Throwback Thursday, Still a Transient

Last Throwback Thursday I told of getting my orders and traveling tickets to the USS J.K. TAUSSIG at NAS Lakehurst, NJ..  

The plane  was either Delta or Eastern Airlines. 

At the Philadelphia Airport outside were taxis and limos.  One limo looked reasonable (old and dirty) so I asked the driver how much.  I forgot how much he said, but it was more than I had a couple of dollars.  Which I told him.  He came down on his price to $8 to the Philadelphia Bus Station.  Which I took.

If I only knew what I found out about a year later:  I was on duty one night and a person called at the Philadelphia Airport saying he had orders but no transportation authorization to get into town to take the bus.  I was immediately dispatched with a Naval sedan to pick him up.  I remember it was pouring down rain.  Also, the person I picked up was from Marietta and a distant cousin.  Small world.

Back to my own trip:  I was very entertained looking out at the New Jersey countryside.   I was under the impression that everything north of Washington DC was slums and crowded buildings.  Not so, I was seeing farms, pastures, little model Main Street USA villages, each one picturesque.

The bus pulled in front of a high chain fence, a gate and a two storied house with the sign WELCOME TO NAS LAKEHURST, NEW JERSEY.

I have arrived.

Visible beyond the fence about a quarter of a mile was the largest hangar I have even seen.  It was built to house blimps.  I did not know it at the time but the German’s famous Hinderburg airship exploded at its front door in 1939.  At that time it was only about 24 years before.

I carried my duffel bag inside the double level white house.  Inside the first room was a long counter.  Behind the counter was a chief petty officer, a man in his blues, and an officer.  The smiling chief greeted me.  The guy in the blues studied me with his arms folded.  The young officer did not bother to look up from the newspaper he had on his desk.

I handed the chief my orders.  He did a double take and reread them.  Then he stepped over to the officer and pointed to a specific line on my orders.

One of the men, I forgot which one, said, “USS J.K. TAUSSIG?”  “We are 13 miles from the nearest ocean, we don’t have any ships here – the is a Naval Air Station.”

I wanted to say, “That’s not my problem.”  But instead tried looking surprised.  I’m not good at looking surprised.  My hypertension is always snoozing.

I said, “Now, what?”

This was on a Friday night.  

The chief said they would call and get it straightened out.

After a call or two they found out the offices that would take care of orders and mistakes would be closed over the weekend, to call back Monday.  I’m glad no invasions were planned for that weekend.

They said I could stay in the base’s main barracks for the weekend and they gave me a temporarily chow hall pass.

By this time it was late.  I was getting tired.

The other guy in the room was the duty driver.   He drove me to the Main Barracks.

It was past 10pm, all the lights were out except the Exit sign above the doorway.  In the almost pitch blackness I don’t know how I picked out a vacant bunk or “rack” as they were often called, but I found one.  I undressed down to my skivvies and immediately went to sleep.

Not more than one hour  later I had a bad dream.    I didn’t know it was a dream, I thought if real life was.  I dreamed I was in the barracks in Charleston and outside bombs were exploding all around the building and low flying fighter jets were rat-a-tat-tat sailors running.  I jumped up horrified.  I ran for the red light Exit sign and ran out in the passageway (Navy talk).  Two young men in civilian clothes looked at me shocked.  They did not know at this very moment we were being attacked by the Russians!  I ran up to hem and warned them.  They looked at me puzzled.  I was standing in my underwear, probably hyperventilating trying to explain it to them.  They saw the problem, the problem was I had a bad dream.  They politely calmed me down and told me I was having a bad dream.

I woke up.  Oops!

Then I had the task of finding my rack in a big room full of racks.  Somehow I did.  I think I systematically counted the number of double bunks from the Exit door or something similar.

In the morning I went to the chow hall for breakfast.  About four tables over was the same two men that interrupted my dream were eating breakfast looking at every move I was making and whispering to themselves.  I was on display.

We became friends and I even rode with them to North Carolina the upcoming October on a leg of my journey back to Georgia to pick up my car.  One was from North Carolina and the other from the Bronx.

If the information about my little bad dream fell into the wrong hands could result in a medical discharge.

On Monday morning, I became under the Personnel office until they could get my assignment straighten out.  To earn my keep my job was to scrub the administration’s hallway floors, opps! I mean the passageway decks.

And they assigned my sleeping to be on the top floor of the house at the gate that I first checked in at.  It was also the office and sleeping quarters of SPs and Security.  I had my own private bedroom for a over two weeks until my orders were straightened out.

Next – Helicopter Utility Squadron Four (HU-4)

Throwback Thursday: Going on Navy Active Duty - Opps!

FDR Presidential Yacht

I went on active duty in the Navy July 10, 1963.  I joined up because of the Cuban Missile scare.  I and 4 or 5 other E-2 reservists flew by private carrier to Charleston, South Carolina.

Charleston Naval Yard (I think what they called it) is a Transient station.  It appeared to me that the Transient system could handle several hundred men at one time.

Definition of a Transient:  One just out of training waiting for his orders  By talking to other transients the average waiting time is about 30 days.
Notice I said "his", meaning the male gender.  I saw no females also in transient status.

In a big parking lot between two barrack buildings on the pavement were numbers evenly spaced from each other.  The organizers issued little tags with numbers that matched the numbers on the pavement.  In the morning at 8:00am, if I remember correctly, you are expected to be standing on your number.  Then the group leaders come in and look over the transients to pick out who will be in their particular detail for the day.  I felt like I was in a slave auction.  I almost expected a NCO pry my mouth opened to see my teeth.

Each day I went with different bunches of men to do various jobs.  The ones I remember:  Washing dishes in the mess hall’ cleaning the NCO Club; cleaning the Marines NCO Club; and the worse was to paint a deck on FDR presidential yacht (it was docked on the Cooper River in the historical part of the docks.  I was wearing my blues, non-dress, and a wave gave the yacht a good rock which knocked me into the freshly painted deck that I just painted.  I had gray paint all over my arms and legs sleeves.  I don’t remember how I got it off.

The picture in this article I found on Google, under FD Presidential Yacht -about four were shown, the one here is the one I remember looking like it.

The group leaders watched you work and if they liked the effort you made they could request for you to work with them every day. Then you did not have to stand on your dumb number in the parking lot every morning.  It was sort of a prestige appointment.

After about ten days I was chosen to work in the movie theater.  Another guy who was from something like Newnan, Georgia, and I was chosen to work in the theater to do grunt work.  I don't know how or why my mother did it, but she became telephone friends with the mother if my work-mate.  That was before the Internet and Facebook.

I was happy. And even happier when I found what my duties were.  I emptied the “shit cans” (that is what the female yeoman called them) in her outer office and the division officer’s inner office “shit cans”  And give both “heads” the once-over.  Then after lunch we met the group leader, the chief in the theater and watched a movie.  We sat in a little cluster so we could make comments on what we were watching.  We got to be friends.

I heard a lot in the barracks  about the wild bars just outside the gate and also the private homes near the area with signs in their yards that said “DOGS AND SAILORS KEEP OFF THE GRASS”. My theater -worker-buddy and I decided to check it out.  The Charleston Navy base is/was a few miles long.  Our barracks was on one end and the gate was on the other end.  They had bus service that ran up and down the main road.

Outside the gate were bars and “clubs” , all well lit, lining both sides of the street all with loud music and "door" men trying to lure you inside the joint they represented.

Remember most of the sailors you see on this street have just got off a ship and haven’t had a drink or even seen a woman for months.

We chose a bar that seemed to have heavy traffic going in and out.
  Something inside must be good.

Inside there was a long line of sailors to the bar where behind the bar mixing drinks was a cute girl with a big smile on her face and a big jar that said “TIPS” filled with green money of $10s and $20s.  We got closer to see why she was so special.  She would asked her current customer would they like the special “stir”?  Of course they did.  She watched to make sure they “fed the kitty”.   She reached down in her short shorts and stir her hand around her crouch then brought  out her hand with one finger erect and stirred the drink.  She was mixing drinks with a masturbating finger.  She was making loads from horny sailors that haven’t been near a woman in months.  I wonder what kind of grade the county health inspector gave them?

We were too cheap.  We walked back through the gate to take a bus back to the barracks.

On the way back the bus driver was hateful to all on the bus and a couple of times told people to quiet down or he was going to pull over and make everybody get off.  One man challenged him and they got into a name calling fight.  Come to find out, the guy that challenged him was a Lt. Commander… guess who instantly became quiet and  humble?

One afternoon while watching a movie with my theater friends the female yeoman came in and told me to report to Window # 9 at the Transient office, which I did.

At Window #9 a young man gave me my new orders to the USS J.K. TAUSSIG at Lakehurst, NJ.  He also gave me an airplane ticket to Philadelphia and a bus ticket from Philadelphia to Lakehurst, New Jersey .  He added that to get from the airport to the bus station would have to come out of my pocket.  The flight was only a couple hours away.  I had to hustle to the barracks, pack, and be on that plane in a short time – and I only had $10 in my pocket.

More to follow on the next Throwback Thursday, hopefully.

Throwback Thursday, Billy Joe Royal, Panama City, & Valdosta

Copied and pasted from a previous post:

PCB and Billy's First Singing Gig

For a while now I have been copying old LP record albums into the computer into a MP3 format. Before we had children we accumulated about 500 albums of all types. Now, this is a way to archive them. Today I copied Al Hirt's Swingin' Dixie.

But while going through my collection to pick from, I came across an album of an old friend, who shall remain nameless. For the purpose of this entry I will call him Billy.

I grew up with Billy and his brother. We and other friends in the same little circle had some hell raising times. I remember on a country road one time Billy was driving behind me and I was driving about 70 mph and he eased up and he made his front bumper tap my rear bumper. It scared the heck out of me. Several times in high school we got caught drinking in the parking lots of evens and Billy was an expert lying out of it getting us off free.

Billy loved to sing. He could imitate any body, soul, rock, or country so close, if one didn't know better you would swear the sound was coming from the person that made it famous.

The night after school was out for the summer in 1959, Billy, his brother, three friends, and myself crammed in Billy's '50 black Ford and drove to Panama City, Florida, otherwise known as the Red-neck Riviera. That is where most of our high school friends were going.

We did not have much money. I had only $30 and that was more than anyone else in the car. We found a motel called Key of Rest Motel, which was a dump. It had no paved parking lot and you had to share a bathroom with the next room, and no air conditioning and the buildings were made of concrete blocks with no type of insulation, but that was fine for $8 a night. There were six of us, but the owner-lady charged by head. We told her there were four of us, which was $2 each. After we made the deal we went to the nearest package store and bought some Spearmen 8 six-packs of beer for $1.50 a six pack.

While driving around the area we ran into 5 or 6 more friends that did not have a place to stay. We invited them to stay with us. Then we played on the beach and layed in the sun.

I noticed that a sign on the beach put up by the City of Panama Beach, Florida, said, "No Colored Maids Allowed On Beaches With Bathing Suits". I thought that was very sad. We were living in a cast system and didn't even know it.

That night was a place called "The Hangout" which was a shelter overlooking the beach and the Gulf. The music was loud and people were dancing. Teenagers drunk their beer in the shadows and the police looked the other way unless there was trouble.

About 11pm we returned to our room at the Key of Rest Motel. I think there were about ten or eleven of us. We were feeling the effects of cheap beer and also feeling the effect of a Florida sun-burn. We could not possibly sleep against each other in a crowded room. One of us went through the bathroom to the other door to the other room and knocked on it. Nobody answered it. He eased the door opened and looked inside. It was all clean and ready for occupancy. About half of us moved to the newly discovered room. Needless to say, we had no pajamas. We slept in our jockey shorts.

In the middle of the night the door to the unpaid room opened. It was the lady owner showing the room to a newly wed couple. There was a bunch of screaming and hollaring.

We were evicted. The lady-owner checked our suit cases before we were allowed to leave. It is a good thing she did, she found four towels.

We had no place to go so we went to the beach. Panama City Beach has very beautiful soft white sand. So, each of us nestled us a comfortable mound of sand and fell asleep.

As I was sleeping I thought I heard the sound of a lawnmower approaching. Then, we were all showered with a chemical. What we didn't know was each night or early morning the City sprays the beach for insects... they ride by in a crop dusting kind of contraption that shoots out some type of insect killer.

That was about all of Panama City Beach we could take for that year. As I remember, we left sometime before noon that upcoming day.

We went to see Billy and his brother's uncle and aunt in Valdosta, Georgia. We ended up staying in the area for a week. After a couple of nights they decided there were just too many of us to sponge off them, so another uncle and aunt came and picked three or four of us up and carried us to their home in Tifton, Georgia.

The uncle that lived in Valdosta sung in a country and western band in a furniture warehouse every Tuesday night. Billy had never sung in public to a big gtoup of people before, but he was going to give it a try. The Tifton uncle and aunt carried us back down to Valdosta Saturday night for Billy's first time singing in public.

Billy did great. The crowd went wild. Also that night, Billy and his brother's mother and sisters came down from Marietta to hear him sing.

That next morning their mother carried us all back home to Marietta, except Billy, he stayed there for the summer singing.

After that he got a job singing in Savannah and later put out a record which became a hit and through the next dozen years or so he put out a string of hits and became quiet famous, here in metro Atlanta, anyway. Later, he became fairly popular in Las Vegas and Nashville. He stills sings professionally, and occasionally I hear him on the radio, but I don't think he has put out any top 40 kind of stuff in a while, but they still play his old top 40 songs.

Throwback Thursday Whoopee Cushion

Nell Campbell compared me to the other a Greek philosopher who died the way he wished, laughing at his joke. Well, I don’t know about dying laughing at my own joke. Once I know the punchline it is no longer funny, the element of surprise is gone. However the next best thing is giggling uncontrollably over a prank you were part of. True story: My aunt Opal worked in Atlanta close to a novelty store. There, she brought me a Poo-Poo cushion. I carried it to school. In phys Ed a few of us non-dress-ouster’s hung out in the bleachers and played with the poo poo cushion making farting sounds. I noticed Coach Lundy glaring at up from time to time. He finally came to us and demanded the cushion. About one or two periods later On the PA system my name and the others names involved with the poo poo cushion was told by Principal Lloyd Cox to report to the office. When we were all there and lined up Lloyd Cox whipped the inflated cushion out from behind him and squeezed it causing a loud long fart sound. We all burst out giggling. Lloyd said what was.so funny about that. I tried to explain the dramatic presentation with the sudden sound. Lloyd was in a rage which made us giggle more. He told us to stay in the adjoining office until the last bell for the day rang. We did. When the last bell sounded we left, going through Lloyd’s office. He wasn’t there. He was probably making sure people was leaving school in an orderly manner. We decided to look through his desk for the poo poo cushion. We found it. We blew it up and put it in Lloyd’s chair. By the way I read In the paper about a year ago that Lloyd Cox died in his middle 90s. Yesterday I read that his wife died at age 98,

Blizzard of '61

Our current weather condition reminds me of the Ice Storm of March 1961. When the storm came it was during the night. In March, we woke up to a frozen white Winter Wonder Land. I worked in Atlanta at the time and it was too dangerous to try to drive to work. So, I called in. So did all my friends that were not away at college. We went out to play on the frozen slippery terrain.

Larry Southern got a near worthless used car from his father's car lot and we rode around and learned a lot about the physics of driving on slippery ice. We went to Town & Country Shopping Center, which was empty of customers' cars because of the weather and used the wide open spaced parking lot as a training ground. We would spin, get speed up and slam on the brakes en enjoy the slide. Later we tried climbing a steep hill and I forgot what happened but it put an end to our riding that car. 

The steep hill was leading off Powder Springs Street across from Garrison Road. We were just a block or two from the Marietta Country Club. We got the idea of going up to the golf course and sliding down the big hill there on the green. When we walked up to the Country Club we realized we were not the first ones to think of sliding down the hill on the golf course. Many kids were there sliding. They had serving trays they were using that they slipped in and got from the dining or kitchen area of the club. Other kids had flattened big cardboard boxed, and even one group of kids brought a car hood they rode on. I tried a serving tray, a cardboard flat, but finally got the not so bright idea of riding down on a round red Coke sign, which the face of it was facing the ice. I started down the hill, picked up speed, and for some reason the Coke sign started to spin, or I should say the Coke sign and I started to spin faster and faster.

The Coke sign became a runaway out of control Coke sign. I couldn't get off or guild it. At the bottom of the hill is normally a pretty little pond. That day it was partially frozen . I hit the pond, it may have skidded to put me more in the middle, then sunk. 

It was thigh deep in cold icy water. I walked out. The fun was over.

I needed dry pants. My pants were sloshing and about to get stiff with ice. I was walking.
Sometimes I can be resourceful when it comes to surviving. I sloshed and crinkled my way across town to Colonial Circle, where Mrs. Latimer lived. My friend Gene "Jenky" Latimer was killed in a drag race the previous May or early June. I knocked on Mrs. Latimer's door. She was happy to see an old friend of Jenky's. I told her my pants were wet, could I borrow a pair of Gene's pants. She gladly gave me a pair, which I went to the back and changed into. Then Mrs. Latimer baked us some banana-nut bread, which we had with hot apple cider. 

Still, each time I ride by Colonial Circle off Fairground Street, or eat banana bread I think of that day.

Claim to Fame: Steve McQueen's Dogs Barked at me

The SUNDAY MORNING CBS NEWS SHOW had something on their show yesterday about Steve McQueen.   I confess I did not actually see what they had, but when they said it was coming up It brought back memories of the time I was looking at the two big barking dogs in Steve McQueen’s back yard. 

1967.  The Naval Reserve Squadron I was in went to NAS Yuma, Arizona, for two weeks of training.   The weekend was no duty.  We were free to do whatever we wanted, or could afford.  To made a long story short, or save for another blog, I will fast forward to downtown Las Angeles  that Saturday morning  I rented a hotel room.   At one point on Saturday I was sitting in the hotel’s huge lobby, near a window hoping to see a movie star walk by.

Then I saw my immediate boss for these two weeks, Chief Sprung, stroll by.  He was carrying a small suitcase.  I did not wave my arms or anything to get his attention.  I was looking forward of being alone.

He walked out of view of the window.  Whew!

Then he backed up back in the window’s view and waved.  Shit!

He rushed in waving and asked where was I staying.  “Here” I said.

“Great!” he said, he was having a hard time finding a room, he will just move in with me.  I said, “Great!” and secretly rolled my eyes.

The next morning, Sunday morning, he got on the phone.  He called an old Navy friend of his that worked as a technician for Disney Studios.

His friend came and picked us up and carried us back to his home in Hollywood Hills.  His wife was Asian.  They lived in a very nice modern house.  They were both very nice and congenial.  Chief Spung and his old Navy friend had a lot of catching up to do.  “What ever happen to blab bla la la”

The wife saw that I was left out of their conversation so she moved over towards me and started talking.  Then there was two conversations going on at the same time.  The wife guided me out of the room to show me around and have a more one on one conversation.  She showed me the rooms of the house, which I don’t remember and showed me the landscaping in the back yard. 

Two big dogs in a fence, adjacent to their side yard were barking at us.  She told me that was Steve McQueen’s dogs.  They knew her and wagged their tails when she talked to them but kept a guarded eye on me.

Steve’s house looked like a normal brick house, it was not a mansion.  The dogs were big, but I don’t remember what kind.

Robert Shaw Film, Cuban Missile Crisis and Me

Sunday evening we went to see the Robert Shaw film MAN OF MANY VOICES at the Rich Theater at the Atlanta Performing Arts Center.

The film editor is Amy Linton, a friend.  We met her through her mother Ruth.

We learned a lot about Robert Shaw.  He was a music conductor during changing times. He went where his ear for music led him and the decisions he made was based on the quality of music, which has nothing to do race or politics.  He was a conductor with guts.

Also Robert Shaw was a heavy drinker, womanizer, and not a family man.  He hardly knew his children of his first marriage.

The film clips sequences were well placed and his story from birth to death held us spellbound.  

The film also brought back plenty of personal memories.  For instance, Robert Shaw and his Shaw Chorale singers went to Moscow to give a concert.

This was in 1962.  The U.S.A. and Russia were facing each other ready for showdown over the newly discovered missiles headed for Cuba, which became known as the "Cuban Missile Crisis".   Both sides were ready use nuclear weapons.  If a balloon popped it might have caused WWIII.

I remember some of us local good old boys met over a few beers and decided President John Kennedy needed us to get him out of this mess.

I enlisted in the Navy because of the Cuban Missile Crisis.  But, because of the beer I drunk the night before they found sugar in my blood, so I had to come back after drinking plenty of water, flushing myself out, so to speak.  Then I was accepted.

When the State Department learned that the Shaw Choralers   planned to sing some very religious timeless Christmas songs, including Bach Mass, Minor B,  the State Department had a fit.  Russia was ruled by the anti-religious  Communist U.S.S.R.  Religious songs and services were strictly prohibited.

The State Department  warned this music could set off World War III.  I think  Shaw felt:  Good music deserved to be played.

He went ahead and played the music.

Which might have soothed the stress between the two nations, not tightened it.  The Cuban Missile Crisis was no longer a crisis.

And all this time I thought the Cuban Missile Crisis was all about me.

Memories of Two Marietta Buildings

When I cross the railroad tracks here and look south I think of the Kennesaw House/Marietta Museum of History,  Train Depot's ticket window, Visitors' Center, THE GREAT LOCOMOTIVE CHASE (1862), and Hazel the Tailor.

Hazel was a little short bald-headed quiet man.  He had a little workroom on the ground floor of the Kennesaw House. 

Back in my high school days the fad was pegged pants, mostly Levis.  Pegged pants were taken up so the leg had no breathing room.  They were a tight squeeze all way down to your ankles.  Lord knows how we squeezed our feet through.  If you wanted pegged pants Hazel was your man.

The railway ticket office held special memories because my friend Van Callaway worked there.  If Van needed movie money he would visit his dad Carl Callaway at the train depot and receive movie money and a lecture.

The Metamorphosis of LBJ

This past weekend we watched the special ALL THE WAY, which was about Lyndon B. Johnson just after he inherited the Presidency from assassinated John F. Kennedy.

Just before Kennedy was assassinated he got the ball rolling on a progressive Civil Rights Bill.  Was the new president, conservative right-winger, Lyndon Baines Johnson expected to pick up the ball and push it through to become law?

Lyndon did.  He ruthlessly took on his cronies in a ruthless fight and won.  And I think the world is a better place because he did.

Of course, many of his old peers became his enemies.  People doubted if the Democrat Party would nominated to run for a term of his own.  But he was.

The special showed him at the Democratic Convention accepting the nomination.

NOW!  This is where I come in:

I can tell you the date he was nominated, August 27, 1964.  I was in the huge crowd outside the Convention Hall in Atlantic City.

I had to Google LBJ to know the specific date.  What I looked for was LBJ's birth day.  It is August 27th.   After he was nominated he and Lady Bird came to a balcony overlooking the hoards of people on the Boardwalk and waved at us.  And they shot ooo and aaahhh fireworks over the waters and the fireworks spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY LBJ and we all song "Happy Birthday" to him.

Then they left the balcony and someone shut the doors and several fights broke out in the crowds, there were several groups of protesters with their own axes to grind. 

The Old Coca Cola Building in Marietta

This used to be the Coca Cola Bottling Company in Marietta.  It was located o Roswell Street across from the National Cemetery (foreground).  We lived about 4 blocks away in the Clay Homes.  I was preschool age. My Daddy and I would take my red wagon and pull it to the Coke building and purchase a case of Cokes.  I don't remember but I bet we carried the Coke empty bottles with us to trade with.    I did not think of it until  just now when I looked at this picture again.  How did we get that wagon up and down two flights of concrete stairs with 48 bottles?

Maybe we walked up Coryell Street, which was the street beside it on the north side and went in the back.

Coretta Scott King at the High Museum

This is Rodin's statue THE SHADE.  It was donated to the High Museum by the French government in memory of the 122 Atlanta Art Patrons and plane crew killed on Air France Flight 007 that crashed when it attempted to leave Paris's airport.

When I took this picture a couple years ago it was in front of the High Museum near the sidewalk on Peachtree Street.  I think it is still there.

It was inside the building, outside the concert auditorium.  Once about 1973, when it was inside we went to a concert.  Don Lash, a visiting Navy friend was with us. We were early of course, and I had a chance to study the statue  I noticed moment in peripheral   vision, fairly close.  I turned to look and was awed that was Coretta Scott King.. 

I couldn't keep my eyes off her.  We stood there looking.  She at the statue and I at her.  She was so close I could have shake her hand; even goose her. She was a very graceful lady.  I didn't speak to her because I didn't know what to say... I knew from experience what I would have said would sound too eager to impress her and come out awkward  or say something wrongly put.

When she gracefully glided away I kicked myself for not speaking.

About a fifteen years later I got to know her niece Debbie, (Coretta's brother's daughter) a co-worker at the Post Office.  It wasn't hard to talk to her at all, she was very much down to earth and witty.

Happy Martin Luther King Day!

These Butts Are Made For Walking

Out and about for the past several days I couldn't help but noticing that for women boots are the fashion.  At one place I mentally started counting the women wearing boots and lost count. 

Which brings up my memory of Leiters Department Store in the 1950s.  Leiters was located in downtown Marietta at East Park Square and Lawrence Street.  It has since been bulldozed and replaced by a shiny county building.  It was owned and operated

by the Leiter family.  It seems the matriarch, Mrs. Leiter had a hands- on with every operation of the store, sales, merchandising, and inventory.  She knew where everything was at in the huge store. 

I think Mrs. Leiter had ties with the Old Country because  She had an accent.  She pronounced boots BUTTS.  When my irresponsible out-for-a-goodtime adolescent friends picked up on her pronunciation of boots they often went into the store, as a group, and one was supposedly in market for boots.  And she would tell them what kind of BUTTS she had  and where each pair was located in the store.  In her recital of what kind of BUTTS and where in the store I bet she said BUTTS  almost 30 times.   

Her recitals would have my friends shaking, biting their tongues, and grabbing their crotch to keep from  pissing on themselves giggling.

Our  formative years when we were growing into maturity. 

My Naval Years

When someone thanks me for serving I swell up and say something like "Oh shucks!" or "Somebody had to."

Here is a summary of my photo collection during my Navy years:  

Bourbon Street, New Orleans

Al Hirt Club, New Orleans.  I got to stand outside and listen to Al blow his horn rehearsing

.

Me Greenwich Village, NYC

Me swinging like Tarzan into the lake at Carmel, NY

Don Lash showing off his black eye a Marine gave him the night before at the E.M. Club

Don Lash with Empire State Building

Dick Day and I exorcising a pot in front of an antique store in New Hope, Pa

Me playing like I am a real Bell Helicopter pilot

Our barracks.  Don Lash is flattened on the ground with books around him at my direction.  I am up near the top of a water tower.

Our Barracks temporarily mascot, a snow woman with boobs and a Bud.

Joe Rexroad and Don Lash looking down at the Hudson River from the Roosevelt Estate (Hyde Park I think)

Big Bad me

Reuben Collier modeling something fluffy he came across someplace. 

My two first cousins Rodney and Billy Petty, Joe Rexroad, and I, playing Cowboys and Indians. in Carmel, NY.  Picture taken and developed by Don Lash

Washington Square, NYC

Don Lash at Times Square, NYC