughter. 

            I spent time here as a child visiting my cousin Connor. We ran through the halls playing hide-n-seek or tag. Connor had a Teddy Bear. He was seven and despite his age he carried his bear wherever he went. The birth of the Teddy bear had been propelled into popularity by President Teddy Roosevelt’s refusal to shoot a bear tied to a tree. It was unsportsmanlike. Kids outnumbered adults and ruled this building. No one paid attention until Connor went missing on June 14, 1903. They found his Teddy bear with one missing arm, lying on the ground next to the dumpster. We knew it was Connor’s because his name was on the bottom of the bear’s foot.

            He claimed his Teddy protected him. We believed him until he vanished on that warm summer day. Kids played outside all day, only checking in when they got hungry. Sometimes they went home for lunch. Other times they ate at a friend place. No one became concerned unless you weren’t home for dinner. Connor never came home that night. 

            A missing boy was shocking news but quickly faded away when the Wright brothers made their first successful flight on December 17, 1903. Like many decades there was bad news and good news and whether it’s right or not, the big news, always took the limelight. The Wright brothers flight was really big news.

            I never forgot my cousin but learned to live with hope for the future. His mom gave me his ragged Teddy bear. I kept it in a chest in my room that was opened once a year on Connor’s birthday.  

            It was 1908 when Henry Ford’s first production Model-T was built. I lived in Detroit and was only fifteen years old when I went to the plant to get a job as a runner. It was a long shot but it paid off. They hired me that day to run parts from one line to another. I didn’t make a lot, but it was an opportunity that couldn’t be passed up. 

            It was hard living in those days, so I took every opportunity to make money. I learned to paint houses. It was easy work but took time. I offered my services to many of the full time workers who preferred drinking in the local bars rather than maintaining their homes. 

A foreman hired me to do some painting and everything was going well until I showed up to get paid, and he brushed me off with a promise. I wasn’t about to work for nothing, so I pestered him for payment, but he angrily resisted and threatened me. He told me he would have me fired at Ford if I didn’t back off. Getting fired would have been devastating, but I also wanted him to pay me for the job I did. 

I followed him home from the bar many nights, but without any plan on what I needed to do in order to get paid. I planned to talk to his wife about the money he owed me, but found out she’d left months ago. Then one night, I watched him stumble on to the porch and into the house. He left the door ajar, so it wasn’t locked. He was dead drunk with no wife in the house. 

I knew it wasn’t right but it also wasn’t right for him to stiff me out of the money he owed me, so I snuck in the front door. He hadn’t made it more than three steps into the house before he collapsed on the floor. I tiptoed past him and as quietly as possible searched through the kitchen, looking in the cookie jar, refrigerator, on top of the cabinets, wherever I thought he would hide money. Then I went to the desk in the living room and reached in the bottom drawer. I felt something fuzzy and yanked my hand back thinking it was a dead mouse, but peered into the drawer and saw that it was a Teddy bear’s arm. The shock of seeing it made my head spin and fall to the floor. Lucky for me, the drunk didn’t even flinch. 

I sat there for a few minutes trying to piece this together. It could be nothing but a weird coincidence. I reached back in the drawer and took the bear’s arm. I wanted to see if it matched Connor’s bear at home. Once I regained my composure I left quickly and quietly through the front door.

Upon arriving home I was anxious and apprehensive about taking the bear out of the chest. I sat for an hour before I reached in and pulled out Connor’s teddy. Surprised and shocked, it was a perfect match. It had the same tear pattern. Now, what was I going to do?

            Going to the police wasn’t an option. I had no proof of anything. I was just a kid with a wild imagination—that's what they would think. Plus, if I told them how I got the bear’s arm I’d be charged with breaking and entering. I needed more proof that this guy was involved in my cousin’s disappearance. I had to go back and find something to show the police, proving he was a kidnapper. 

On the next trip I planned to take a flashlight and pry bar. Turning the house lights on might give me away so the flashlight would be needed when I went into the basement. I didn’t know it at the time, but the pry bar turned out to be invaluable. 

I stalked the guy for five days before another opportunity came along to enter his house. It was a Friday night, a big night for him since he didn’t go to work Saturday. He drank more at the start of a weekend. He was a consistent and reliable drunk, so I felt any blunders I made that night would go unnoticed.

The front door was open so I entered as I did the first time. He was again sprawled out on the floor, but this time he had knocked over an oil lamp, that spilled onto the rug. He had a bloody gash in his head from the broken glass.

I stepped around his body and immediately went down the stairs into the basement. Each tread creaked, growing louder with every step. I paused to listen for movement upstairs, but when I heard none I proceeded to the bottom. 

As I searched through the rubbish, I tripped over a piece of plywood lying on the floor. My ears buzzed when I heard moaning. I listened closely and used the pry bar to move the plywood, exposing a pit. The moaning got louder.

            When I looked into the pit, I saw a withered body, barely clothed. It was Connor, left for dead, and struggling to live. I found an old wooden ladder and used it to climb down into the pit and lifted him on my back. When I reached down and picked him up, I was shocked how little he weighed, no more than five gallon buckets of paint I carried to job sites. I hoisted him over my shoulder and climbed the rickety ladder.

I was so focused on getting my cousin out of the pit, I hadn’t noticed the drunk was now awake and in the basement. He didn’t see us climb out of the pit. With Connor on my back, we quietly made our way to the steps. When the drunk heard the steps creak, he charged us. I threw the pry bar at him. It bounced off his knee and landed on the ground in front of him. He stepped on it and stumbled backwards into the open pit. 

When we got upstairs, flames leaped and smoke filled the room, blocking our exit. We barely escaped through the back door with our lives.

The fire department later determined a lit cigarette started the blaze. The oil soaked rug was the wick that fed the fire. We left through the back door. 

The drunk died that night. The fire department found human bones, small underdeveloped bones, like those of children in the basement. Some had been used to make lamp bases and ashtrays. There was also a bone wind chime. What went on in this house was beyond belief. The circumstances compelled the police to try to locate the wife, until they discovered bones from an adult woman in the basement.  

We celebrated Connor’s thirteenth birthday on August 30, 1909, two weeks after I pulled him out of the cellar pit. 

My life changed after that traumatic experience. I worked as a forensic investigator for the city of Detroit until retirement. Connor gave me his Teddy bear, which I proudly displayed it in my office.

It took Connor many years to recover from his five years in captivity, but with the help of his family and friends, he not only survived, but also excelled in everyway. He became a prosecuting attorney for the city of Detroit.

The Teddy bear’s arm proudly hung on the wall of Connor’s office. It was a perpetual reminder of his past never to be forgotten. A memory that led him to a career he never imagined. 

Robots, Drones, and Flying Cars

Carl dreamed of the future his whole life. There was nothing wrong with being a teenager in the 60s, but predictions about robots and flying cars made him yearn for more. Every time a fantasy space movie was released, he stood first in line to buy a ticket.

            As Carl aged, he lost some of his passion for what the future might bring. He still loved to watch Star Trek and Star Wars, but he knew he would never be around to experience similar adventures. His dreams were really fantasies, something he could enjoy but would never actually realize. 

            Achievements and inventions such as the Internet, smartphones, self-driving cars, and of course, the moon landing fueled his fantasies. He was getting older with his sixty-fifth birthday just around the corner. He knew the likelihood of jetting around the world in his flying car was highly improbable. 

            Drones were available to the everyday man. Carl owned one and it was fun, but it fell short of his vision. Robots existed as well, but they could do so much more than deliver pizzas and packages. Carl knew the future would show their true potential,

            The predictions and expectations for the future were exaggerated, maybe unintentionally, but the outcome was the same. Born too early, he did not yet live in a Jetson world.

            Would there ever be a way to become a part of the future? Carl doubted his vision to be part of the future would be fulfilled. Cryogenics! The word crept into his head and turned an idea into an obsession. That could be the answer he needed. He had no doubt it was possible to freeze his brain and come back to a new body one hundred years from today.The technology was available now. Carl was sure all his dreams would be reality by then. He did extensive research about cryogenics and recognized the possibilities. Sure, there would be risks but with advancements in technology, he felt any issues that developed could easily be rectified by the year 2120. 

He had two brothers and a sister but no wife or children. He believed his desire for a new life wouldn’t be a burden on anyone. This new path to his future was his destiny, one he dreamed about since he was a child. Carl was well fixed financially and with 100 years of interest compounded on his account, he knew there would be no worries. He did research on cryogenics for months, listing all the pros and cons and finally convinced himself this was what he wanted to do. A Russian firm has developed a procedure to freeze people before they die. Scientists believe that by freezing a brain before death they can avoid extensive brain damage. He didn’t want to wait until he was on his deathbed before he started this procedure, so he would fly to Switzerland where euthanasia was legal and have the procedure. 

Carl had one last visit with his family for a celebratory dinner and to say their last goodbyes. There would be no turning back once he entered the lab.

* * * 

Now in the year 2120, Carl’s new life was about to begin. Life was drastically different than he once knew. No one could have predicted the financial disaster devastating the country. So many things changed. Carl didn’t know it yet, but he would need to go back to school to learn about this new world. His brain was outdated, and he would have to get a job to live. The golden parachute he expected to have was almost worthless.

Just as imagined, drones and flying machines filled the skies, almost blocking the sun. Droids did the housework leaving people with more free time. Pet robots replaced the cuddly unpredictable puppies and kittens from the past. It was nearly impossible to tell them apart from the real ones, except the robot pets never ate and never pooped.

            Carl saw things he always imagined and some he never believed possible. Everything was miniaturized and also expensive. You could carry a complete dinner in your pocket that could be rehydrated in seconds. The taste was good but the presentation was lacking. 

People worked from home with little contact from their co-workers. Physical stores were non-existent since everything was bought on-line and delivered to your door.

Virtual reality (VR) was a boom to the entertainment industry. People still took vacations but never left their homes. VR took them on trips around the world. It replaced true reality in every way. There was something wrong about going on a hike without leaving your family room.   

Murders and mass shootings were down because no one went anywhere in mass.

Cyber attacks were up which contributed to the increase in suicides. Technology helped with some things but created new problems. He should have known there was no guarantee that progress would make his life better.

The only things left unchanged were the politicians. They were still crooked. People didn’t talk or connect with others, especially strangers. It was as if their lips were fused together. The new world had robots, drones and flying cars, but instead of bringing people closer, it kept them apart.

When Carl walked into the new world, his dreams were realized, but surprises surfaced as well. After his brain was put into his new body he exited the chamber and realized he was no longer Carl. His chest was bigger and his body more curvy. Carl had become Carla. 

He should’ve read the fine print.

* * * 

            Crash! The lamp fell onto his head and startled him. His body lurched forward from deep sleep to an instant awareness when his nephew’s drone buzzed around his head and crashed into his lap.

            “Hey Uncle Carl! Do you want to watch Lost in Space with me?” Setting the remote control on the table. “It’s the old one from the ‘60s.” 

The first thing Carl did was reach down and feel his chest. It was flat. He smiled because he realized it was still 2019.

            Carl shook the cobwebs out of his head and said, “Yes, Ben, I’d love to.”

            With that Ben grabbed his uncle by the hand to lead him to the basement where they had the gigantic TV. “It’s kinda lame but it makes you fantasize about the future.”

            He looked at his nephew. “Movies inspire your dreams but don’t let them keep you from living today.” 

Our Gut Reaction

Have you noticed the first reaction of many people is negative? I read a post on Nextdoor just this morning. They were wondering about the sirens they heard on Highway 94. They asked if they were related to the shooting on Main Street in St. Charles. This lead to a series of response about a shooting that can’t be verified and how sad and dangerous it is to do normal things like going to a bar or restaurant.

     I’ve heard many sirens in my life and most were related to a traffic accident or incident. Why would someone assume hearing a siren equates to a shooting? It’s possible, but unlikely. Maybe it’s the times we live in that attributes to us expecting the worst. 

     The world is filled with glass half empty and glass half full people. There always was and always will be, but right now there seems to be a growing trend for our gut reaction to be negative. And many times there’s no facts to support the negative response.

     Let me say one thing, it doesn’t help to look at every situation in a negative light. Just my opinion, but I think it damages your attitude. At the same time looking at life through rose-colored glasses isn’t without fault. Having the facts about a situation would be helpful before you throw out a random warning. “Just Saying . . .”

 

Word Count Pressure

I am a writer who developed an interest in writing late in life. I’ve written many short stories and a few very long short stories, but never a novel.

     Putting together an entertaining story for the reader is my main goal. Having read many novels and books shorter in length, there is one thing I discovered. The length is unimportant to me, the story has the center of my attention. I know publishers will argue that both are important, but they seem to put a great emphasis on word count. 

     A goal of many writers is to write a novel. Maybe it checks off a box that validates your writing chops, but should stringing together 70,000 words be the goal. What happens if you’ve written a great story but it’s less than novel length, should you add more words? You could end up making a great story a good story. For me that’s not the goal. I am satisfied with writing the best story I can in as many words as it takes, no matter the word count.

     I know there are many types of readers with a vast array of interest, which gives credence to the many genres. There is something out there for everyone and I believe in every case the story should be the star not the number of words. 

     So, I will continue to write stories to the best of my abilities, but there may never be a novel. There is a good chance I can create a book of short stories and I’m just fine with that.

What would you do?

This post is written to make you think about how you react to others who have a different viewpoint.

The election for the President of the United States is getting close. Are you excited to cast your vote? Not so much. Yeah! Me either.

Let’s pretend for a minute. A Democrat and Republican walked into different bars. Each was approached by a stranger that needed a ride to the polls on Election Day and ask if they would be so kind as to give them a ride. Each of the strangers mentioned that wanted to vote for the opposing party. So both the Democrat and the Republican know they would each be taking a person to vote for a candidate that they didn’t support. Would they give the strangers a ride?
     What if the scenario was slightly different? Let’s say the people in the bar weren’t strangers, but friends with a different political belief. Would that make a difference? Does your answer reflect your character? I don’t have an answer. It’s for you to decide.
     Now let’s take it one more step. Suppose it was Trump and Biden that we’re in the bar when someone asks for a ride to the polls. Each knew the rider would be voting for the other candidate. Would either get a ride? And what would they say to the strangers?
     I can think of a few responses Trump and Biden might have.  “No, I won’t take you because you are going to vote for the wrong candidate.” I can picture Trump making that statement. They could be more positive and say, “Yes I’ll take you.” but then never stop by to pick them up. That’s a response I imagine from a seasoned politician, like Biden telling you what you want to hear and doing the opposite.
     In both cases, I suspect neither voter will get a ride from Trump or Biden. So these are our choices a candidate who does whatever he wants but openly states his intentions and another that tells you what you want to hear but does whatever he wants. See the similarities. It makes you wonder if what they want is good for the country and its people or only good for them. Choose wisely. “Just Saying . . . .”
   
     

Opinions

It’s easy to get an opinion even when you don’t want one. If you’re unsure where to find these opinions look on any social media site. There’s nothing wrong with an opinion, but the way it’s said is questionable.
     Some post I’ve read are not opinions about a topic, but more a slam to someone’s character. The statement will get your attention, but not convert anyone to your side. When I was a young boy my mom told me, “If you can’t say anything good about someone, don’t say anything at all”. That’s a nice lesson to teach a child, but it’s a difficult, almost impossible standard to live by. The truth is, it wasn’t meant to be an absolute rule as much as a guide for how I should treat others.
     In today’s world it appears no one was ever taught this lesson, which is a shame, because the world does not benefit from hateful speech. I’ve learned by experience that no one has all the answers, so it’s important to listen to other opinions, but it appears that’s antiquated thinking.
     The posts on social media show that many people believe they have all the answers and they are not interested in your opinion unless it supports theirs. Politicians are an example of this bad behavior as well as all the special interest groups and it’s not because of their beliefs but how they deliver the message.
     There is one lesson we have all retained from our childhood that explains the way the world works today. That lesson is, The squeaky wheel gets the grease.  “Just Saying . . . “

The Pandemic and the Real Story

The satellite phone rings. Jeff grabbed it quickly, he’s been waiting for this call. “Well, is it complete?”He nods as the response is given, then a big grin appeared on his face. Jeff hit the buzzer to call his assistant. Doris entered and asked, “Yes sir, what can I do for you?”
     “Set up a meeting with, The Partners.”
     That’s all she needed to hear. It was a group of the ten most influential business people in the world. Eight men and two women. They made the decisions that guided the world, in their favor. There were no world leaders from the free world in this group. World leaders followed the orders of The Partners without question.
     “Will you be meeting on the island?” Doris inquired.
      Jeff stirred his coffee. “Yes, the meeting will start promptly at 4:00 pm tomorrow. That’s eighteen hours. More than enough time for everyone shut down their current activities. This is their number 1 priority.”
     “Is there any message I need to pass on to them?” Doris adjusted her skirt.
     “Tell them, we have the chip.”

* * *

      At 4:00 pm on a remote island in the Pacific, the meeting starts. Everyone is in attendance.
     Jeff hits the gavel on the exotic wooden block. “The meeting is now officially open. Any questions?”
     “So, it’s true the chip is ready but has it been tested?”  Amal was always the first to raise a question.
     “Yes, I have confirmation. It works as we predicted. We are ready to initiate mass installation.”
     Edwardo leans on the conference table. “What about the vaccine? Do we have enough?”
     “We had the vaccine developed before we released the virus and we’ve been producing product for the last six months. We have enough.” Jeff looked around, “and before you ask the production of chips will be completed in one week. So we’ll be ready to distribute the vaccine with the chip on the first of December.”
     Carmen let out a puff of air. “Once the world is chipped we will have total control.”
     “It’s a great day. One we’ve been working toward for years.” Jeff put both hands on the table. “Any other questions?”
     “What about our vaccine shots?” Carmen asked. “The ones without the chips.”
     “They’re available today. You can be the first to get one if you like.”
     Carmen shifted in her seat. “But how do we know there won’t be a chip in them.”
     “We wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t you trust me?” Jeff smiled.

Laugh with Strangers

There are things we all miss during these quarantine times. I’m sure it’s different for each of us, but equally difficult. Family and friends are most important to me, which I’m sure many would agree. So if you can still visit with them without concern that’s a great thing. It’s likely that many of people miss dining out, gathering at a bar to watch a game or going to some large social event. I believe these will return in time, but I guess we have to be patient, which can be difficult. More difficult than one might have expected.
     Laughter lightens the mood, so for me it’s important to find something to laugh about every day. It can be difficult for some people especially for those that live alone, but thankfully I have my family to give me a chuckle.
     The laughter I miss is a laugh with a stranger. I’m social and I talk with strangers all the time. Many times those short conversations give me an unexpected laugh. I miss those laughs and that connection. I hope this pandemic doesn’t cause people to distance themselves from strangers forever because they’ll be giving up those unexpected laughs. “Just Saying . . .”

Quick Sand and Zombies

As a kid I remember one of my biggest fears was falling in quick sand. There were many movies that showed people being swallowed up into the earth because they stepped in this dangerous sand. The belief was that this sand could be anywhere but disguised, which made it even more dangerous.
     Well it turned out that quick sand was not as prevalent as I believed, which was good news. My realization of this irrational fear was gradual, but now we have Zombies.
      It seems like many movies and shows have stories about Zombies. What’s the fascination? I don’t get it. It’s true, they travel in large groups relentlessly chasing people but at a snails pace and their body parts fall off. It seems like it would fairly easy to escape from a Zombie. Quick sand seems much scarier.
     I guess if you were running from a Zombie and stepped in quick sand that could ruin your day. “Just Saying. . .”