Fond Memories of Chloe (1999-2011)

There comes a point in life where you have a loss, but fortunately there are fond memories with that loss that make it more gentle to deal with.  Such was the case with the recent loss of our cat Chloe on January 30th.  Chloe was a special pet to us, and especially to Barb since he was originally her birthday present.  So, today, I want to tell his story in his memory.

It was in Tampa back in April 1999 when a co-worker of mine, a lady who worked in the accounting department of our company by the name of Shielda, mentioned she had some kittens she needed to find homes for. The kittens - there were 3 white ones and a tiger-striped gray tabby - were at that point about 5 weeks old and were barely weened from their mama at that point.  Barb had always wanted a white cat, and being her birthday was close at hand I decided to surprise her by getting one of Shielda's little white kittens for her. Shielda had brought the babies in the back of her truck to work, and she told me I could take my pick of them, and the one I chose was one of the three white ones she had.  Being it was at work still that day, I had to put the little tyke in a box and carry him over to Barb's office, which was approximately 5 blocks away.  He was not happy about it, and to this day I still have a small scar on my hand where he nailed me through the box!  However, it was all worth it when Barb saw him, as she fell in love with him almost immediately.  So, that day he came home with us.

Now, as far as determining the gender of a cat, it's a little hard to do that when they are little, so we assumed it was a girl and so Barb commenced thinking of a name for the kitten and came up with Chloe.  A couple of weeks later, my mother comes over for a weekend visit, and in her "wisdom" she christens the kitten a girl as well, so Chloe stuck as a name.  However, a month or so later, as the cat was walking through the house, I noticed something odd - Chloe did not quite appear to be a girl!  So, I exclaimed to my wife, 'Honey, Chloe has balls!" which of course got an interesting response.  Barbara vowed to never again let Mom determine the sex of any of our pets after that one!  And, since he already had the name, we kept it Chloe, and he seemed happy with that.

As mentioned, Barb fell in love with Chloe, and he became without a doubt her cat.  She babied him like a child, even taking him to the bathroom with her, and he got to be a very spoiled cat fast!  And, although he was an energetic kitten, he soon mellowed into an easy-going, loveable gentle cat with a variety of nicknames - we called him Chlo-Chlo, the Snowbeast, the White Baboon, Butterpuff, among others, over the years.  When he was still only a few months old though, we had a bit of a scare with him, and that almost lost him for us.

At that time, we lived on the third-floor balcony of a high-rise apartment building in St. Petersburg, FL, and we had a sunporch/balcony that our cats loved to go out on but it had no screens.  One day, Chloe got a little too adventurous and ventured out too far, and he fell off the balcony!  It was quite a scare, and we were pretty sure we lost him.  However, we kept hearing a tiny "Mew!" on the roof below, and sure enough, Chloe was down there.  A maintenance man in our building helped get him down, and fortunately he was no worse for the wear.  And, Barb babied him even more.

In due time though, being Chloe was our only cat then, he was getting a little lonely, and Barb figured he needed some company, so in October 2001 for my birthday Barb got me a little black-and-white tuxedo female kitten I named Oreo, and she and Chloe became soulmates, later giving birth to their first litter of kittens together on April 2nd, 2002.   One of those kittens, a rare Snoeshoe Siamese, we kept and named Peaches.  Peaches was a unique cat too, but we lost him to kidney trouble in November 2008, which too was a huge loss.   Chloe would father many more kittens up to late 2003, and then we got him neutered and his baby-making days were over.  He then got more mellow and lazy as he got older, although he always did have that frisky playful streak in him up until the end. 

Bottom line, Chloe was a special cat, and he gave us many years of pleasure and joy.  He was loveable, mellow, yet still always up for a play on his catstand, and he was honestly a real blessing.  I was preparing for the day he might be taken by the Lord from us, but even though I had accepted that realization, it is still a bit of a shock even now.  It is more so considering how he passed away - last week Saturday he was fine in the morning, and then he was unable to walk that afternoon.  With some intense swelling in his legs, and a shortness of circulation, we suspect he may have had heart failure.  He passed away, peacefully in his sleep, a week ago today, and we laid him to rest under an oak tree in our backyard.  I know some people may theologically disagree with me on this, but I personally feel animals can be in heaven, and one day may see him again.  And, although he is greatly missed - he was a very integral part of our lives for 12 years - I am thankful to God that he showed mercy on Chloe and let him pass peacefully at home.  So, my dear little Snowbeast, rest in peace, and we will always love you.

Holiday Thoughts

It is hard to believe that as of today it is only two days until Christmas!  This year has flown by fast, and in a way I am glad it did - this has been a very challenging year for us.  Anything that could happen - car problems, unemployment, other financial challenges - did, but by God's grace we survived and recovered.  I did, however, have a crisis of faith in those challenges, but my faith was stronger than I gave credit for, and God came through.  I am anticipating, and hoping, that 2011 will be a much better year for us, and it is already off to a good start with a new job (I landed a law firm position finally, and it's a great position too!) and a new vehicle (this one, a 2003 Ford Ranger truck, was purchased through a dealership rather than one of those sleazy "buy here pay here" places, so it is in fantastic shape too).

Christmas in recent years has been a bit of a paradox to me, not so much in the holiday itself than in the attitudes of people in regard to it.   It just seems like people have a lot less reverence for the season than they once did, and it's also reflected in pop culture too - some TV networks, for instance, are showing that "Harry Potter" witchcraft nonsense as well as shows about stupid vampire romances rather than the traditional Christmas movies and shows, and that stinks! Excuse my bluntness here, but what in hell does Harry Potter have to do with the Christmas season, really??  It's bad enough that we have to endure that garbage in October, much less Christmas!  It just seems like in these times, people are getting stupider all in pursuit of a lousy buck.  Then, in some places, it is even considered an offense to say "Merry Christmas" to people, yet it is "progressive" to acknowledge Kwanzaa, which is a made-up holiday that exploits good African-American folks (some who promote Kwanzaa don't seem to realize that Christmas is not exclusive to race - Jesus died for all, and Christmas is for us all.  Kwanzaa then, in my opinion, is a racist holiday - again, stupidity in our society run amok!).  What is worse is the way people belittle and snub Christmas music, as if it is some nuisance.  I personally love hearing it, and could care less who gets offended by it - I would rather hear music about a nice season as this rather than seeing Miley Cyrus or Brittany Spears or that little Bieber twirp shaking their booties on stage anyday!  Seriously, our society has gone mad, has it not??  Some of you I know agree - don't be afraid to say so!

I want to lighten the mood a little as I talk about what I perceive as a traditional Christmas.  During much of my childhood, I grew up somewhat poor and we didn't have a lot.  However, when Christmas came, we celebrated it sparing no expense, and it was a very precious time of year for us.  From smelling the bird roasting stuffed with oyster dressing to the Christmas music and the busy festivities, I have great memories of those times.  And, there were years when we had little to celebrate with too - one year in particular, when I was about 11 or so and we lived in Kirby, WV, we couldn't even get a tree.  So, Mom, with a little bit of creativity as well as a little bit of beer in her belly, got creative and decorated a lampshade with Christmas lights, and that was a memorable though humorous holiday (I forgot to mention that the homemade lampshade was also made out of Budweiser cans crocheted with green yarn too, which added to the interesting decor - if only I could have gotten a picture of that!).  Mostly though, I remember the music.

Everyone I know is aware that I collect vintage big band records, and I suppose one of the reasons I got into that was through Christmas music Mom exposed me to at an early age.  I grew up with all the classic holiday songs, whether it be Gene Autry's 1947 classic "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer," the classic Nat King Cole "Christmas Song," Bing's "White Christmas," or later on, even Elmo and Patsy's 1981 gem "Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer," All of that created holiday tradition, and indeed it still is wonderful to hear that great music even today.   However, sometime around 1983 or so, I picked up one of those old Columbia Christmas promotional LP's from the early 1960's (some of you remember those - you could buy them for a buck or something at the local grocery store, and they featured various artists performing some wonderful holiday music on them, such as Ray Conniff, Andy Williams, etc.) at Fitzwater's Store in Rio, WV (otherwise known as the Rio Mall), and on it was a recording of a song called "Holiday of Love" by the King Family.  Some of you old-timers remember that old "King Family" variety show, don't you?  It aired in the late 1960's, and featured the Four King Sisters (a legendary act from the big band days, the nucleus of the Alvino Rey Orchestra in the 1940's, and after Alvino married Louise King, the orchestra became more of a family affair that in the 1960's blossomed into this HUGE variety show) and all their kids, their husbands, and probably some grandkids as well, making over 40 of them altogether.  Recently, they released on DVD one of those vintage programs from 1967, which I was was priveleged to get, and although it was a few years before my time, it's as if I connected with the program.  The King Family Christmas shows personify what the Christmas season is all about, and watching that special on DVD Sunday I reflected upon that. 

The King Family, as they appeared in a publicity photo during the 1960's

The song "Holiday of Love" was written by one of the King Sisters' brothers, and it is a beautiful expression of the holiday season.  I have tried to find the lyrics for the song, but they are hard to come by, so may have to post later.  Any rate, if any of you want to enjoy a vintage Christmas variety show, the Kings are the people to check out.  They still have an official website too if you are interested, at http://www.officialkingfamily.com/. 

These are just a few holiday reflections, and I wish you all not a mere "happy holidays," but I unashamedly as a follower of Christ say "MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

Recent Thoughts

I wanted to reflect upon my 41st birthday, which I observed one week ago today.  That is so hard to believe for me personally, as it hardly seems like I am that old!  Then, I look at my expanding gut, my graying hair, and feel my aching bones, and I am quickly reminded.  Any of you know what I mean?

Any rate, I overall had a nice birthday, as I got a very interesting present.  My mother doesn't know how to shop for me, so when we go over to visit her at her place in Lakeland she just gives me some cash and tells me to buy it myself.  That is becoming more challenging too, as I buy almost everything on-line and don't really see much I need from an actual store anymore.  But, there is a new thrift store a couple of miles from the house, and although I have a semi-moratorium on buying vinyl for my music collection (with 860 LP's it is getting a little hard to keep up with vinyl now) nonetheless some patron of this store was either Polish by heritage or a polka music fan, and the store had a lot of rare finds as far as polka records go - I found about 7 LP's from the late 1970's of Jimmy Sturr's for instance, which are hard to come by - so I indulged myself a little with about a dozen new albums.  Along with the LP's, I also stumbled across some very vintage 78 RPM records, and although most of them had chips and cracks in them (for the young'uns under 30 that think CD's have existed forever, a 78 RPM record was made out of thick shellac, the same material many dishes are made from.  Therefore, they are very fragile and easily broken in the wrong hands. They stopped making those I believe in the late 1950's) one did make its way into my collection this weekend.  The record was pressed, according to my copy of Brian Rust's Dance Band Discography (this 2-volume work is essential to big band record collectors, but is hard to find) on December 29, 1920, and was released to market in February 1921.  It didn't have a scratch on it, and was a find.  On top of that, the orchestra was Paul Whiteman's, and the dates indicate this was one of his earliest records, recorded on the Victor label.  Therefore, upon finding out the date, I was very excited about it, as that is something you don't come across everyday!  There was also a Ted Lewis Columbia disc (Johnny Hamp's Kentucky Serenaders, another early big band, was on the B side of the disc) which disappointed me because it had a nick on the edge rendering it unplayable.  I would have loved to have gotten that one too, as it was a "Blue Label" Columbia, meaning it was recorded sometime between 1917 and 1922.  But, can't win them all, so life goes on. 

On Thursday, the day after my birthday, we visited my mother as she wanted to get us a baby potbellied piglet, but upon seeing them and the challenges they would potentially entail, we decided against that - they were cute little devils though, but when the lady caught one and it let out an ear-piercing squeal, Barb and I looked at each other and could see our hungover neighbor across the street really appreciating that!   Maybe when we get a bigger place one day with a bigger yard, a potbellied pig could be a possibility, but not now.  So, being we went to see the little piglets in Bartow, on the way back to Mom's I got to have a good birthday dinner of some fried shrimp and alligator at a neat little "Florida Cracker" restaurant between Lakeland and Bartow, on US 98, called Catfish Country.  Catfish Country used to have another location in Tampa that closed some years back, and I thought it had totally ceased to exist.  However, much to my pleasant surprise, there it was still open and busy, and it was a great treat to eat there again.  If you ever visit Florida and want some good "Cracker cuisine" in the Tampa Bay area, this is the place to go!

Deep-fried gator tail, a Florida Cracker classic and GOOD!!

Barb also made me the most delicious orange cake with lemon icing, and still eating on it a week later, as there is only the two of us.  She does get creative with cakes, which is another thing that endears me to her.

Well, I don't want to just spend all this time chit-chatting about my 41st birthday, so let's think about some other stuff now.  One thing I have been doing is entering this contest on Amazon.com where you can win $100,000 in Mastercard gift cards, and definitely have plans for that if I win!  One thing I would love to do is finally buy my contrabass saxophone.   I love the sound of that beast, and being a guy, I also like it because it is big!!  If you remember Tim Allen's character from the old Home Improvement sitcom, I am a lot like he was with heavy machines - seeing that big saxophone makes me go "Arrr-arr-arr!" like he used to do.  Can you imagine the neighbors hearing that sound resonating from our house??  Take a nice look at the picture, and it will give you an idea of how big the monster is:

Pioneering saxophonist Sigurd Rascher playing the Contrabass sax

That would be a major wish come true to get one of these, although Barb had a look of dread when she saw it! (you think it looks imposing, you should hear how it sounds!).  Anyway, if my prayers get answered and my fingers can stay crossed, in about 4 weeks I will find out if that dream can come true. 

Anyway, that is enough sharing for this week, but hopefully will be back in the near future, and hopefully with a soundclip of me playing a contrabass sax with a bellyfull of deepfried gatortail.  Take care all!

Reflections on My Recent Situation - Some Pet Peeves

I am not sure how to write this, as I am in a bit of a fog today, but it will be a little more serious than my regular posts you may have had the privelege of reading.  It has been a frustrating couple of months, and although life has its challenges, there are times I have to think that a few less in my own life would be good.  Any rate, let's get started.

One of my first pet-peeves I want to address with you today is regarding used-car salesmen.   Honestly - and I know it isn't exactly "Christian" to say it - I hate them.   Used car dealers are to me like a bad infestation of cockroaches; there is no real purpose for them, and no matter what you do they will screw up your life if you get involved with them.  Sounds personal, doesn't it?  That is because it is - a couple of weeks ago, our car died on us.  It was a 1997 Kia Sportage which we had for 3 years, and since having it it has overheated on the road if you reach a certain mileage, and no one could fix it right.  So, after it died from a busted engine block and a bad radiator, we had to invest in a new vehicle.  Our new car is a 1998 GMC Envoy, and we also inherited a problem with that; turns out the fuel pump is wanky after a mechanic checked it out when we took it in due to it stalling and surging at stoplights, and that little gem set us back about $650, and that is in addition to the car payments.  Being a couple of other economic challenges have hit us the last month, this was really not the time to have car problems.   The whole thing has left me rather drained physically and mentally, and being we just had a bright spot with the elections, I am thinking about writing our newest-elected officials about tighter regulation of used-car dealerships.   And, that is what I want to talk about now.

If I ran for office, one of my big platforms would be tighter regulations on both used car dealers and on mechanics.  The "Lemon Laws" of many states basically exempt used car dealerships from any liability, and as a result many hard-working consumers who find themselves in a situation where they need to get an affordable vehicle are often screwed over by these vermin in business suits.  There needs to be some cleaning of house regarding these sleazeball emporiums, where often the salespeople are more interested in their commissions than they are the safety and quality of their product and service they are taking your money for.  So, there are a few things I propose, and I want to list some of them here:

1.  There should be a clause requiring any vehicle on a used car lot to be fully functional and driveable, meaning all vital systems should be in running order before the car leaves the lot.  Also, a government-appointed inspector should be on hand to inspect every car that comes on the lot, and close supervision should be implemented with every maintenance procedure.  In other words, the consumer deserves to drive off the lot with a decent car that actually runs, and should not be inheriting problems that are not their responsibility nor can they afford.

2.  Sales contracts for used cars should be free of any language that exempts a dealer from responsibility for repairs, and a warranty system - minimum 90 days - should be required by law for every vehicle on the lot.

3.  Fair market values should be the only criteria for pricing used cars.  If a 14-year-old used SUV is only worth $5000, for instance, the dealer should not attach unwarranted fees raising the price to even $5500.  If any of that activity occurs, a fine should be imposed on the dealership for unethical business practices.

4.  Speaking of fees, such things as so-called "pick-up payments," as well as other bogus costs, should not be legal.  A dealer should be liable for such nonsense.

5.  Salesmen need to allow test-drives of the vehicles, inspections by the buyer's mechanic, etc., before a buyer signs any contracts or any cash passes hands.  Also, a vehicle history document needs to be made available for every customer, and it is the responsibility of the dealership to advise the buyer of the right to request such a document.

These are a few ideas I have regarding used car dealerships, so now let us discuss mechanics.

Like used car dealers, mechanics are a dime a dozen, and often they can bring financial ruin to families due to unexpected car repairs that happen.  The ridiculous costs of labor, coupled with inflated costs of parts, often are more than a person's mortgage payment on their home, and this creates a bigger problem because mechanics, unlike other businesses, often require the full-cost payments up-front.  If you take a car in for something as simple as an alternator issue, that often means at cheapest $300 - when a family has a layoff, medical issue, or other economic strain, they cannot just pull that amount of money out of their butts to give these glorified grease monkeys.  That being said, I think a reasonable cap on labor charged per hour, as well as reasonable costs of parts, needs to be implemented.   Also, mechanics should be required to draw up payment contracts for their services, as this would make it much easier on people's finances.  People do need their cars for jobs, errands, etc., and they should not be forced to wait a month or longer just to come up with money to get their car back from a repair that was not their fault.  These are just a few ideas, as too many sleazeballs and cockroaches are in the mechanic field as well.

I am sick of being put into situations, especially with vehicles, where I am completely crippled due to limited budget issues, and I am sure many of you feel the same way.  It is time to make the politicians do their jobs and impose restrictions that favor the consumer on such businesses, and it is time the classic maxim "the customer is always right" comes back into play.  Also, used car salesmen and mechanics are often the most sexist individuals, as they see dollar signs when they see a woman's breasts come in the door (pardon the bluntness) - some women have a knowledge of cars that can rival many men (I am very mechanically-impaired myself as a guy when it comes to cars), and they need to be treated and respected as individuals instead of these sleazeballs thinking a vagina somehow causes mechanical impairment.  This has been a legendary thing for years, about car people ripping off women, and for the life of me I have always marveled at how radical feminists (or feminazis, as they should be called) find more offense at a guy opening a door for them than they do at one of their sisters getting ripped off simply because they have a uterus!  These Patricia Ireland types confound me sometimes, I tell you - feminism is so skewered when it comes to these things.  But, that is a whole other issue for later.

Another thing that often annoys me, especially over the past few years, is the job market.  I cannot tell you when I was job hunting how many applications and resumes I have submitted to people and companies that I have never heard from ever again, and funny thing is these were jobs I should have qualified for too!   A law should be enacted by the state labor departments that requires a response from employers when reviewing resumes of potential candidates, because often these people really could use the work and need to pay bills, etc., so they haven't the leisure to play these games with companies.  Again, it just totally amazes me at how rude people have gotten.

A final pet peeve - these fly-by-night colleges that advertise on late-night TV.  In my inbox on any given day, I get literally tons of junk emails regarding these weird schools - Kaplan University, Florida Career College, Everest University, among others - that are in reality diploma mills.  And, if that isn't enough, they tie up phone lines, especially when you are expecting more important calls, and they are a pain in the butt!  Many of these jackleg schools will either be bought out, go bankrupt, or close down within a matter of months, yet they toss degrees like buckwheat cakes (that is an insult to buckwheat cakes, as I love those!) and the degrees mean nothing.   Regional accredation, if it were enforced more, would close down a lot of those diploma mills, and I think that is something our state education departments should address in detail. 

Those are just a few bad pet-peeves I have had recently, and being I have been in a sort of bad mood for a while now, I needed to air those grievances.  If you feel the same way - I know many of you reading this probably do - then feel free to share your opinions.  After all, we all seek to have peace and stability in our homes, and garbage like that I have addressed threatens that.  Therefore, being a new day has dawned in Washington as well as a lot of state capitals as of this week, let us also get the people we voted to serve us for on our side too - many of them are not "career politicians" like "Nasty Nancy" Pelosi, John "Waffleman" McCain, or "Sorry Charlie" Crist, but are people like us who are sick and tired of what our nation has degenerated into.  Therefore, exercise your rights as citizens and let your voices be heard!  Thanks for allowing me to vent tonight, and will see you next time.

The Pentecostal Peeper Prayer Meeting of 1975.

This is a story that some of you may have read before, as I have posted it on my Facebook page, but wanted to share it with a broader audience here.  Plus, it's illustrated this time!  Hope you will enjoy it, and it gives you many laughs.

Some of you may have remembered that Ray Stevens song that came out in the late 1980's called "The Mississippi Squirrel Revival," but about 12 years or so before that song hit the airwaves, a real-life story that was even more hilarious happened in the small town of Bedington, WV,  and this one involved tiny frogs and a 6-year-old kid with a fascination for catching a menagerie of critters, as well as a bunch of glorybun-crowned Pentecostal church ladies.   Although little humor was seen by the ladies, and the frogs were just relieved to taste freedom again, it now provides a great family legend that makes relatives chuckle.

My grandfather and my late stepgrandmother Goldie lived at the time in a double-wide mobile home they owned on a meadow-adorned plot of land just east of the town of Bedington off Scrabble Road.  Mom and I stayed with them at the time, as we often lived a semi-nomadic existence between relatives then.   Goldie was a very devout Christian, and was active in a tiny independent Full Gospel church just to the north in the town of Falling Waters.  It was an old-fashioned little church, but also a lively bunch, pastored by a demure balding man by the name of Claude "Jeff" Carbaugh and his wife Altha.   The Carbaughs had pioneered a number of those little Full Gospel churches around the region, which encompassed the far eastern panhandle of West Virginia as well as north-central Virginia and west-central Maryland.  And, he was a conservative, old-time Holiness-Pentecostal minister who could preach passionately and also had gained a great deal of love and respect from his parishioners.   Being churches then actually believed in prayer meetings, the congregation had an active prayer group that met at the homes of its members on a rotating basis each week, and that particular week was our house.  As the group - mostly old Pentecostal ladies who dressed modestly and lived their faith sincerely - assembled in my grandfather's living room, they began a spontaneous prayer meeting that was emotional, vocal, and intense; these people really did know the power of prayer, and they practiced what they preached.  There was a comfort about that too which I didn't understand then, but nowadays I really miss, as many churches don't believe in this like they used to.  Church felt like church, and you knew when you were in God's house or among his people.  Nowadays, no one knows the difference between a church and a nightclub, and now "self-esteem" seminars have replaced prayer meetings, which is truly tragic.  However, I digress, so let's get to the story.

It was the late spring, and earlier that day there was a rainstorm.  Near the house was Hoke Run, a tiny stream that cut across the edge of the meadow on Grandad's property.  There were some wooded groves near the edge of the meadow where Hoke Run meandered through, and in those meadows was a cornucopia of wildlife that I liked to capture.  So, on one of those invasions of the grove, the fresh rains had brought out literally dozens of these tiny little frogs called spring peepers. If you have ever seen one, they are roughly the size of a grown man's thumbnail, and they make a little chirping sound that gives them their name.  And, if you knew where to look, you could find them in great abundance.  And, I had a keen eye for those things, and armed with a large Maxwell House coffee can, I went a-huntin'!  After an hour or two, when my active 6-year-old mind began to lose interest, I headed back to the house with a canful of tiny amphibians, and being proud of my catch I bolted into the door.  What happened next was classic, and it was something probably some of the people in Grandad's living room never forgot until their dying day.

The prayer meeting was in full swing by this time, and people were really intense in their prayers - they were crying, praying in tongues, shouting, etc., and some real intercession was happening.  Then, I come in the door, and anxious to proudly show off the day's catch, I popped open the lid to that coffee can, and tiny frogs exploded everywhere!  As the women bolted up on chairs, their frantic screams brought their glorybuns down, and the frogs were going up dresses, getting stuck in pantyhose, and some managed to achieve such a height that they landed on top of a couple of buns on the ladies' heads.   Mom had to act fast to restrain me - she had gotten used to doing that a lot! - and in due course of time we managed to round up the majority of the peepers and safely incarcerated the little critters back into the Maxwell House can.  I am pretty sure I got into trouble, but am a little young to remember the punishment.  Definitely a prayer meeting to remember!

This is one of several stories of my childhood adventures I will share from time to time, because in many cases truth can be more entertaining than fiction.  Therefore, feel free to visit again, and we'll share some more stories in the future.

The Legend of Uncle Bonzo

Every family has their share of eccentrics, but it seems like we West Virginians have more than our fair share of them at times.   A family eccentric not only becomes a source of many amusing tales at family get-togethers, but can even become something of a local legend.  Southern humorist Louis Grizzard said once, "Southerners don't hide their crazy family members; we put them on display for all to see."  That rings even more so true with us Appalachian families.  One of my late uncles in particular personifies this sentiment perfectly, and I want to talk about him today.

Robert Turner was the second-youngest of my great-grandmother's children by her second marriage to the late Delbert "Mose" Turner, and he was born I'd say around 1940 or so.   As a kid, he looked like a combination of that Steve Urkel character from the old Family Matters sitcom of the early 1990's and Jar-Jar Binks from Star Wars.  His personality was such that he gained the nickname "Bonzo" in part because he reminded people of Ronald Reagan's primate co-star, the chimpanzee Bonzo, in a number of films of the late 1940's and early 1950's.   Uncle Bonzo was skinny, cocky, mouthy, and although afraid of his own shadow, it never stopped him from getting into mischief and almost getting the tar whipped out of him on several occasions - a particular target of his mischief was his older brother, my uncle Delbert "Teak" Turner Jr.  Uncle Teak taught Bonzo many a lesson, although the memory of those lessons wore off fast, as Bonzo couldn't resist the temptation to stir up trouble.  Since a lot of that happened before my time though, I am relying on the tales of family, in particular my grandfather, as reminiscing about Uncle Bonzo is a classic topic of conversation whenever we visit home. 

Although Bonzo had type 1 diabetes (called "juvenile diabetes" in those days, as it was congenital unlike the type 2 that many develop later on), when he was older that didn't stop him from having an affinity for a brew or two, which added to his goofiness.   However, much like a gander-goose, Bonzo could also be a bit cranky at times, particularly in the mornings when he would have a nice long argument at himself in the mirror when he woke up after a lively night on the town.   Despite all that though, he endeared himself to many of us.

A particular quirk - the source of much amusement too - that Bonzo had was his linguistic abilities.  I don't believe anyone could totally reconstruct the English language like he did, and some of the goodies he came up with were so hilarious that years later they still make people laugh.   My grandfather tells a story, for instance, about a time when much of our family lived in Baltimore.  On one particular night, Grandad and Bonzo had stopped off to eat at this diner-like place there in the city somewhere, and Bonzo by this time had consumed a couple of Pabst Blue Ribbons (his favorite libation then).  So, when they proceeded to order, Uncle Bonzo looks at the menu board, and tells the waitress "I'm gonna have me some of that Phillip Hancock!"   Of course, what the menu really said was "fillet of haddock," but in Bonzo's mind that took on a revolutionary new meaning.  He also had an affinity for what he called "fried polack fish" (for those of us who talk "normal," that was pollock), and his favorite phrase was "how you like them apples?"  If a dictionary could be compiled of "Bonzo-speak," I am sure it would take a doctorate-level course to figure out some of it!

Speaking of food, one of my memories of Bonzo was that he loved eating two things.  One was potato soup, which Granny had to make for him at least once a week.  The other was burnt popcorn (don't ask - can't explain that one either!), which as a kid I remember he used to pack away when he briefly stayed with Aunt Pip Schroeder (his oldest sister) when Mom took care of her.  Although he ate pretty healthy, Uncle Bonzo never weighed over 90 pounds soak-and-wet his entire life, and for some reason that endeared him to the old ladies he hung out with.  In short, it was never boring with him around, to be sure!

Bonzo was also a man of many business ventures, although many of them ended up falling flat because he either didn't see them through or they were just goofy ideas.  Getting a buck quick was like an obsession with Uncle Bonzo, and if he couldn't earn it honestly, then he would find a way to try to sue for it.  On one occasion, he came up with the brilliant idea to steal apples from an orchard in Romney, WV, which he planned on selling to people in Baltimore.  However, as he was doing his dastardly deed, he tripped in a mole hole in the orchard and sprained his ankle.  So, he planned on suing the orchard owner - mind you, he was stealing the guy's apples in the process, so keep that in mind! - for damages he "sustained" in the injury.  I was around 6 years old at the time, and remember that well- nothing came of either the apple business or the lawsuit, so the matter was dropped when the next thing caught Bonzo's interest.  Then, while living at Granny's in Hendricks, WV, back around late 1976 or so - Mom and I lived there too at the time, and I was in first grade in school - he decided to get into the chicken business.  So, he goes out and buys these chickens, locks them up in a delapidated old shed behind Granny's house that no one used for anything, and of course eventually a lot of the chickens died from either poor care or they ended up on the butcher block for supper.   Being somewhat devious myself at that age, my pursuit on one particular day was trying to come up with money to get a candy bar and a soda at Sonny Hedrick's Store up the road.   So, I decided I was going to blackmail Uncle Bonzo, who at that particular moment was somewhat hung-over from a hard night's carousing up at the old Sunset Inn bar in nearby Bretz and was miserably stretched out on the glider outside on Granny's porch.  I told him that if he didn't give me a quarter, I would let all those chickens loose.  Being he saw dollar signs with feathers rather than the clucking, noisy birds they were, that got his attention, and I got myself a Chunky Bar and a grape soda that day (Chunkies then were about a dime, and sodas were about a quarter - talk about price increases!).  When I was a kid, Bonzo and I had almost a continual battle of wits, as I was the only one then he could match them with (amusing too was that he was easy to outwit, which I did a lot, much to the amusement of the rest of the family).  And, looking back on that, I had some tremendous fun aggravating Uncle Bonzo too - it was almost an unavoidable temptation actually.

I mentioned Bonzo's affinity for the old ladies, and that extended back to his youth.  I was told that back then there was a rather weird old woman that lived in Hendricks whom I also believe was a distant aunt of his on his Turner side of the tree.   Any rate, this old woman had this yellow cat that was causing some problems because he was having his way with a lot of the female cats and was creating an alarming population of kittens in Hendricks.  The old lady decided some action needed to be taken to keep her tomcat home, so she enlisted Bonzo, whom she called "Bobby," to assist her in neutralizing the tomcat.  The two of them came up with a technique that involved an old boot and a razorblade, and the objective was to stick the cat's head into the boot and extract his kitten-makers.  So, with the old lady's assistance, Bonzo got that cat into the boot, was holding it by its back legs, and sawing away on its cojones with this old razorblade.  The cat was not happy about this little operation, and was expressing its displeasure by making a "RRROOOWWWWLLLLL!" sound from inside the boot.   The old lady was somewhat worried, and said to Bonzo, "Awww, Bobby, don't hurt 'em!"  Apparently the cat survived Dr. Bonzo's surgical procedure, and naturally the kitten population went down afterward.  

Also when he was a teenager, he could get into some trouble, and although Granny was little and frail-looking, she could assert her authority well if she had to.  One thing she did not tolerate was any sass or backtalk (I experienced her wrath myself once when she spanked my butt with a spatula, which I called the "skillet spoon," so I can attest to that well!), but of course Bonzo had to push the issue. She had gotten onto him for something, and he sassed her back. She told him basically that if he didn't shut up, she would crown him with a bar of soap she was using to clean with (this was not bath soap, but rather a brick-sized bar that was used for household cleaning, as it really wasn't suited for hygenic purposes).   However, he did the unthinkable - he told her, point-blank, "I dare you."  Those are three words you never said in Granny's presence, and within a short time, WHAM!! - upside his noggin went that monster cake of soap, dropping him like a fat man's drawers on an anorexic acrobat!  For a time it seemed, he learned his lesson, but his instigative nature didn't allow that to last for long obviously.  

Much more could be said about Uncle Bonzo - heck, a book could be written about his exploits! - but sufficive to say, you have the general idea of the kind of person he was.  We all wanted to choke him at some point, but we also loved him too, and life definitely would not have been the same without him to be sure.  Unfortunately, due to his diabetic condition and the fact he really didn't watch his health all that well, Uncle Bonzo soon met a death long before his time should have been up.  In 1979 I believe, just shy of his 40th birthday, Uncle Bonzo was either going to bed or just waking up, and when he got up he stepped on the sharp edge of a Mason jar lid.  Now, with many of us, that's not a problem - you just disinfect the wound and bandage it up.  However, diabetics have a unique situation in which if something damages their extremities, it could be fatal  In Bonzo's case, that is what happened - gangrene set into the wound, and because somehow it wasn't caught in time, it eventually claimed his life.  Today, he rests in the Fansler Cemetery above Hendricks, near Granny's grave, and his memories live on with many of us who knew and loved him.  If you have an eccentric relative like this, I am sure you can appreciate the story, and more than likely can relate to it on some level.  Rest in peace, Uncle Bonzo, and stay out of the chicken houses and apple orchards. 

Reflections on Appalachian Roots

Have you ever, when you were a teenager getting ready to graduate high school, been anxious to leave the nest so to speak, spread your wings, and see the world?  Many of us felt that way as kids, and I remember personally when I graduated high school in Terra Alta, WV, that I wanted to get out of there fast!  So, I did, but in a short time I began to miss home.  Over the years too, I have learned to greatly appreciate and value my roots more too, and to be honest, I am very thankful I was born in West Virginia, and am an Appalachian American, and want to reflect on that some.  Sometimes, living in this crowded city, I really have those days when I miss home badly, and want to go back to simpler life.  But, reality doesn't allow that to happen so soon necessarily, but that is why we have our memories and convictions.   So, I am going to share mine with you.

I was born in a town - Parsons, WV - that in its entire history never had more than a population of 2,000 people at any given time.  In recent years, with the economy as it's been as well as some major changes to the area brought about by a devastating flood in November 1985, that population is less as people make an exodus for points elsewhere to find good jobs and attend good colleges.  The town I graduated high school in - Terra Alta, WV - is smaller still.  However, there is a charm and drawing with these places that many of us from there cannot resist, and although some of us were restless to leave and explore the wider world in our youth, our hometowns still exert a magnetism over us that draws us back to them, and that is something that is a blessing rather than a curse.  West Virginians even have a term for that, as we call it a "sense of place."  "Place" means something to Appalachian people, and it is something that I can't quite describe in writing - you just have to be one of us to understand it I guess.  I feel it when I visit certain places back home, and to be honest our part of the state has some very nice areas.  The way the roads are constructed, the stair-step houses on the sides of the hills that often it takes a flight of 20 steps to get up to, and the delapidated old barns and other landmarks give the place an atmosphere.   Even the roadsigns have significance to me personally - in West Virginia, there are these green county road signs that designate a certain rural route, and something about those signs is just familiar and somewhat comforting.  Some of the people I grew up or went to school with would probably not notice that until it was pointed out, but the look of "oh yeah, I see what you mean..." tells you they understand where you are coming from with that.

This is a newer version of one of the "guide signs" I am talking about, although in another county in WV.

And, this is the classic sign like the ones that were around when I was growing up - this one is from Pendleton County.

It is just hard to imagine for some - and hard to explain for me - why something as mundane and insignificant as a road sign would have such a meaning to it, but they do for some reason.  As a kid, I would have taken that for granted, as many others back home may have, but now it signifies something to me personally.  But, it isn't just road signs, but other things too.

The "place" you grow up in is part of your identity, and it says a lot about who you are too.  But, there is more to it than that.  You see, I grew up a significant part of my childhood poor - my parents divorced when I was quite young, and my mother raised me, although we spent a lot of time at relatives too.  Living with my maternal grandmother and step-grandfather just south of Augusta, WV, for many a year was a particular learning experience for me.  My grandparents were what you would call real mountain people - their house didn't have running water, bathrooms, or any type of air conditioning or central heating.   If you wanted a bath, you heated up the water on a wood stove in their house and bathed in a large metal tub.  If you had to go to the bathroom, you used either an outhouse in good weather or a contraption my step-grandfather rigged with an old kitchen chair, a toilet seat, and a 50-gallon lard bucket in inclement weather.  To heat the house in the winter (and also to cook) there was a wood stove in the living room, and although my folks had electricity, things were still pretty primitive.  Also, we grew, hunted, and foraged for a lot of the stuff we ate - although there is a mandatory hunting season there, often out of necessity my step-grandfather would shoot deer even in the summer months, and we also ate a lot of groundhogs, snapping turtles, and other creatures too.  Another rustic culinary delight I loved gathering but was not thrilled about eating was poke greens.  These were the young tops of the pokeweed plant that were harvested in the summer months and cooked fresh like spinach as a vegetable.  The adult plants were poisonous, and had long stalks of black berries that were also highly toxic.   And, of course, there were a wide variety of berries available throughout the year - tiny wild strawberries in June, huckleberries and serviceberries in July, mountain rasberries and blackberries in late July, elderberries in September, and wild grapes (those were bitter and nasty to eat though!) in late September.   Naturally too, there were in late March the ramps to harvest as well.  Although this stuff was not exactly gourmet fare, with a little creativity you could survive well on it.  We were also a gardening people too, and in the summer months there were always abundant supplies of tomatoes, squash, cukes, and other vegetables, sometimes so much that people gave them away to friends and neighbors.  It was not uncommon, for instance, to step out on your porch some morning and see a big bag of zucchinis or tomatoes sitting at your door.  People got creative with garden produce too - we fried a lot of stuff, but with zucchini it seemed like anything could be done; people baked with it even (one girl I went to grade school with even has a recipe for zucchini brownies!  Imagine that).  Besides food though, there were also other ways we "made do."  Many times, clothing was handmade, and contraptions abounded as innovative mountain folks came up with things that would make a nuclear physicist envious.  Although rough at times for me growing up - it didn't help that my mother also drank a lot too - I learned much from the experience, and as a result it made me work my butt off to assure I got a college education, good work, etc.  



A young pokeweed plant, about the right size for harvesting.

Sometimes a little adversity can be a good thing, as I found out the hard way growing up, and it tends to build character in people.  Too many kids today are so spoiled and disrespectful that it is frightening, and if only they had to "rough it" like I had to do when I was their age, they might build the character many of them so sorely lack.  Just a casual observation...

Well, I hope you enjoyed this article, and will hopefully return soon to share some more of my life with you.