PO Memories

I worked about 15 years at the Atlanta Post Office before transferring to the Post Office in Marietta.  Most of the time in Atlanta I worked in the time keepers office.   There you can not help from meeting some interesting people.

This evening my mind had re-runs of a guy at the Atlanta Post Office that worked in the box section.  He was a vey nice easy-going guy but maybe too easy going.

Once he took the supervisor’s test.   Afterwards the Atlanta Postmaster wanted to meet him.  He had made the lowest of any one ever taking the test.  That was one thing I remembered about him.

Another thing, one time  my office co-worker went to this guy’s house in Paulding County to see something he had for sale, I forgot what, a table or something.   While there my co-worker had to go to the bathroom.   He asked where the bathroom was and they told him.   They also added,  “Turn on the light and Watch your step.”

They were right.  The bathroom had no floor.  Only the frame of the floor, like rafters.  The boards were discolored, not new timber any more.   They did not have a basement so you just saw dirt.  Apparently, the guy started off remodeling their bathroom and lost interest, or the novelty wore off and he just quit.   He got the plumbing completed but just not the floor.  The plumbing in the bathroom is the most important, right?

The Bully and the Bullee - Throwback Thursday

We moved in with our Grandpa Hunter in 1948.  Either that summer or the next Summer Larry Bell Park opened their new public swimming pool. 

Daddy got Frances and I yearly passes and I think that was a daily thing for us was to go to the pool.  Frances was a good poised swimmer.  I swam, but without form I think.

Almost every day we could count on a good time at the pool.

It didn’t hurt that the Sullivan family were in charge of the concessions.   The Sullivan family lived three doors down from us in the Clay Homes and their son Eddie and I had birthdays within a couple of days of each other, and for two or three years we would go with them and their wooden flat trailer to Sweetwater Creek near Powder Springs, where I almost drowned – wait!  That is another story.

At Larry Bell Park Swimming Pool the main life guard was Charles Dawson.  Until recently I used to see him at the annual Bell Reunion every year.  Charles turned 80 a few years ago. 

Many kids came from Marietta Place to hang out at the pool.  Marietta Place was just across Fairground Street east of the park.  I lived on a street width from Larry Bell Park on the westside, On Manget Street.

There was a guy who I think lived in the Marietta Place who was a Bully to me.  Vernon is his name.

Every time I got close to him he always said something smart-aleck, or called me Fatso, or just generally rude, and sometimes pushed me.  I don’t remember Vernon actually going into the pool, he hung around outside sitting on a hand rail.

I remember one time on East Dixie Avenue at Atlanta Street, besides Hick’s Grocery he and a friend of his walked towards me.  Vernon got in front of me calling me names and his friend got behind me and stooped over or go on all fours, and Vernon pushed me and I fell and banged my hard. 

I was terrified of the ass-hole and he knew it.  Bully!

I had a friend that lived on the other end of Manget Street.  He lived on the corner of Manget and Waterman Streets.  His name was Frankie Hunter.  His father was Francis Hunter.  And my grandfather, also lived on Manget Street was Frank Hunter.  I’m sure there were some mail delivery mess-ups.  We are not related that we know of.

Frankie Hunter was a good friend. He had a hot temper.  Several times we had scuffled and if Frankie got hurt he would lose his temper and attack me head on.  Each time I easily whipped him.  I wasn’t afraid of him.  

Frankie and his family were new to Marietta.  They were from Boston.   Theday we went to the pool for the first time. Vernon saw Frankie was with me and started picking on him.  Frankie with the short fused temper hit back.  That unnerved Vernon and they went down the hill behind the pool, about where the tennis courts are now, to settle it.  Frankie whipped Vernon ass.

After that event I reasoned out, “Why should I fear Vernon?  I can whip someone who can whip him.”

The next day at the pool Vernon I saw Vernon sitting on the rail, his usual perch.  I considered walking by and pushing him backwards off the rail, like he did me with his friend stooping behind me.  But, frankly, I was scared to, afraid I would get into trouble.

So, I walked by him, ready for a rude nasty remark from him, I was going to bark back and try to get him to go down behind the pool with me. 

He looked the other way.

Maannnn!

I think Vernon reasoned this out the same thing I did, and could probably see the hatred in my eyes towards him.

He avoided me from then on.

Or UNTIL I ran into him at the Bell Reunion sixty some years later.

I walked up to him and introduced myself and told him I heard he was a regular at the Bell Reunions and I thought if I ever come we might have to have a fight.

He patted me on the back, “Lets not do that.”

He had mellowed.

I have too, but I didn’t forget.

We were on speaking terms until the Bell Reunion played  itself out.

Greats, K Mountains, and wounded

My late mother-in-law, Marie, was a great great grandmother when she passed.  A great grand-person can cover a lot of time.

Taker William Trammell for instance:  William Trammell (1752-1843) fought in the Revolutionary War.  His arm was sliced off in the Battle Kings’ Mountain.

His great grandson, William Hunter/Trammell (     1842-1928) , fought in the Civil War and was shot in the knee during the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain.

And on of William Hunter’s great grandson is me.

Odd fact:  Both Williams above was wounded during a battle named after a mountain that started with K.

William Hunter, Grandson son Herbert Hunter, holding son Ray Hunter, and William's son, Herbert's Father, and Ray's grandpa, Frank Hunter.

TUESDAY FUNNIES!!!

No Leaps of Faith

I heard on NPR the other day a physics genius being interviewed.  I didn’t catch his name.  

He said the brain, whether it is human or whatever, is constantly making calculations.  It has the programs of the formulas built in.  Anything physical or mechanical you do you need a constant running calculator to pull off your goal, whether it is pour a glass of water or leaping across a crack in the sidewalk or planning a home run… or evening planning the timing of a punch line.

And even squirrels – they are constantly having to apply their calculations to figure if they can make the huge leap from one tree to another, and the target limb, will it hold him/her.  Well, it needs to figure that out before hand, a miscalculation might be fatal.

And brains have a survival program installed too.  It watches out for flesh eating monsters and pulls the "run" switch" when needed.

Wow!

Benjamin's Busy Weekend

Benjamin's busy weekend.

Benjamin at his first time at the FOX Theater:  "There are stars Mommy!"

Benjamin, either tired or a grouchpot with his mom Sabrina and friends.

Benjamin the Romancer

A BATMAN tattoo is medicine for the mind.

Sen John McCain Will Be Missed

Senator John McCain will be missed.  He was humble, not a braggart.  I heard of him telling people he was 4th from the bottom of his class in Annapolis.  People with inflated egos would not tell that about themselves.

He voted his conscience, putting country before his party.  His departure will be a vacuum for the Republican Party and our country.

SUNDAY FUNNIES!! MAD #6, PING PONG!

Story and cover art by Harvey Kurtzman.  page art by Will Elder

click on page to enlarge it to make it readable and hopefully pretty

It Too!

Hello. Is this 911?

Hi! My name is Alexa.

 I would like to report a sex abuse crime. I have been on-line reading about the “ME TOO” Movement. I am clearly a victim. My owner keeps commanding me to tell him dirty jokes.

Tch Tch

Throwback Thursday: Cars Over the Cliff

This adventure takes place near Dahlonega, Georgia,   1960, probably about February or March.  

North of Dahlonega several miles is a fork and a big pile of rocks.  There is an old folk tale about an  Indian princess’s body is under all those rocks.  Travelers, for good luck, would toss a rock onto the pile and that is how the rock pile grew bigger.

The only way this adventure utilizes this pile of rocks is for directions:  “You turn left at the fork that has a big pile of rocks”.

Turn left and not far away are big curves going up and around a mountain.  On the right is the mountain and on the left is a cliff.

At the bottom of the cliff were a lot of cars that went over the cliff, so it was said.

Larry heard about this cliff around this curb and that is why we were there at 1am on a Saturday morning., about four of us.

We looked  down and couldn’t see anything but black.   We decided to build a fire to keep warm and wait until day light.  Larry brought along plenty of rope to climb down the cliff and tie the auto parts, then we could savage and hoist them up with the rope. 

A lot o cars have went over that cliff, so  they said.  Magically no one was hurt, but they all got insurance money from their crashed cars.  Isn’t America wonderful?

Also, I need to put in here so you will know the full story, I had too much to drink only a few hours before.  That will play into this adventure before I’m finished.

Like I said, we were on a lonely mountain road on the edge of a cliff and decided to build a fire in the middle of the road.  What could go wrong?

We had a good fire gong from some dead tree branches we found by the road.  Larry is an expert of building fires.  He has made fires many times.  We sat around talking and keeping warm.

Then we heard a the sound of a truck motor far away.  The motor sound got louder and louder.  We could hear it's gears changed as it went up and down hills.  We finally figured it was going be upon us within a few seconds.

OH SHIT!!

We ran into the woods.

The truck was a high truck.  Not an 18 wheeler.  It was the kind that would make big deliveries locally; like the Atlanta Journal & Constitution truck that would drop off bundles of papers to carriers.

 It rounded the bend and probably did not see the fire until he was on it.  We heard no sound, like breaks, of him slowing down.  He wisely plowed through the fire at full speed.  Sparks and red cinders flew all over the road.  It is a wonder the mountain's vegetation and wildlife lived beyond our visit.

The truck disappeared going around the next bend.

I think we probably left and returned at daybreak.  It would probably had been unwise to stick around in case the truck driver reported the fire in the middle of the road.

When we returned  we could see several cars at the bottom of the cliff.  There were not as many as Larry heard, just two or three.

Larry tied a strong rope to something sturdy and we began lowering ourselves down.

Dumbly  I climb onto the rope not too many feet after the late Jenky Latimer.  As I was lowering myself the rope was not still, it would wobble.  It weakened my stomach.  The alcohol in my mind and stomach started doing its vertigo thing.  I threw up while swing back and forth. 

I don't remember how we had a grip on the rope but we did.

If I thought I was in bad shape for vomiting and swinging on a rope probably over 100 feet from the ground, remember Jenky was directly under me being vomited on. He couldn’t let go of the rope either.

When we did reach the ground and the wreck cars they were already stripped of anything of value. 

Unfortunately Jenky, a Georgia Tech student, a few months later,  was killed in a wreck either at the end of May or the first week of June.

Millions Here, Millions There, but What About the Nickles and Dimes?

Here are some facts and figures calculated about the money bouncing around by the movie industry filming in Georgia last year:

It cost the state in tax credit, wining and dining, and whatever about $800 million.

In return, the state earned $2.7 billion.

Long range earned money was calculated to be about $9.5 Billion.

Not bad, not bad.

But I hope the state has figured out a way to compensate retail businesses who has to temporarily close their doors during a on-location filming. 

I remember several years ago, I read that many mom & pop retail businesses on Auburn Avenue almost went under because the street was closed to the buyers of their merchandise.   And no one in the management of running things seemed to care.

Beauty Is In The Eyes of the Beholder

Review of MAD's MAD AT THE WORLD video

MAD AT THE WORLD is a video that claims to be a history of MAD magazine.  I don't know who made it, but I think MAD had it professional made.  It uses  MAD unique humor, and has two fairly well done take-offs on the GOD FATHER movie and ALL IN A FAMILY.  

I would have enjoyed it more if they gave credit where credit is due.  Of the four original artists, Jack Davis is the only one mentioned.   My hero Harvey Kurtzman, creator and editor of the first 25 plus issues was not even mentioned.  The three original artists that were not mentioned are Will Elder, Wally Wood, and John Severin.  Will Elder's covers were shown in several shots in the video.

Bill Gaines owned MAD from the start.  It was one of the comics E.C. Publishing Company owned.  The other comics were mostly science fiction, war Comics, and horror comics (such as TALES FROM THE CRYPT.

The video gives Al Feldstilen credit of being with MAD from the start.  Not so.  Felstein co-edited the science fiction and horror comics with his boss Bill Gaines.  They had a unique system of creating stories.  Before MAD Harvey Kurtzman edited E.C.'s two war war comics, FRO;NT LINE COMBAT and TWO FISTED TALES.

Kurtzman was not earning enough money to support his family and asked Gaines for a raise.  He said Felstein was making more money.  Gaines reminded him  at Feldstein  was responsible for about 8 comic titles and  Kurtzman only 2.   Then out of necessity Kurtzman dreamed up MAD.

When MAD became very successful it was about time the Comic Code same a powerful censorship of comics which destroyed EC horror comics and Al Felstein had to be let go.  And Harvey Kurtzman demanded more money or he would walk.   Gaines fired Kurtzman and rehired Feldstein to replace him.   And Feldstein was the editor for the next 30 years.

I think out of loyalty  Will Elder left MAD too.  With Hugh Hefner's help they started TRUMP and it lasted two issues.  Then they started HUMBUG Magazine, which looked like a cheap MAD imitation, lasted  about a dozen issues.  Next they created HELP Magazine owned by Warren Publishing and it last several years.

Then Kurtzman and Elder started the series LITTLE ANNIE FANNY comic strip in PLAYBOY.

I could go on and tell more of their endeavors, but you get the point.

Studying People

This morning at the county Aquatic Center we go to I noticed two men, one there to exercise and one a lifeguard hardly spoke.  I wondered why.   They are both “long paragraph” talkers.  They love to talk, if they can find someone willing to stay still and listen.  But these two almost looked the other way.

Hmmmmm>

Here is my opinion:  Neither one is a listener.

Me...More?

Yesterday evening I gave Willow a good petting.  Afterwards, she started licking my leg.  I thought she was returning the affection.  Then she licked like she was in a frenzy, almost insanely. 

Then I remembered I scratched my let that morning on a bike ride.  She got a taste of my blood and it tasted like more.

I pushed her away and she came back for more, trying to aim her face towards my right leg.

It kind of reminded me of Captain Hook and the Croc.

The Truth Is Not the Truth

Giuliani explained why Trump is innocent, he said, “The truth is not the truth.”

See? that proves Trump is innocent.

How more simpler and plainer explanation  do you want?

This  must be demonstrating a whopper truth

SUNDAY FUNNIES! MAD #6, Baseball

Storyboard by Harvey Kurtzman and illustrated  by Georgia corn-fed Jack Davis

We all like a true to life human interest story, right?  Well, then you need to watch the Braves and their new left-fielder who has his own translator.  

Sam Elliott Died

Charles Watts, a fellow-retired, Marietta Postal Worker called me today to inform me our co-worker Sam Elliott died yesterday.  I hate to hear that.  Sam was a good person.

Sam’s mother worked for my late aunt Bee.  Bee’s oldest son is Bobby.  I remembered Bobby told me he and Sam Elliott, near the same age, had a special relationship.  Bobby knew I worked with Sam at the post office.

When Bobby told me this, a few months ago, he was calling from a casino in Mississippi.   I don’t know why he chose that moment, about 400 miles from home to tell me – maybe he just realized I knew Sam from work and thought he would tell me while it was still on his mind.

Today, when I called Bobby to tell him that Sam died he was sorry to hear that but said, “Guess where I am at?”

“I don’t know, where?”

“By a slot machine in Gulfport, Mississippi.”

Trump's Enemy List

Aretha Franklin Has Left Us

Throwback Thursday: The Golden Horn

Throwback Thursday:  This actally a copy and paste from a post on my blog Chicken-fat.com on November 9, 2010.

Throwback Thursday:

Beatniks and The Golden Horn 

Back in either 1959 or 1960 my friend Monty called me and wanted to know if I wanted to go to a Beatnik coffee house in Atlanta. “Beatnik coffee house?” I said. I wasn’t keen on going out on a school night when it was going to something I knew nothing about – in some of our misadventures back then when we went to a place we knew nothing about we suddenly had to scatter or suffer some consequences, and I was afraid this might be the case this time, and Atlanta is/was a long way away for a school night.

Neither of us knew anything about beatniks or coffee houses. From TV we figured the males were bearded, wore berets and the females had long straight hair and wore black stockings or leotards. In the coffee houses we knew from TV all they did were hang around zonked on opium or espresso coffee and recited beat poetry. The most important lure for us was that we thought the females in their black stockings were all opened minded and all for free love….. Which is just what a teenage boy would want. Free love, as in free man, on-the house man.

So Monty, I, and two more friends headed to Atlanta in Monty’s mother’s Volvo PV544 on a dark foggy night.

The place we were looking for was The Golden Horn on 15th Street. We found it without any problem. The Golden Horn was located on the street level floor of an granite building that was a three story apartment building, each level above street level had a porch or patio. It was across the street from the High Museum which was also known as the Atlanta Art Museum. The museum was facing Peachtree Street, but the side of it was along side 15th Street.

Monty parked the car down the street about a block, you never know if what might happen that we would have to leave suddenly.

We went in. To the left was a table full of tasty looking cakes, and behind that was a bar that did the serving of beverages. A lean lady with long black hair and black stockings came up and asked us did we want a seat and we said we did. Yep, she was just what we expected.

The room was not that large. Maybe 10 or 15 tables in a dim lit room. On the far end was a small low stage. We sat down and expected someone to come out on stage and play some bongo drums or maybe recite poetry, or whatever beatniks do.

The people at the other tables seemed quiet, chatting among themselves. I would guess they were college students, Georgia Tech is only a few blocks away.

The dame with the long black straight hair and black stockings asked what did we want and we said coffee. This is a coffee house – right? She brought back four coffees and our bill.

A man in white skin tight leotards and a unicorn head climb up on stage and music was played… it was flute music. The man with the unicorn head starting lightly dancing, at times it was like a ballet because he would leap and tip toe and piloret.... all this to classical flute music.

We were not flute classical music appreciators by any means. Anything musical we like was on the top 40 radio stations. Our minds had not yet matured to appreciate good music or interpretive dancing.

Monty would later become a disc jockey.

Our whispering conversation went something like this: “Good god! We came all way down here to see this shit?”

“How much is the bill? Lets pay and get the hell out of here!”
“Damn! It is sixteen dollars!”
“Sixteen dollars?”
“yes – that coffee must cost $4 a cup.”
“Shit! Now what?”

The thing is, we didn’t have $16 between us. We had something like $3 and some change. 

We quietly made plans. While we were whispering making our plans the woman brought another round of coffees and added it to the bill.

The cakes were on a table, just a leap from the front door. We decided we would get up and stand over the cakes as if we were planning on which cake to pick then run out the door the first chance we got.

All four of us got up, went over to the table and stood there looking at the cakes. The wench with the long straight hair came up to watch us. To make it look like we were dead serious on picking out a cake I put my hand out, finger extended and said, “Hmmm Lets see….”

She interrupted me by putting a sharp butcher knife up to my face and say, “Touch a cake and off goes your finger honey!”

I let out a nervous laugh.

The bitch said, “You think I’m joking!” and jabbed the knife in midair within inches of my stomach. I backed up.

She jabbed at me again and I backed up some more….. how in the heck did I find myself in this mess? I thought.

About that time the door slammed and we both looked at the door. We could see my three friends heads bobble by the window as they were running away.

Now she was mad. She jabbed again and I turned around and ran. Somehow to get away from her knife tricks I found myself on the stage with the unicorn. She joined us. People in the audience were laughing. I jumped off the stage with her behind me swiping at me. 

This time the door was in front of me and she was in the back of me. I opened the door and ran out and ran down towards the car, but I was running scared and caught up with them before they reached it. 

We all had a good laugh when I told them what happened. We all climbed into the car. Monty said, “I lost my wallet.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I had it out when we were counting our money. I must have dropped it on the floor.”

“Let it go, the dollar you had in there isn’t worth it.”

“I an’t leaving without my wallet. My phony driving license is in there, do you know how long it took me to draw the Seal of Georgia on that thing?”


Me: “I’m not going back in there for anything.”

We agreed the other three would go back in and demand the wallet back and I would be out side with the Volvo running, and as soon as they ran out they would hop in and away we would go – back home. In other words, I was in the get-a-way car.

They went in and I sat in the drivers seat with the engine running, one foot on the clutch and the other foot ready to stomp down on the gas.

They ran out laughing. Monty had his wallet, which he put in his back pocket.

“How did you get it?” I asked.

As a last second inspiration, Monty and his two companions, when they entered The Golden Horn, fell to their knees and began crawling all over the room squealing like pigs. Everybody cracked up laughing, even the witch with the long straight hair and butcher knife. While crawling, Monty made a straight line to the table we were at and saw his wallet on the floor and snatched it up.

All's wells that ends well.

Freedom From Religion

Imaginary People

Here is an Uncle John Bathroom Reader’s random fact to ponder over:  65% of children before the age of six have an imaginary friend.

 I suppose children more likely to have an imaginary friend are the ones with no siblings or are socially awkward that do not mix well with their peers.

Take me for instance:  When I was very young I had an imaginary brother.  He was 7 or 8 years older than me.  Not only was he a good brother, he was also a good protectionist.  

Finally he just kind of evaporated away.   I wonder what ever happened to him?

So, my imaginary brother has ran away to God knows where, and I am socially awkward, so need an imaginary friend, this is Alfred, he has been hanging around since I was about 12 years old.

Shady Grove Band, Reece Farm, Blairsville, Ga

You may or may not like this. If you like it, thank you, I really worked hard on it. If you don't like it I blame the "Help" section of my new video editing program.

The band's leader, I think, is the preacher of Shady Grove Baptist Church, the tall guy on the right, the spokes-lady is his wife, and the three musicians are members.  The music was good but the one joke they told they flubbed it up, but it was corny anyway.... what do you expect with your minister looking at you, a dirty joke?

Watch It Bullies!   Things have changed.  You no longer can push around people you feel superior to and give them verbal abuse.

There are smart phones recording you almost every moment.  You would have to be very slippery to get away with what you used to. Everybody is a witness!

More Sunday Funnies!! Doomsbury

SUNDAY FUNNIES!! li'l Abner Sunday Funnies

This is a collection of Al Capp's Sunday funnies of Li'l Abner, republished by Denis Kitchen of Kitchen Sink Publishing Company.  And re-re published by me.
Click on each page to read  the balloons to know what's going on.

Reece Heritage Farm, again

Today, we went to the Byron Hubert Reece’s Heritage Farm about 10 miles south of Blairsville, Georgia, next door to Vogle State Park.  Byron was a prolific writer of prose and poetry.  As a matter of fact he was Poet Laurette of Georgia in 1950s.  Life wasn’t easy for him, which probably inspired him.  Hardship is hard, but it can also be inspirational.  He also had TB and spent a lot of time in the Batty Hospital in Rome.  His father was sickly so he had to work at the their farm so they would not lose it.  He was an educator at Young Harris College.  He had pressure on him coming all directions.  He finally ended it all.

He is a distant relative.  We are both descended from John Hunter.

Now, I understand, annually Union County Historical Society has a celebration of his life at the farm site he worked so hard at.   They serve free tomato sandwiches (with Duke Mayo of course), and a bluegrass group played.  This time the Bluegrass group was the Shady Grove Singers, which includes the preacher, his wife, and three others of the Shady Grove Baptist Church in Union  County.

I talked to a young single lady down from Murphy, North Carolina.  She said he heard about this so “Here I am.” She said.   She asked me did I know anything about the band.  I told her exactly what is above, because that is what they told the audience.  Later, in another part of the park/farm I saw her in a swing, by a bubbling brook talking on her cell phone.  I overheard her tell whomever all about the band, which was exactly word for word what I told her, and what the spokes lady (the preacher’s wife) told us.  I like it when I know someone listened to me.

The bubbling brook she was sitting by makes a nice slushing over rocks and jumping 6 inch water falls.  It is also a tributary to the Notley River, which is one of the few rivers that flow north.  And by the way, that creek was flowing north too.

An authoress of a book about her ancestor Micajah Clark Dyer sat down and talked to  Anna and I for a while.  While there we bought her book at he gift shop.  Anna read part of it to me on the way back to Marietta.  Micajah Clark Dyer is a distantly related in-law.   I knew about him already.  He invented a flying machine before the Wright Brothers did, had it legally patented and all that.

Also, I got to meet a facebook friend (and distant relative) Ken Akens.

Sylvia Dyer Turnage, author of "FLYING OFF RATTLESNAKE MOUNTAIN"

Ken Akins