Bob or Robert

You know when Bob, depending on his mood it could be Robert, comes into the room. When he swings the door open he bellows out a big "HO HUM", his version of "Honey, I'm home." He offices in the next cubical to mine and is always late, sometimes two to three hours late, but it never bothers him. "I put in my eight, it doesn't matter when I get here. If I want to sleep late I will", and there isn't a manager that will tell him otherwise.

Bob has had polio, or some other disease, that causes him great effort to walk. But he doesn't want your sympathy. He says that he can't wait until he can't make the walk to the office from his pickup so he can ride his four wheeler to work. An ordinary scooter wouldn't do, it would have to be a four wheeler or he'd just stay at home.

The way he dresses is different from most of us. His jeans and slacks have to be "stretchy" and they can't be a designer label, he couldn't let any of us think that he might have some style. His shirts are usually solid brown or beige button up dress/casual with the collar unbuttoned. To button his collar would make him look like a "pervert". He does sneak in a t-shirt every now and then but they have to be solid also, "I ain't buying no shirt that has some name on it, I ain't advertising for no one". Black roper boots and a black belt, "I don't need karate to get a black belt", rounds out his wardrobe.

When Bob becomes agitated, he morphs into Robert. Many a computer mouse has died when Robert's computer has crashed. Noisy co-workers also bring the Robert out in him, if someone is close by in an office and their laughing is loud he will yell, "It must be crazy laugh day today." When a maintenance man comes up to rearrange an office or do some routine work that makes some unusual noise, Robert yells, "What's all the noise?" The best Robert phrase is when you do something that startles him, "That scared me, and I'm not scared of nuthin' but women and police", which he stole from some movie.

Bob isn't married and probably never dated, but he feels that is "one of my strong points". His latest scam was trying to get one of us to pay him a hundred thousand dollars to become his beneficiary. He figured that by the time he retired he would have "close to a million" in his retirement account and that a hundred grand now will help him more than a million "when I'm in the grave".

Bob is Bob and there isn't anyone else like him, that's good or bad depending on your impression of Bob. To the outsider he seems brash and rude, but to his close friends and co-workers, life would be boring without him. That's right Bob, just keep being yourself, it gives me plenty to write about.

The Old Hospital

We couldn't help it, we were boys, and boys are supposed to do things that most grown ups would think is stupid. David and I never failed to disappoint our parents with the stunts that we would think up. This one was my idea, not a good idea, but it was mine.

It was the summer of 1967, a lazy summer before I was old enough to start a steady job. I made enough money for soft serve ice cream at the Diary Queen and to get into the swimming pool by mowing a few lawns. On this particular day, David and I had walked to the Dairy Queen which was no small task for us. I lived in the last house, or the first house depending on which direction you were going, on Highway 75 in Southeast Kansas. My house was a mile South of the city limits and a quarter of a mile from the Oklahoma State Line. If I followed State Line Road a mile and then north another mile I would wind up at David's. I'd ride my bike or cut across pastures to get to David's, we would then either drive his mother mad or head into town and see what we could get into. This particular day we decided on some soft serve ice cream and see what else developed.

As we sat sucking the ice cream out of a dip cone, which had the ice cream dipped in hot chocolate causing a hard chocolate shell on the outside, we were discussing what do. David suggested, "Let's go to the park and see how fast we can get the merry-go-round to spin. Maybe that kid is there and we can make him puke again, that was so funny."

I reminded him, "Yeah, that was funny until his mother chased after us. She scared me, I thought she was going to catch us. I never saw a mother run that fast before."

Then an idea came upon me, "Let's go check out the old hospital. I hear that there is a door on the side where we can get in." The old hospital had always intrigued me ever since I could remember. It sat there empty, daring me to come visit. Being three stories tall, it loomed over the surrounding houses, a testament to one doctor's dream. It served my community well until it became outdated and a new hospital was built to replace it.

The old hospital sat on the corner of 4th and Fawn Street, a busy intersection as all the teenagers would "shoot the U" there. It was the popular turnaround spot on the west end of town when you were cruzin'. When David and I started driving we'd call it "Killing the Sheep" (shooting the ewe). The Dairy Queen was about five blocks from the hospital, to get there David and I walked down the main drag , which is 4th Avenue, where all the stores were. We passed Jack's Filling Station where you got full service with your purchase. There was the hardware store, the Board of Education which we ran by, Estes grocery, Lingles Five and Dime, and the pride of downtown, Blackledge furniture store. The last block before the hospital had Wheeler's Chevrolet and then the houses started.

As we approached the hospital we noticed a green car at General George Wark's house. He was a General in World War I and his two story gray house was the first house just south of the hospital, which was the side of the hospital that had the door we were going to use to get inside. The car worried us, it had a U.S. Army logo on the door, and we didn't want the Calvary to come riding up as we were exploring the nether regions of the hospital.

We walked to the North side of the hospital and circled around the back side, ducking behind the old trash cans and junk that was left there. We easily got to the door and slipped inside. We waited just inside the door and watched to see if anyone at the Wark house was aware of our intrusion into the bowels of the old building. We saw nothing outside so we turned our attention to the building. The door we slipped in opened into the old kitchen, at least it looked like a kitchen with all the counter tops as there weren't a stove or refrigerator. The shadows of the morning sun shining in the dirty windows cast a eerie feeling over us. A shell of a room that didn't hold a twelve year olds attention very long.

We continued out into the hall which led to the front door. The front door was a solid wood door and looked imposing. Behind the door was a closet which had a new padlock on the closet door. We tried to open it but gave up, vowing to come back with some tools so we could see what they were hiding. The rest of the first floor just held vacant rooms that were exam rooms for when the doctors had their offices there.

We walked up the marble stairs which we though was strange as we had never seen marble stairs before. On the second floor we found the operating room with the table and overhead lights left just like they were after the last operation. As we scrounged around we found some bandage scissors and some of what I now know were surgical clamps. As we looked up we saw a balcony where the surgeries were viewed. This room was the highlight of our exploration.

We then proceeded to the third floor with the intent of looking down on the surgical room. As we neared the top step we heard something in one of the rooms at the end of the hall. We figured it was a owl or rat or some other creature that had made its home there. We found the balcony and was looking down on the surgery room when we noticed a shadow appearing through the open door to the hallway. We spun around and there stood Steve, one of our friends. After our hearts left our throats and our breathing returned to normal, we found out that Steve's dad bought the old building and was going to tear it down to sell the bricks. Steve was there exploring like we were except he had a key to the front door.

It was a sad day when they bulldozed the old building. I made some money from it though as I sat on that corner with Steve and David cleaning grout off the good bricks and stacking them to be used once again. At a penny a brick, we were rich. Even today as I visit the old hometown, I'll shoot the "U" and look on that vacant lot and remember the old hospital. It went the way of so many of our old buildings, a loss to our community and a loss to a twelve year olds dreams of exploration.

My Obit

When times comes for me to be worm food, this is what my obit should say:

It comes as not much of a shock
Here lies the remains of Walk
Born a pipeliner's son
He never owned a golden gun
Instead he turned to the pen
And wrote of mice and men
Words was his prey
Until he fell into the bay
He sank like a rock
Our good friend Walk.

Music, Music, Music

I've always loved music, I inherited it from my mother. She loves to play the piano and sing, especially if her boys will sing with her. At Christmas time it was easy to sing along but during other parts of the year, I didn't know the songs she loved to play. She didn't know too much Kansas or Lynyrd Skynyrd and I didn't know the big bands. Then a couple of years ago, the family had Christmas at my house. My nephew was here and he talked of how much he like jazz. So with a few hints from him I started collecting jazz. Then an amazing thing happened, I started downloading the music that my mother loved to play, songs like "Always" and "Chances Are". I started listening to Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and "ole Blue Eyes". I also found that I started to really enjoy music. It became soothing to my soul. Relaxing. But the most important thing, I can now sing along with Bessie as she plays the music she loves. That makes her day and that makes mine.

Bluegrass Memories

“You can always use some SOAP to wash the week away. Come and join the Southern Oklahoma Acoustic Players and let our melodies soak into your soul. On Friday or Saturday nights the sounds of bluegrass, gospel, and some down-home-blues pierce the night with the resonance of a hundred singing strings.” That raucous radio announcement never failed to get my peaked anticipation to rise like a hot summer’s day does to the thermometer’s mercury.

Strong Irish coffee scents the air as Mickey takes the stage to play lead on “Miss McLeod’s Reel” with Kenny on his upright bass, Sissie on rhythm guitar, and Billy Joe playing the fiddle. The town’s old maid, Miss Wilson, sits in the front row on a old metal folding chair, tapping her toe on the old warped floor of the Opera House. In back sits Katherine, better known as Katie, with Bryan holding her hand, at fifteen they just know it’s true love. Over to the side Grandpa Snelson is doing a “Jed Clampitt” dance as the Reel rolls into full speed. Grandma Snelson throws back her head into a laugh that cackles throughout the House.

As the music flows into the night air, it pulls people to the Opera House like the smell of mother’s cookies would pull my friends to my house. As the crowd grows, it spills out into the night and suddenly we have a street dance. The police pull up and block both ends of the block for our safety, but the town is empty because everyone is here. The musicians mix into the crowd to play and sing their harmonies.

Mrs. Adams daughter, I never can remember her name, breaks open a jug of cider, sweet cider mine you, none of that hard kind would do here. Miss Penley starts cutting the cakes, mostly chocolate or strawberry icing, with little Beth Ashley sticking her sticky fingers in to test each one.

Suddenly Jerry stops the music and yells to quiet the crowd, “I have an audacious announcement to make. I just asked Jenny Lynn to be my betrothed and she said YES!” The band breaks into their version of the Hallelujah Chorus as the mayor shakes Jerry’s hand and gives Jenny Lynn a kiss on her forehead.

Grandpa Walker looks at his old railroaders watch and yells, “Time to go, gotta get some sleep before I can nap in the church pew in the morning.” The band plays one more song, a quiet quiescental piece so the lovers can have one last hold me close dance.

As I lock up the Opera House, I turn to a deserted desolate street that just mere moments ago was filled with laughter, rhythm and rhyme. I slowly walk down the avenue, head filled with remorse of another night having passed and anticipation of what the next weekend will bring.

The First Watermelon - A Rememberance

I would sit on the patio and wait, watching each car as it rounded the curve looking for that red and white Buick station wagon. That red and white station wagon would be carrying my Uncle Porter and Aunt Aliene and the long anticipated Texas Watermelon.
It would be mid-June of the summer of 1965 in Southeast Kansas, the weather would be getting hot and I'd be in the "I'm bored, there's nothing to do” mode, but today it was broken by the anticipation of cutting into that watermelon.

They would finally arrive, Uncle Porter smiling that big broad smile of his, especially big this time because of his prized passenger, not Aunt Aliene but that big, juicy, the other red meat, monster watermelon. The ceremony would begin, Uncle Porter would drop the tail gate of the station wagon and stand there like Vanna White and present the watermelon. "She's a beaut this year!" We would stand there with our mouths open in awe at the green striped object of our desire.

Dad would bring out the wash tub, bought just for this occasion and sit it under the big elm in our side yard. There he and Uncle Porter would carry the melon over, encase it with ice, and cover that with a blanket. "Go play, it won't be ready until after supper." That phase made time go into slow motion. Dad usually got mad after the one hundredth time of me asking if I could check to see if the melon was cold yet, "If you ask one more time there will be no melon for you. I told you to go play." I'd go inside and sulk until supper.

Supper was fried chicken, mashed taters, corn, green beans, homemade bread and an apple pie in case someone didn't want watermelon. The pie would be always be there the next day, if Uncle Porter didn't sneak off with it. I would inhale dinner and then have to wait while Dad finished off the chicken. He'd even chew on the neck bone drawing out the anguish that was building in my soul for having to wait for that long anticipated bite of cold, sweet melon meat.

"Whatsya think Porter, think that melon is cold yet? Think it's about time to slice 'er up?"

"We might have to test 'er out first, Bob, we better make sure it's good before we pass 'er out to everyone."

With that we adjourned to the elm tree, I blasted pass everyone and jerked the blanket off the top to make sure nobody had stolen that glorious fruit. Dad and Uncle Porter would place the melon on the picnic table and prepare for the "test piece" Dad would cut a small triangle out of the middle and inspect the color and smell. "Smells good Porter, I think you might have pick a good one." Then he would drop a bite in his mouth and pick up the "watermelon knife" and slice into it. He always cut the melon in half length ways and then cut the halves into half moon pieces. I'd grab the first one and go sit on the ground under the elm and dive into that precious piece of sweet melon. Aw so sweet it tasted, like candy that would melt in your mouth. The sticky juice would run off my chin and all over my shirt, and I didn't care. The meat would be a deep red turning to pink as you chewed closer to the rind. The black seeds were shot out my mouth into the wash tub where they mingled with the ice. I'd chew up the white seeds, adding to the pleasure of eating my favorite fruit. Afterwards, I'd lay back in the grass and dream of tomorrow when I could eat another piece. The second though was never as sweet as that first long anticipated bite of watermelon.

Anna and Oprah

Poor ole Anna, such a miserable soul
An old maid and spinster, least that’s what I’m told.
She watched the mail man on his rounds each day,
She liked to watch how his bum would bump and sway.
Her hair tied in a knot on the back of her head
Not a straind out of place even when she’s just out of bed.
A brown sweater she wore all year round,
Over a white high collared buttoned blouse, oh so renowned.
On her feet she wore grandma boots,
No, really, inherited from her Grandma’s Smoots

Then one day her front door bell rang,
There on her porch stood Oprah and her gang.
“We’re here to give you a makeover,” Oprah said with glee
“And I’m footing the bill, you get it all for free.”
Well they cut and they permed, plucked and painted
When they finished Anna nearly fainted.
Standing there was a reflection in the mirror
Whom she looked like it could not be clearer
Standing there looking back at her through that piece of glass
She turned and said, “Phew, Oprah, you sure got gas!”