tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60833403661697132822024-03-23T05:14:46.435-05:00Growing Up In WaldronBill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.comBlogger135125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-16770473307531208682023-10-22T17:25:00.000-05:002023-10-22T17:25:04.457-05:00<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGmnIwDTSafyZj9rqua1kyBWVJgButUBS2t9dbFbPnSg_T7Xcxc3EYTD39Q-tQ5kcoNpLV731ir2PpYK6E7GGLeZjIafDEXm4CCCFyAAss4Vl1oyEkBe5q0MQBKveiXKdwVNpsn9UXg8L7Fyq2kYJVxnrJ2P-p1aMmWqSS-FQF75CifAWExwv4DmOKtjC/s640/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="640" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGmnIwDTSafyZj9rqua1kyBWVJgButUBS2t9dbFbPnSg_T7Xcxc3EYTD39Q-tQ5kcoNpLV731ir2PpYK6E7GGLeZjIafDEXm4CCCFyAAss4Vl1oyEkBe5q0MQBKveiXKdwVNpsn9UXg8L7Fyq2kYJVxnrJ2P-p1aMmWqSS-FQF75CifAWExwv4DmOKtjC/w588-h371/IMG_2876.jpg" width="588" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>Vermont - October 2023</b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> For many years I've wanted to see New England in the fall. This year, my wife Glenda and I made it happen. We flew into Burlington International Airport, picked up our rental car, and headed to beautiful Stowe, Vermont, about an hour away. </p><p>Our room was booked at the Innsbrook Inn. The online reviews were good, but in all honesty I would describe the accommodations as a Motel 6 experience at a Hilton price. However, the breakfast served was excellent, and the grounds were beautiful. We arrived in time for a really good supper at a nearby restaurant called Matterhorn. We loved the beautiful mums in their garden!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-809PLmpkYxvxzNUe3Bka3VPGa6N-yMUrdfAFQNPVK8IcUSjyhAyZW9RkJm0aWmSGKYG9KXx57Kyme-4cgt0kTQnkWaQHUmmTdCGHQ8TlqP4ADXlFWZgXWaXl0MNO0vFYt8hyo8hOEa7e3lqy1yv1WXX7h2hin9Od17u9xnyHANCJhbIdmUlLP3jgA_F/s640/IMG_2873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="478" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-809PLmpkYxvxzNUe3Bka3VPGa6N-yMUrdfAFQNPVK8IcUSjyhAyZW9RkJm0aWmSGKYG9KXx57Kyme-4cgt0kTQnkWaQHUmmTdCGHQ8TlqP4ADXlFWZgXWaXl0MNO0vFYt8hyo8hOEa7e3lqy1yv1WXX7h2hin9Od17u9xnyHANCJhbIdmUlLP3jgA_F/s320/IMG_2873.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit of old Austria</td></tr></tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWhGZ0HYVD6kf2fD69bEunYqH_aqwDSeXBIKGyMNyA8QlKv3eEu7IPdvmfDCT4E-Eq9xthm5rKdNhkcoru4AG7zpRjwKO3PPadNysvnNT-6HbbWslV9frCsF8TD__ZLIEIY1G_hNNfxR5MDB-Pjdbc84jLsPii2R3CKbCODGbSxrWTY0Xlq7hNoVAOxagg/s640/IMG_2852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="438" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWhGZ0HYVD6kf2fD69bEunYqH_aqwDSeXBIKGyMNyA8QlKv3eEu7IPdvmfDCT4E-Eq9xthm5rKdNhkcoru4AG7zpRjwKO3PPadNysvnNT-6HbbWslV9frCsF8TD__ZLIEIY1G_hNNfxR5MDB-Pjdbc84jLsPii2R3CKbCODGbSxrWTY0Xlq7hNoVAOxagg/s320/IMG_2852.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><br /><br /><p>On our first full day we decided to visit Main Street in Stowe. What a charming little town! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDau7bG8WbhPHUG8kTxr5YI-RxVat-gb9JZOVZKCwtXQIIwWGM_YoCEoAuezcGuD9rfXDyis-4Oshqlx7ecIxiTrfTCZcjTw4kt5YDM_r3wNMdmz0Fo9D-9sXKlOASjLbtsZFvVGHmZ2f_3Q6qCfcKG_EWs3CbzGxsgLnTYQmF-C25K3GnVKvwxdJg_Dy/s640/IMG_2853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="484" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDau7bG8WbhPHUG8kTxr5YI-RxVat-gb9JZOVZKCwtXQIIwWGM_YoCEoAuezcGuD9rfXDyis-4Oshqlx7ecIxiTrfTCZcjTw4kt5YDM_r3wNMdmz0Fo9D-9sXKlOASjLbtsZFvVGHmZ2f_3Q6qCfcKG_EWs3CbzGxsgLnTYQmF-C25K3GnVKvwxdJg_Dy/w357-h472/IMG_2853.jpg" width="357" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMhKQstz9PMlnv2UG-uCfLZ7qaqeTDBmQcdR5n-YLXZrRw91LBeOXqoxaVNoeFtdp1_uXxr2HZThAQN2DYj3jNYCXgi9B1t79cu3lv3wiRRiozSahNqG6DCTpdLK7WBNUHK4ynf5LwcSwedfC-cIJvfNcnZbThD4yy-OkfecbnRFBfSzOFOSi4C7RmcYR/s640/IMG_2854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="640" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMhKQstz9PMlnv2UG-uCfLZ7qaqeTDBmQcdR5n-YLXZrRw91LBeOXqoxaVNoeFtdp1_uXxr2HZThAQN2DYj3jNYCXgi9B1t79cu3lv3wiRRiozSahNqG6DCTpdLK7WBNUHK4ynf5LwcSwedfC-cIJvfNcnZbThD4yy-OkfecbnRFBfSzOFOSi4C7RmcYR/w522-h390/IMG_2854.jpg" width="522" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEyNByCNtT2W87tUF5VcIQ4YUtPFDH-fD2vjilFQOlhXlR6XW-GR-tHf7c5A3SP1akRiAcn23i1UZOX4WkY11wVZ8l97gcAujBh7qmE-BopcaQzG_SqUfIb_0uaXRngyKHuwOUSP9lGeJvflF_yNsDhgZnuRgoNCU5MUTAzY3aLBWFIOzT9diIo31LWe5/s640/IMG_2856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="330" height="604" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEyNByCNtT2W87tUF5VcIQ4YUtPFDH-fD2vjilFQOlhXlR6XW-GR-tHf7c5A3SP1akRiAcn23i1UZOX4WkY11wVZ8l97gcAujBh7qmE-BopcaQzG_SqUfIb_0uaXRngyKHuwOUSP9lGeJvflF_yNsDhgZnuRgoNCU5MUTAzY3aLBWFIOzT9diIo31LWe5/w312-h604/IMG_2856.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6DT2iUqMoTwTPX3h53_za7SjLDFP10NUdoxVtI56utPeEWVbXy03cCShhlj5eK8yDQjlVfbSbTuclfSI8GIYcPS98VFwOEqa2mz6DlIoJC15FvqYXlFoTu-8QJ66ImnG-gbIivrZl52_KZy2RvtV3I-Ux6hRJon1rqUabLai8aO40l92NFsrs3DixFE9/s640/IMG_2857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6DT2iUqMoTwTPX3h53_za7SjLDFP10NUdoxVtI56utPeEWVbXy03cCShhlj5eK8yDQjlVfbSbTuclfSI8GIYcPS98VFwOEqa2mz6DlIoJC15FvqYXlFoTu-8QJ66ImnG-gbIivrZl52_KZy2RvtV3I-Ux6hRJon1rqUabLai8aO40l92NFsrs3DixFE9/w339-h450/IMG_2857.jpg" width="339" /></a></div><br /><p>We stopped by the Visitor Center so I could leave a record of our visit. I think my aim for "Van Buren" was just a tad off.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVaD58yZjYStDVLlalqeftykhN_YOogZRmlBKLeUAZ-jaGvKEVt1dImncbnklwvk3yPIfiE4n4UnZVfp59MCEL7k_Ozvk-R-LNlGSku_eG52OcUPgsiJvrgyObyJ4h3q73gk6CwlQh7IKl-OjbO-ZoasGZmUMg4euXMFQKrbUwPOVmSNmYV9G2h8ndjKiB/s640/IMG_2858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="457" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVaD58yZjYStDVLlalqeftykhN_YOogZRmlBKLeUAZ-jaGvKEVt1dImncbnklwvk3yPIfiE4n4UnZVfp59MCEL7k_Ozvk-R-LNlGSku_eG52OcUPgsiJvrgyObyJ4h3q73gk6CwlQh7IKl-OjbO-ZoasGZmUMg4euXMFQKrbUwPOVmSNmYV9G2h8ndjKiB/w345-h457/IMG_2858.jpg" width="345" /></a></div><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>vv<br /></p><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgzUsDOvrUzzNdmRh77xUxh7ZubS9mpzuSHYRNQU27okMwFmMdxvjaeAErGusvv_1EVpd0V8HCuouutykIsijWYakrvOD9lzo1nbo665e2D8kcHnmCOgz9MPN17Tv1SsP2c_38uI8OzwiXyzH6yBM513FpvdFHbOadHHynrlEruL4G7sgY5afSwbnNjST/s640/IMG_2859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfgzUsDOvrUzzNdmRh77xUxh7ZubS9mpzuSHYRNQU27okMwFmMdxvjaeAErGusvv_1EVpd0V8HCuouutykIsijWYakrvOD9lzo1nbo665e2D8kcHnmCOgz9MPN17Tv1SsP2c_38uI8OzwiXyzH6yBM513FpvdFHbOadHHynrlEruL4G7sgY5afSwbnNjST/w321-h426/IMG_2859.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We spent all day walking around, visiting the shops and taking in the sights. I love New England architecture, and walking around Stowe was like being in an episode of one of my favorite shows, "This Old House." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmLAzrGwXqhZAupU4BadWzp9Dmn3mKTRDkke7C8BQkLNF8Zg-vqRf2PujrHT0opU4ZnRRJ9j43f1yrCrYvRCmUAKwVLcE628gBzgQtNhdSWoNhcidHoDdETuPabyF0IdgWnXP5uLk7cbagXMeRxYYJ6Ewmszae6jdZbRI2YCHIzE4O5464ocJ370NiTNi/s640/IMG_2860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="464" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmLAzrGwXqhZAupU4BadWzp9Dmn3mKTRDkke7C8BQkLNF8Zg-vqRf2PujrHT0opU4ZnRRJ9j43f1yrCrYvRCmUAKwVLcE628gBzgQtNhdSWoNhcidHoDdETuPabyF0IdgWnXP5uLk7cbagXMeRxYYJ6Ewmszae6jdZbRI2YCHIzE4O5464ocJ370NiTNi/w384-h530/IMG_2860.jpg" width="384" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many online pictures of Stowe feature this iconic church building.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktEKppqQ-k3f6xZe1MPMq4LATtE93h9mG-ZpXlCU1_lAMa5OqJgGBhnQLjVA6ZOl0AxIEN93WdrhL6x77kYSYZ1zMC9_NBwpJLpMd9VEWOkNhxp8lIjmFfZRgFloRbbarpMYpcmUDWrUeWhD5QWeyq1wzgXjRXHqJdH7UymvRLXFdFfwb84tQvtBOMSrX/s640/IMG_2862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="344" height="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktEKppqQ-k3f6xZe1MPMq4LATtE93h9mG-ZpXlCU1_lAMa5OqJgGBhnQLjVA6ZOl0AxIEN93WdrhL6x77kYSYZ1zMC9_NBwpJLpMd9VEWOkNhxp8lIjmFfZRgFloRbbarpMYpcmUDWrUeWhD5QWeyq1wzgXjRXHqJdH7UymvRLXFdFfwb84tQvtBOMSrX/w313-h582/IMG_2862.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nice young couple from France took our picture at Stowe's Halloween display. We really enjoyed visiting with them. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrinNEgfXHgeJGaaeUH6VHszLkGk5-VrbUYl_BeXIy0-GWE045pEIc54z_LbqH3W2fGCmYl1ivYbWkRmXITNorTRcHDSMgD8ARIJy42ieU0dMdvZMPYZRq_3ZMioZbQbbRsV54bC3BIvBzAsLz7SDWKyBXoGtcYuf_DhIGjrnNeykj8-ZiAtQ_mBbsI8-a/s640/IMG_2863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="582" height="465" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrinNEgfXHgeJGaaeUH6VHszLkGk5-VrbUYl_BeXIy0-GWE045pEIc54z_LbqH3W2fGCmYl1ivYbWkRmXITNorTRcHDSMgD8ARIJy42ieU0dMdvZMPYZRq_3ZMioZbQbbRsV54bC3BIvBzAsLz7SDWKyBXoGtcYuf_DhIGjrnNeykj8-ZiAtQ_mBbsI8-a/w423-h465/IMG_2863.jpg" width="423" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKzt5OtZiNZfNmslgVwNHRjo-oteUbxQ9QVR9rYEKw8jry0Rkovm4HtHFkoTjWaF1Jg4CFceRx_wfzLH0wZdSDKxBSiGsVocMdV4YXt36sDdkaf4qQdZ4Xry2O_V1e3JqXbmIeJtexlyHLOAw8zwDxxU-jXn0LWhRUQin7waJJBpVAjiiKaGrZBUFewIx/s640/IMG_2864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="484" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKzt5OtZiNZfNmslgVwNHRjo-oteUbxQ9QVR9rYEKw8jry0Rkovm4HtHFkoTjWaF1Jg4CFceRx_wfzLH0wZdSDKxBSiGsVocMdV4YXt36sDdkaf4qQdZ4Xry2O_V1e3JqXbmIeJtexlyHLOAw8zwDxxU-jXn0LWhRUQin7waJJBpVAjiiKaGrZBUFewIx/w413-h546/IMG_2864.jpg" width="413" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kCXnXaFXwh0imG1sBwXtAUHyljBlMHBPU93TwOj8z1IJSEykryCiyJkS2VIXeI1KZRrIos5ZYtGSV51q2fkoQfiiu6nidMMkYj5KfoZLTkHdW8_UHdlQQ2VbXFEMCgStRYtbYFJ-IEhSwi0K2UfFNEgnKuUCKlZWWOMcLq-3jzvcBPc1icrwpPq5EwdH/s640/IMG_2865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="484" height="513" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kCXnXaFXwh0imG1sBwXtAUHyljBlMHBPU93TwOj8z1IJSEykryCiyJkS2VIXeI1KZRrIos5ZYtGSV51q2fkoQfiiu6nidMMkYj5KfoZLTkHdW8_UHdlQQ2VbXFEMCgStRYtbYFJ-IEhSwi0K2UfFNEgnKuUCKlZWWOMcLq-3jzvcBPc1icrwpPq5EwdH/w388-h513/IMG_2865.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While Glenda got a massage, I took the opportunity to explore this old cemetery. Most of the graves were from the 1800s. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC95JeXsr6be5jruI5hMLU-6fXXEPqX49VWCSlldAA5-UKVT9uyzJMmXQpdW2NBR8HHklAmf_TGNCz0tV0PEYgYeu8Xz-ykXm8hg01L1vIEOAoBqcjyzt0MmAt5skvlzgxorASglcKJf0-yfFHrFZcdpVOQOfSzAzs8DYrz5Iq_j67zKOvGM68D9B5cMdM/s640/IMG_2866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="640" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC95JeXsr6be5jruI5hMLU-6fXXEPqX49VWCSlldAA5-UKVT9uyzJMmXQpdW2NBR8HHklAmf_TGNCz0tV0PEYgYeu8Xz-ykXm8hg01L1vIEOAoBqcjyzt0MmAt5skvlzgxorASglcKJf0-yfFHrFZcdpVOQOfSzAzs8DYrz5Iq_j67zKOvGM68D9B5cMdM/w474-h351/IMG_2866.jpg" width="474" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next day we drove over to a place called Smuggler's Notch. I don't know the story behind that name, but it was my favorite part of our trip. I didn't get any pictures of the winding road up the mountain, but I assure you it makes the Pig Trail look like a piece of cake. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDgra0-mDbSOqQxy6MJVIVDdgb9x7uQSdVmDKMcS4_-mnsgNVkF94pBLybw0EFdVN_2mTK53ZWHv2u5SYiO27Qp0COuH_HGX6L5rLKPattXMwL0McWqkCEpnun93sUaDyQGQpQv7anQylBBSESY6a7SAuZZQEivZhQS2bf94oEfDYaMjwPhzi7ZL6npqh/s640/IMG_2868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="640" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDgra0-mDbSOqQxy6MJVIVDdgb9x7uQSdVmDKMcS4_-mnsgNVkF94pBLybw0EFdVN_2mTK53ZWHv2u5SYiO27Qp0COuH_HGX6L5rLKPattXMwL0McWqkCEpnun93sUaDyQGQpQv7anQylBBSESY6a7SAuZZQEivZhQS2bf94oEfDYaMjwPhzi7ZL6npqh/w485-h371/IMG_2868.jpg" width="485" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdllMUgK6d7rh0VQrdpS1dd1B7_RHx3bJnxBjpTf4m3CxFk61kq1hiMZChecGyi9BgywXUYhaInsYIwuRQmTmXbf8el-UJ6xN7lZJCp4s1jS_GUdZiUM-0q5xTMG2fxRzxNP7hYQ9CVgn_89ux5fI7vL-ALnR5wdeXwyMIE52aPv4yA-TYW3bib8jivx_/s640/IMG_2869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="640" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdllMUgK6d7rh0VQrdpS1dd1B7_RHx3bJnxBjpTf4m3CxFk61kq1hiMZChecGyi9BgywXUYhaInsYIwuRQmTmXbf8el-UJ6xN7lZJCp4s1jS_GUdZiUM-0q5xTMG2fxRzxNP7hYQ9CVgn_89ux5fI7vL-ALnR5wdeXwyMIE52aPv4yA-TYW3bib8jivx_/w483-h370/IMG_2869.jpg" width="483" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvibij45_V9DIX0mHxbJUk1C2RD4kicVf2yyOoQ7QjpAEI0TKSIzexUZm6xOL2en_QzcHAQnqpmn-lAOH5Cj1pziWLqVRSvVVZYlkvVu04RmSBebNF7G2uRxE0EULNmK2KRxARh9cvMBqLdsk7wnlmw2kLTMfI_m1kFBamzAEUeZUN9_jeikLKIeo6Lc-/s640/IMG_2870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="503" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvibij45_V9DIX0mHxbJUk1C2RD4kicVf2yyOoQ7QjpAEI0TKSIzexUZm6xOL2en_QzcHAQnqpmn-lAOH5Cj1pziWLqVRSvVVZYlkvVu04RmSBebNF7G2uRxE0EULNmK2KRxARh9cvMBqLdsk7wnlmw2kLTMfI_m1kFBamzAEUeZUN9_jeikLKIeo6Lc-/w377-h503/IMG_2870.jpg" width="377" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbCOgCSx31fNolypdh5TprRsqQL03pokoK93w6I-RfATGLUzqIgoXnLhxC4vAuUApUWUdtBcBJHTanFWWnOUvC15gfRfa1RoXSiRbndxhi1dhyKn7F6Liu8vLw-waW-7qtjtTWM1On3bZCXz_GL9hfRn9AaBJDk5q8I7dGkY_be4D0R_kViZvGFxKq_ZQ/s640/IMG_2871.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="640" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbCOgCSx31fNolypdh5TprRsqQL03pokoK93w6I-RfATGLUzqIgoXnLhxC4vAuUApUWUdtBcBJHTanFWWnOUvC15gfRfa1RoXSiRbndxhi1dhyKn7F6Liu8vLw-waW-7qtjtTWM1On3bZCXz_GL9hfRn9AaBJDk5q8I7dGkY_be4D0R_kViZvGFxKq_ZQ/w484-h364/IMG_2871.jpg" width="484" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxIIXXXKJT9vgl5VrBARixTBxkcsE5j3u5d9-AoSYQHHm3jzOXkFpxC5V0YDjzYQOqmXAe04uCfbV3_IdjPOfHTRYK8rnb9x0s_yuZZigysAhyphenhypheneOOis3Z2QrfEvAzMA3Pn32Bxd6NUNbJsP4htwu6kIIgKnu4wjUpRcDvvt7NmUK0LeZxkce1MS9uT1Hnc/s640/IMG_2872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxIIXXXKJT9vgl5VrBARixTBxkcsE5j3u5d9-AoSYQHHm3jzOXkFpxC5V0YDjzYQOqmXAe04uCfbV3_IdjPOfHTRYK8rnb9x0s_yuZZigysAhyphenhypheneOOis3Z2QrfEvAzMA3Pn32Bxd6NUNbJsP4htwu6kIIgKnu4wjUpRcDvvt7NmUK0LeZxkce1MS9uT1Hnc/w479-h360/IMG_2872.jpg" width="479" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On day three, we just drove around some more; another visit to Smuggler's Notch, a trip to Waterbury for Cider (and Apple Cider Donuts!), and we ended up in a cool little town called Johnsonville that we both decided we wanted to move to.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWjG0n7DfzqwSXDm-ISziHAPE87QguNaalxczwrKjBPrTyJy7lDnSkLVg24nzI3GQWptTCfOlEQ7dIahfJ5_Hopd6_zMGwdaT6kMOtLQoMMuCkDYbrWyLaWPNuZ6OK3gmMDMItNa398SP8Y1GsfkDIcOmo224jqHOWbf5rG8hmNR2obCLsSq4Ej8RpEui/s640/IMG_2874.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="484" height="515" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWjG0n7DfzqwSXDm-ISziHAPE87QguNaalxczwrKjBPrTyJy7lDnSkLVg24nzI3GQWptTCfOlEQ7dIahfJ5_Hopd6_zMGwdaT6kMOtLQoMMuCkDYbrWyLaWPNuZ6OK3gmMDMItNa398SP8Y1GsfkDIcOmo224jqHOWbf5rG8hmNR2obCLsSq4Ej8RpEui/w390-h515/IMG_2874.jpg" width="390" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Later we made a stop at the Trapp Family Lodge, a beautiful place that I think is owned by decendents of the von Trapp family of Sound of Music Fame. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCI2OHbTW0j9Lqeo3D3QbxbDjMyUavc8nFa2KeRGxRyB8Br8-sPl68x6zVq2bTi99yklTREOM7GWsmRBV5HRKrzASPRRym4KELrs9XjPfkGsRFNU6679MykzwFIVrO9DBfYaTkFceL98DPXyoOgpSvIBsnArQUbJBd_Fbva7UytNBq0GqnMYVZ1_VzIwn_/s640/IMG_2875.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCI2OHbTW0j9Lqeo3D3QbxbDjMyUavc8nFa2KeRGxRyB8Br8-sPl68x6zVq2bTi99yklTREOM7GWsmRBV5HRKrzASPRRym4KELrs9XjPfkGsRFNU6679MykzwFIVrO9DBfYaTkFceL98DPXyoOgpSvIBsnArQUbJBd_Fbva7UytNBq0GqnMYVZ1_VzIwn_/w312-h414/IMG_2875.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trapp Family Lodge had many beautiful flower arrangements like this. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMxbb1RvV4LE6uNnkCsqpAobkdIeTB-HcsAXNeJ7csKiM6B9KXvE5tvcwojYWi8rASRxjkwVdF1Es1LuKAPS4xqm6F64Px0kQeLfXKBc5X7soz1dv1KRWueq6anau5-okj7QZXQeIyNC5jpHUg8QKtZlgOfsRyyYyVoyoZJIGEd4plJ-yV-mNChozEMQm/s640/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="640" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMxbb1RvV4LE6uNnkCsqpAobkdIeTB-HcsAXNeJ7csKiM6B9KXvE5tvcwojYWi8rASRxjkwVdF1Es1LuKAPS4xqm6F64Px0kQeLfXKBc5X7soz1dv1KRWueq6anau5-okj7QZXQeIyNC5jpHUg8QKtZlgOfsRyyYyVoyoZJIGEd4plJ-yV-mNChozEMQm/w548-h346/IMG_2876.jpg" width="548" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road from the Lodge.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfCa-FX4yonXy9nI340LYEtzNpxCK6fgXr7lr_YcxrWElKd9Gtwm_aSNS5tFl7O9_AlLH7Jf2YGMpT97iFkhQ1B-lTZVayIQ0Zq_t5hQ4tenQfxTlUILzOke2PmuN9XcBXW8buAEK_bnvPkKkIXQ_vHdf5-AMHb3XKHMueUCy48Kxpw524ZFWBoxhXb_c/s640/IMG_2877.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="530" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfCa-FX4yonXy9nI340LYEtzNpxCK6fgXr7lr_YcxrWElKd9Gtwm_aSNS5tFl7O9_AlLH7Jf2YGMpT97iFkhQ1B-lTZVayIQ0Zq_t5hQ4tenQfxTlUILzOke2PmuN9XcBXW8buAEK_bnvPkKkIXQ_vHdf5-AMHb3XKHMueUCy48Kxpw524ZFWBoxhXb_c/w373-h450/IMG_2877.jpg" width="373" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty common scene in this part of Vermont.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The rest of the day, we explored the grounds of the Innsbruck Inn. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifUDwxpW_ZsqbQ3BzXBJdM81an2NyNoR4LbqppCgnk1xARyF6SOKFKiOxrRAtSZcYZ6qT-MAZggvecUY3f8ZyLOR_u3rztE6Q_5AMrGSWeomyzW3AaKxi5nk0nHWoEvngt755KGjQHV7iz8m2hK0nXtBjM0LlsSRpSxZUwqmZNTHSF9jP8KNM082NCl12T/s640/IMG_2878.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifUDwxpW_ZsqbQ3BzXBJdM81an2NyNoR4LbqppCgnk1xARyF6SOKFKiOxrRAtSZcYZ6qT-MAZggvecUY3f8ZyLOR_u3rztE6Q_5AMrGSWeomyzW3AaKxi5nk0nHWoEvngt755KGjQHV7iz8m2hK0nXtBjM0LlsSRpSxZUwqmZNTHSF9jP8KNM082NCl12T/w360-h478/IMG_2878.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVMYQAoZumxgTfNzxUnn9RN1YoVb2eyPN5rwW3jhs3Qr-cZGJgjYQWNfd0zHhKoSRFVvfKmX1n0lLFwD4gFVkJIvLHXD880o40I-ygJ0_OAcwBbIiXG7UGLlVK8LzeIB9xK1CRbBdE-Fh6PNjNlImNdWMeMWS5UHgr8CSNCh5ZeuJSkos5a5xMXqiLVuJ/s640/IMG_2879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="492" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVMYQAoZumxgTfNzxUnn9RN1YoVb2eyPN5rwW3jhs3Qr-cZGJgjYQWNfd0zHhKoSRFVvfKmX1n0lLFwD4gFVkJIvLHXD880o40I-ygJ0_OAcwBbIiXG7UGLlVK8LzeIB9xK1CRbBdE-Fh6PNjNlImNdWMeMWS5UHgr8CSNCh5ZeuJSkos5a5xMXqiLVuJ/w358-h466/IMG_2879.jpg" width="358" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKAogdyOMIXvlgSHld42HyEP4t-rxC_PwSSJkclt1MdD1t7blI1-qIYewMixULsZO6I5xZiwfajiv1SvgpBLos458gilE1LnHGx3w5Bm3sMXOxsfpcZaUFZIAetvO7eBJpDDU22QCy0YLQurBKjFOi3MtzVvuVuJFEFUWN4v03KqMTGX5g-amM7wMYRgS/s640/IMG_2880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKAogdyOMIXvlgSHld42HyEP4t-rxC_PwSSJkclt1MdD1t7blI1-qIYewMixULsZO6I5xZiwfajiv1SvgpBLos458gilE1LnHGx3w5Bm3sMXOxsfpcZaUFZIAetvO7eBJpDDU22QCy0YLQurBKjFOi3MtzVvuVuJFEFUWN4v03KqMTGX5g-amM7wMYRgS/w337-h447/IMG_2880.jpg" width="337" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpfNvsolGfYmjaWvuUW120TRRhqHzQITBpS-Fhf2jcwNN3jyiKWVXKhTJfrxouONCSicDmU4UqcHisIqj76TsppWTr5J0RUszJLo_t7Si09oprE5Le3YEgQRADJpCGzUHLIASbTxFVUgWyDLX6LEugL-KKePKfBL7u3WA5aoef35jjPq7hCEwBk2a9jPk/s640/IMG_2881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="364" height="529" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpfNvsolGfYmjaWvuUW120TRRhqHzQITBpS-Fhf2jcwNN3jyiKWVXKhTJfrxouONCSicDmU4UqcHisIqj76TsppWTr5J0RUszJLo_t7Si09oprE5Le3YEgQRADJpCGzUHLIASbTxFVUgWyDLX6LEugL-KKePKfBL7u3WA5aoef35jjPq7hCEwBk2a9jPk/w301-h529/IMG_2881.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGJSuwN-H1OsYzN7C482vpdC5yRfUn12a3Ucj6lLR1AmtwgrEl1ChRwhlPIJEg_FfgSq3udAg02yPyW6VodjJm-AiIT7QN4vgOgyFoAId9hYUY4Id0JLhb6tELt89u86CS2pUluPnfLXb7gTg5bX0c6XIwbIWn3VigqZBHSL6Zko64nEZUBxEHemoIcK3/s640/IMG_2882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="640" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGJSuwN-H1OsYzN7C482vpdC5yRfUn12a3Ucj6lLR1AmtwgrEl1ChRwhlPIJEg_FfgSq3udAg02yPyW6VodjJm-AiIT7QN4vgOgyFoAId9hYUY4Id0JLhb6tELt89u86CS2pUluPnfLXb7gTg5bX0c6XIwbIWn3VigqZBHSL6Zko64nEZUBxEHemoIcK3/w503-h374/IMG_2882.jpg" width="503" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeaiw3D83G4Za0uoTZfm-bkHAzpmdgHPQM24KyVEQKZfJ0c7rUT1Yyo4UroOOTAifVEwtGeT2Rt_VWN7tPYQm23yT5e0CYtvaLe71CO2F1CFBU11oIBPCgUt4fP-MUGjbXitlHGlspaaG875L29paiKbICK_JV5o3-o5K0o4EglFNwDj6zy_Pp8tlJ7Zp/s640/IMG_2883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="640" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeaiw3D83G4Za0uoTZfm-bkHAzpmdgHPQM24KyVEQKZfJ0c7rUT1Yyo4UroOOTAifVEwtGeT2Rt_VWN7tPYQm23yT5e0CYtvaLe71CO2F1CFBU11oIBPCgUt4fP-MUGjbXitlHGlspaaG875L29paiKbICK_JV5o3-o5K0o4EglFNwDj6zy_Pp8tlJ7Zp/w505-h374/IMG_2883.jpg" width="505" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5_ZP6-d9rImJtU_iUdJPz7R-IaMykpu416T1Sch2uYgEP0yaWYbovK52-jH-t77utov69MIvTvEup0lNn6-OQCb-h0NRTSwEK7Pr0RbCvxxwsmtd-Y6B5ametEb2lJzqXVGxTFx9qJGn-XhZpVQpJFcFREuppoSdE1gXLb0oWfaH-XDkURrsfmY4T2mU/s640/IMG_2884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="524" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5_ZP6-d9rImJtU_iUdJPz7R-IaMykpu416T1Sch2uYgEP0yaWYbovK52-jH-t77utov69MIvTvEup0lNn6-OQCb-h0NRTSwEK7Pr0RbCvxxwsmtd-Y6B5ametEb2lJzqXVGxTFx9qJGn-XhZpVQpJFcFREuppoSdE1gXLb0oWfaH-XDkURrsfmY4T2mU/w393-h524/IMG_2884.jpg" width="393" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi84f8rffl101P8SU9pkhh_ZCrcFOvdoSNKw2p-DrTzPN9v3QcqJ9Wba2-Twt880OUDo3IgNd2KoMRXlGrPjApf2CdnDzXs_94oORIrlP6_lskTIyHYb1BpDK2xQiK0LaOJz88nU9dw23hc4M9lCNBwyt_nRe5O_a9lVGgP0sUqf3xSrLKxKCKLgBOO0kb/s640/IMG_2885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="332" height="692" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi84f8rffl101P8SU9pkhh_ZCrcFOvdoSNKw2p-DrTzPN9v3QcqJ9Wba2-Twt880OUDo3IgNd2KoMRXlGrPjApf2CdnDzXs_94oORIrlP6_lskTIyHYb1BpDK2xQiK0LaOJz88nU9dw23hc4M9lCNBwyt_nRe5O_a9lVGgP0sUqf3xSrLKxKCKLgBOO0kb/w360-h692/IMG_2885.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As per the sign, this playground is not for sissies.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>On our last night, we went to a fancy restaurant called Harrison's. Glenda had the Beef Bourguignon, and I had a lobster roll (always wanted to try one.) Both dishes were exquisite! I talked Glenda into dessert, and since we couldn't decide between the carrot cake and the peanut butter pie, I suggested we get both. Good call. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9HM0whlJJjMg54YII7musqqgpWSyJJuHBO2VN_cFd4lyWzB1DLdzrkAttUAIZTkBMfvgGSDMHLqMOdpUy29LPejsf7hofSM7jSH3bjZDU4Ll8VjmjUqVBbwUZepVbb0bSlTnolEzyKIjo0uvI1EScPJ_i0I4wlLSlAbyNeLevyPHYEfbU-cFbEprRRfS/s640/IMG_2888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="509" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9HM0whlJJjMg54YII7musqqgpWSyJJuHBO2VN_cFd4lyWzB1DLdzrkAttUAIZTkBMfvgGSDMHLqMOdpUy29LPejsf7hofSM7jSH3bjZDU4Ll8VjmjUqVBbwUZepVbb0bSlTnolEzyKIjo0uvI1EScPJ_i0I4wlLSlAbyNeLevyPHYEfbU-cFbEprRRfS/w382-h509/IMG_2888.jpg" width="382" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NP2oO2ueQHK8gMjB3mr7x0S26H1thtwYdlXHQbO_lACHVHWCGjsZ23iXDOh7fkosXQB3qUME7FP_ibX854H17GmaNlBTGNHRp97N6L8dAyPua-elu2qmxXjhoXtVKS7E1nkKM8bWZa-nWFBy-EX3FHoPSZebww_082TTuWf4RFbN01SgI-CT_yOygDWL/s640/IMG_2889%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="640" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NP2oO2ueQHK8gMjB3mr7x0S26H1thtwYdlXHQbO_lACHVHWCGjsZ23iXDOh7fkosXQB3qUME7FP_ibX854H17GmaNlBTGNHRp97N6L8dAyPua-elu2qmxXjhoXtVKS7E1nkKM8bWZa-nWFBy-EX3FHoPSZebww_082TTuWf4RFbN01SgI-CT_yOygDWL/w469-h446/IMG_2889%20(1).jpg" width="469" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgindbTvBkw8YEYx-AjONuHBR7kXQ2I8ID70NdvLTlQYOq8ThWVhzlopkLBF4NiNqCzQzcUjEujBnCOgW3KAaLGSpZ6BdZ3fUMai8UOh1_INZzlrsAtYMVu-GS6LrcmQhqKHIdO9hmisAK2its-Dmfy6r92hpqtBrD2h4olu2m7nKnu7bEey3QBYjGNXVO3/s640/IMG_2890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="467" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgindbTvBkw8YEYx-AjONuHBR7kXQ2I8ID70NdvLTlQYOq8ThWVhzlopkLBF4NiNqCzQzcUjEujBnCOgW3KAaLGSpZ6BdZ3fUMai8UOh1_INZzlrsAtYMVu-GS6LrcmQhqKHIdO9hmisAK2its-Dmfy6r92hpqtBrD2h4olu2m7nKnu7bEey3QBYjGNXVO3/w350-h467/IMG_2890.jpg" width="350" /></a></div><br /><p>One interesting thing about Harrison's - their menu lists an entree called "Chicken Razorback." I asked our waitress if someone connected with the restaurant was from Arkansas. She seemed confused, so I told her it was a little unexpected to see the word "Razorback" up here, since we were from Arkansas. "Oh," she said, "Arkansas Razorbacks. Is that some kind of mountain range or something?" <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Woo pig, sooie. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYvmkD4HPkHhE7qODBEjLMqgPXwzUj4Bgwaacn4FS25Zi7ISkjUkMFywjIKHjYD-769Exlw2SnF8RoNVpTvrU8gWbhOV9gS56kz0WsNp__CTTQKn712UGAZlk4YV4RIFMoYtiH7rFOr5uOhx27qTxIO8lMwAAL5-pRbYHRU1W4gJRj0xwpGohl9jb1yiC/s640/IMG_2887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="478" height="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYvmkD4HPkHhE7qODBEjLMqgPXwzUj4Bgwaacn4FS25Zi7ISkjUkMFywjIKHjYD-769Exlw2SnF8RoNVpTvrU8gWbhOV9gS56kz0WsNp__CTTQKn712UGAZlk4YV4RIFMoYtiH7rFOr5uOhx27qTxIO8lMwAAL5-pRbYHRU1W4gJRj0xwpGohl9jb1yiC/w468-h626/IMG_2887.jpg" width="468" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>We had an early, early flight the next morning. We would be getting up at 2:00 am, driving an hour through a rainstorm back to Burlington and boarding our flight home. We were sad to leave, but I was also missing all the wild critters that visit my back yard feeder at night. They had raccoons up here in Vermont, but they weren't the same. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROAwwr32g23NjkvOZE4jQfyZaRXP8ZIfdcPRZCF_HXvd3CxPIfFvNbLyZjT3s5skCW5mn_N8rB8yCUYFcynVKfHaJ3N5Uk-WsIVKGfoA8xbEeXiLvzdaKikGfmBdK9ek5SOTh0JDdbcosIomjnpC571t8SZ0RYDbPjhaNrZu7ollsYWdrCw0oQ_NuyiG7/s640/IMG_2886%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROAwwr32g23NjkvOZE4jQfyZaRXP8ZIfdcPRZCF_HXvd3CxPIfFvNbLyZjT3s5skCW5mn_N8rB8yCUYFcynVKfHaJ3N5Uk-WsIVKGfoA8xbEeXiLvzdaKikGfmBdK9ek5SOTh0JDdbcosIomjnpC571t8SZ0RYDbPjhaNrZu7ollsYWdrCw0oQ_NuyiG7/w316-h420/IMG_2886%20(1).jpg" width="316" /></a></div><br /><p>By the way, special shout out to my neighbor buddy Everett, who took care of my wild animals while I was gone. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwE9ORhVn4Jw9qMyyfwidY3SGgztczZqoH-_ebF1uOXaJVOp-gc4irfhNWLshBmIRWCoDmz0TGNC-4Irkr8lGBA0U0Y_17Q68D6ij_dBcIunp3MMwqN3AK6FsOzGUIT0TkR7HAQ9o_RgvAd4X7uEMyXjMTmYrqETwjIwaWICq14VQdXhh0_LzNnFrPKWN7/s640/IMG_2867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="640" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwE9ORhVn4Jw9qMyyfwidY3SGgztczZqoH-_ebF1uOXaJVOp-gc4irfhNWLshBmIRWCoDmz0TGNC-4Irkr8lGBA0U0Y_17Q68D6ij_dBcIunp3MMwqN3AK6FsOzGUIT0TkR7HAQ9o_RgvAd4X7uEMyXjMTmYrqETwjIwaWICq14VQdXhh0_LzNnFrPKWN7/s320/IMG_2867.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We will be going back. When, I'm not too sure, but this beautiful little town now has a place in both our hearts. New England in the fall. It's a dream come true. </div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-6421155402855341102017-10-05T22:48:00.000-05:002017-10-05T22:48:42.414-05:00Another Post from Guest Blogger Gus The Wonder Dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgVq8_ALt4QJFyciaphSFWjwCUCVwlK115VuTuL_uhtnIZcovDBVngZfQbcGuwsOxYqoZOJpaAPwApPmRLaJJ0JGf14kDSOWMgTAYMNlJVnvzBOAJFNRbFhFl8TetoZa8YhbNWrbN_1dv/s1600/Gus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgVq8_ALt4QJFyciaphSFWjwCUCVwlK115VuTuL_uhtnIZcovDBVngZfQbcGuwsOxYqoZOJpaAPwApPmRLaJJ0JGf14kDSOWMgTAYMNlJVnvzBOAJFNRbFhFl8TetoZa8YhbNWrbN_1dv/s320/Gus.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Well, the Big Guy has done something he calls "Retired." I'm not sure what that means, but I do know that he's hanging around the house a lot more than he used to. That's actually a good thing, because now I can keep an eye on him a little better. He needs a lot of care, <a href="http://growingupinwaldron.blogspot.com/2011/06/guest-blogger-gus-dog.html" target="_blank">as I think I've mentioned before.</a> <br />
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It is pretty nice to sit in the recliner with him while he reads the paper. He used to always be in a hurry, but now he takes his time and in fact, sometimes I look back and he's asleep. I usually let the old guy sleep, but every now and then I come out with one short bark just to see him jump.<br />
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I've been able to train him to get me a treat just by staring at him. I've always heard that old humans are hard to train, but not this guy. He seems to catch on real fast. <br />
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Anyway, as I said, I try to stick close. He keeps talking about taking more walks now that he's retired, but so far that hasn't happened. But that's okay with me; he says when it finally turns cooler we will go to the park and I'm all for waiting. But not too cool, I hope. I like to stick my head out the window when we are in that thing with wheels, but I don't like it if it's too cold. <br />
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I'm actually perfectly content to just sit and nap in the recliner while The Big Guy reads his paper. My joints bother me sometimes, so I don't feel like walking as much as I used to. The Big Guy says the same.<br />
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I really get a kick out of The Big Guy trying to feed me (and my frenemy dog, Gracie). She and I have made an agreement not to ever show that we like anything he feeds us. So he keeps bringing in all these different kinds of dog food, and you should see his face when we walk up and sniff the bowl and then turn and walk away! Sometimes I ROFL! Well, actually I just like to roll on the floor, but if I could laugh I would. He always says the same thing; "If the dogs I had when I was growing up got to eat twenty dollar dog food, they would have been the happiest dogs in the world! You guys don't know how lucky you are!" <br />
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Well, actually, we do know but it's not my nature to show it. Every now and then, though, when The Big Guy is reading his paper, I will crawl up in his lap and lay my head on his leg. I can sleep better there than I can in my bed, I guess he makes me feel safe. I could stay that way for hours, but he usually makes me move after a while, something about his "bladder."<br />
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Anyway, I'll keep you posted on this "retirement" thing. I think it's gonna be good. The Big Guy has just about stopped posting anything on this blog, but I stared at him long enough tonight that he let me post. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4YOAta14OC7rxCMRD4StIdjidTxW9-YWdc7rgn2yuvpYBfI4qa9ed-WMlYqWA0mjdkCXB2HbRLr35NtwgRg3S-bGgEIq49H-a1kfVGis0sseLp8ty_Ajg-p_xBdoZ4yboW_MOEuuqZAZq/s1600/Gus+Pole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4YOAta14OC7rxCMRD4StIdjidTxW9-YWdc7rgn2yuvpYBfI4qa9ed-WMlYqWA0mjdkCXB2HbRLr35NtwgRg3S-bGgEIq49H-a1kfVGis0sseLp8ty_Ajg-p_xBdoZ4yboW_MOEuuqZAZq/s320/Gus+Pole.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<i>Gus the Wonder Dog is an 11-year old Yorkie. He is the most intelligent dog on the planet. In addition to occasional blog posts, he once showed his appreciation to his master for taking him for a walk by peeing his master's initials on a telephone pole. </i>Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-33739759204690679762014-09-06T22:07:00.002-05:002014-09-06T22:11:03.040-05:00A Little Waldron Movie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzDUewf4HnHDLjnaNjzFBQwHVBhOo4xHkZlfC3DjeCF-nMk-8U8x0C4LtdlfsQe3G16Q988-IweDVPN4l_KfQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Music: "Missing Vassar" by Ricky Skaggs and Kentucky Thunder from their album "Instrumentals."Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-83708527537936154482014-06-17T10:30:00.000-05:002014-06-17T10:32:01.044-05:00Beautiful Beulah Belle<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>The class of '74 just had our 40th reunion, so it's time for another rerun...</b></span></div>
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The cast: L to R, Kathy Jones, Linda McKinney, Cathy</div>
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Newberry, me, Janice Cottingham, our sponsor Whil Harris,</div>
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Bert Wayne Vines, Marilyn Ferguson, Janet Yates, and </div>
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Carolyn Thompson.</div>
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Let us, for this week, leave behind the halcyon days of elementary school and rocket forward to November, 1972, and the Junior Class Play at Waldron High School.</div>
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The Junior Class was so laden with talent, in fact, that actually two plays were presented. Hail the Hunkering Hero featured Randy Jones and Terry Nichols, among others, in the story of a bumbling football hero. But the play I was in was called Beautiful Beulah Belle.<br />
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Under the artful direction of Janice Cottingham, Beautiful Beulah Belle told the story of a family of helpless females victimized by the dastardly Lucifer Lowdown, who demanded the hand of Beautiful Beulah Belle in marriage in return for the mortgage on the old homestead. Other characters included Uralee, Beulah Belle's vampish sister, Mother-Dear, Auntie Anna, Granny Hannah, and the ultimate hero, Adonis Adrenalin. The beautiful Marilyn Ferguson starred as Beulah Belle, while I had the role of the despicable Lucifer Lowdown. The hero, Adonis, was portrayed by Bert Wayne Vines. Other cast members included my sister Janet, Kathy Jones, Linda Sue McKinney, Cathy Newberry, and Carolyn Thompson, who held up a card that said "Boo Hiss" every time I appeared on stage. <br />
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We had to try out for our parts, and I recall that during my audition, I assumed a particular sneering laugh for the character of Lucifer that I patterned directly from one of my cartoon heroes, Snidely Whiplash, from The Bullwinkle Show. It was kind of a "nyuh-huh-huh," delivered while twirling the end of the glued-on moustache that was required of the part. Incidentally, that was my first exposure to the world of moustache-wearing, and someone made a comment to me that my fake moustache looked pretty good. Consequently, a couple of years later when I was in college, I grew my first moustache. And, being the sentimental sort that I am, I kept my fake moustache as a souvenir.</div>
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But, back to the production. We rehearsed extensively and all worked very hard on our parts. We had a crew that created scenery and backdrops; we went all out. Bert Wayne had the most difficult role to play, the outlandish Adonis Adrenaline. The role required a lot of over-the-top farce, including speaking with a distinct lisp, and this was clearly outside of Bert Wayne's comfort zone. <br />
<br />
As the night of the performance drew near, our excitement and nervousness grew. Finally, we were set to perform in front of a live crowd. The old High School Auditorium was packed, and we stepped onto the stage with fear and trepidation, determined to do our best. <br />
<br />
The performance was going well, but several people had some concern about how Bert Wayne would be able to do, since he had been somewhat uncomfortable with his role during rehearsals. But when Adonis Adrenaline hit the stage, Bert Wayne came alive. To say that he knocked one out of the ballpark that night would be an understatement. He played Adonis perfectly; animated, outlandish, and hilarious. The audience roared its approval. They got into the play, actively booing and hissing as instructed during my entrances and exits. They applauded robustly at the end, when the cowardly Lucifer runs screaming from the stage and Adonis and Beulah Belle live happily ever after.<br />
<br />
One day, a few years ago, I had occasion to revisit that stage. I was principal of the elementary school in Waldron, and since the high school had relocated to their new building, I had gone by the central office and gotten a key and was looking through what was left at the old building to see if there was any furniture we could use at our school. Walking alone through the abandoned high school building, I found myself flooded with memories. Every classroom that I went in, it seemed, held a special memory. When I stood on the stage, all alone in the auditorium, it was the Junior Class play that came to mind. In my mind's eye, I saw my good friends, in character, and in particular the pretty Marilyn Ferguson as Beulah Belle, in the dress that her mom had made her by hand for the part. Marilyn had moved in from Kansas City the year before, and little Waldron High School must have seemed strange to her. When her mother was showing her around the school, Marilyn looked up the hall and asked her mom, "Where's the rest of the school?" She was perfect for the part of Beulah Belle, and poor Lucifer Lowdown, smitten as he was, had no chance with Beautiful Beulah. <br />
<br />
But I, on the other hand, who had only been able to summon the nerve to admire Marilyn from afar, had gone to our class' 30th reunion in 2004, and found that Marilyn was single, and had asked her the brilliant question as to whether or not she ever went to see movies, and discovered to my amazement that she did, indeed, like to go see movies. So Marilyn and I began seeing each other, and quickly realized that we had a future together. So finally, after a few false starts and too many years of being alone, I got to marry Beautiful Beulah Belle. <br />
<br />
Here's to happy ever afters.<br />
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Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-41656718358874237272014-05-22T09:43:00.000-05:002014-05-23T08:57:50.306-05:00Sometimes It's Best To Say No<span style="color: blue;"><b>A rerun from last year. But every bit of this is true...</b></span><br />
<br />
I have always found humor in the absurdities of life. That's a good thing, since my life tends toward the absurd more often than not. I'm thankful to be healthy, happy, and loved. Healthy, in spite of a few minor glitches that often accompany people at this point in life.<br />
<br />
Several months ago, I had an incident of arrhythmia. I'd had one six years before, but nothing in the intervening years. The second one cleared up after about a day, but my cardiologist diagnosed it as atrial fibrillation and told me that, should I have another incident, I should come to his office while it was going on so that I could get an EKG.<br />
<br />
Then, a month after the second arrhythmia, I had another one. It came at a most inconvenient time, right in the middle of Final Exam week, as I was monitoring exams at the university where I work. But, dutifully, I immediately headed over to see my cardiologist as instructed, to get the vital EKG performed while I was fibrillating all over the place.<br />
<br />
But when I got there, my cardiologist was on vacation. And his nurse, evidently recognizing a Golden Opportunity when she sees one, had left for the day. And when I explained what was going on, the attendant at the front desk, demonstrating the compassion of Nazi concentration camp guard, kindly offered to take down my phone number.<br />
<br />
"You don't understand," I pleaded. "I'm supposed to get an EKG while this is going on! Can't someone back there at least do that?"<br />
<br />
"We'll have to get the OK from your doctor first," replied Frau Spreckels. <br />
<br />
"OK. I'm having atrial fibrillation, so I'm going to go to the emergency room now," I retorted, anticipating an immediate groundswell of sympathy. But, nothing.<br />
<br />
Then I remembered the 24-hour walk-in clinic that was downstairs, below my cardiologist's office. "Well, I guess I'll go to Pro-Med. They can probably do an EKG there, can't they?"<br />
<br />
Frau Spreckels nodded in agreement.<br />
<br />
So, I and my distressingly erratic heartbeat headed down the elevator and out of the building for the short walk over to Pro-Med.<br />
<br />
But, the minute I walked out the front door, I heard someone say, "Excuse me sir. Can you help us?"<br />
<br />
I turned to see two nurses, or perhaps janitors, I'm not sure (who can tell; everybody wears those scrub things...), attempting to load a rather large elderly woman into the front seat of an SUV. The dear lady was in an untenable position, suspended halfway between being seated in her wheelchair and fully upright. When I was a little kid, we used to sing a song in the Booster Band at Waldron Assembly of God Church. The song had to do with being fully committed in your Christian walk, and contained the lyrics, <em>"Now when you're up you're up, and when you're down you're down, but when you're only halfway up your're neither up nor down."</em> <br />
<br />
And that was exactly what was wrong with this dear, large, elderly lady. She was neither up nor down.<br />
<br />
And so, the nurse/janitors who were on either side of her, tugging vainly at her large, elderly arms, were in a pickle, and, seeing me walk by, asked for my help.<br />
<br />
Now, what I should have said was this: "Look, I would love to help, but at the moment I am in the middle of an episode of atrial fibrillation, and am in fact at this moment on my way to the emergency room. The addition exertion required to get that old lady into that car would probably be the end of me. So regrettably, I will not be able to help you today." <br />
<br />
That's what I should have said. But I am the son of Abb and Alberta Yates, who ensured that it was genetically impossible for me to refuse a request for help, so what I actually said was, "OK."<br />
<br />
I strode gallantly over to the SUV. The dear woman was suspended there, half-way out of her chair, with the attendants holding on to each arm and someone who appeared to be her daughter alternating between encouragement and derision. <br />
<br />
"Just stand up Mama and turn around!"<br />
<br />
"I cain't."<br />
<br />
"Mama! Stand up and scoot over to the car seat!"<br />
<br />
"I said, I cain't!"<br />
<br />
Now I have been in enough Desperate Situations to know one when I see one, and this was clearly one. Now each nurse/janitor had her by an arm, and as she dangled there before me I realized that this particular Desperate Situation was not going to be pretty.<br />
<br />
The only available real estate for me to access was, regrettably, the buttocks area of the dear, large, elderly woman. But, recognizing the hopelessness of the situation, and needing to soon be on my way, I took the only action available to me. I'm not proud of this, but it had to be done. I gingerly put one hand on each butt cheek and heaved. <br />
<br />
AND SHE CAME UP OUT OF THAT CHAIR.<br />
<br />
I didn't have that old woman in any car yet, but I had her upright. But now, the dear woman seemed unable to turn around and place her buttock region near the front seat. She seemed frozen, and was not helped by the exasperated pleas from her daughter.<br />
<br />
"Mama, turn around!"<br />
<br />
"I cain't!"<br />
<br />
"Mama, turn around and lean on the car seat!"<br />
<br />
"I said, I CAIN'T!"<br />
<br />
I knelt down and tried to physically point the lady's dear, large, elderly feet in the direction they needed to be in order for her buttock region to make contact with the front seat, but to no avail. Those puppies weren't going anywhere.<br />
<br />
By this time, another onlooker had arrived. As the two nurse/janitors were talking with him, I did a cowardly thing. I gingerly sneaked away.<br />
<br />
I wanted to help, I really did. But by now, a flop sweat had appeared, and I literally feared that I would be putting myself in serious jeopardy if I continued with what surely must be evident to all was a fruitless endeavor.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, when I got to Pro-Med, the counter attendant was one of my former students (they're everywhere), so she got me in quickly to see the doc. And I got my EKG, and I <em>was </em>having atrial fib, and I got referred back upstairs to see another cardiologist, and I'm fine now. And amazingly, somewhere in all that, my sweet wife figured out where I was and came to be with me. <br />
<br />
"I was so worried when you called," she said.<br />
<br />
"I'm better now; I tried to get an old woman in a car but she wouldn't budge."<br />
<br />
My wife just looked at me. <br />
<br />
You kind of had to be there.<br />
<br />
And, I guess, somehow that dear lady got loaded into that SUV and went on her way. <br />
<br />
I tried; I really did.<br />
<br />
<br />Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-26854758008212021822014-03-16T19:30:00.000-05:002014-03-16T19:30:15.620-05:00Paul Martin, Scott County Hero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It was his smile that people remembered most, because Paul Martin didn't stand out in any crowd. He wasn't much of a joiner in high school either; he played basketball in ninth grade, joined FFA for a couple of years, and that was about it. He was quiet and unassuming, a country boy who enjoyed his life in western Scott County.<br />
<br />
After he graduated from Waldron High School in 1965, Paul answered his country's call to service and joined the Army. As a member of 23rd Infantry of the 8th Army's 2nd Division, he thrived, rising to the rank of Sergeant. The 23rd Infantry was in the middle of the action in January of 1968, but not in Vietnam. They were on the volatile border between North and South Korea.<br />
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The two countries had been in an undeclared war between 1950 and 1953, and the ceasefire that had been in effect since that time did not always hold. Communist North Korea was determined to unify the country under one government; theirs. In January of 1968, a carefully planned plot to accomplish that goal was put into effect. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-slb-active="1" data-slb-group="3897" data-slb-internal="0" href="http://i2.wp.com/militaryhistorynow.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/north_korea_military_008.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="In 1968, a team of 31 elite North Korean commandos infiltrated the south. Their target: the president of the Republic of Korea. " class="size-large wp-image-3900" height="210" src="http://i2.wp.com/militaryhistorynow.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/north_korea_military_008.jpg?resize=620%2C326" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of http://militaryhistorynow.com<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
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The plan was bold: a cadre of highly trained North Korean commandos would slip across the border into South Korea. Once inside, they would pass themselves as South Korean soldiers, and gradually make their way toward the capital of Seoul. There, they would assassinate the South Korean president, Park Chung-Hee.<br />
<br />
Their training was intense. They had to be able to traverse long distances carrying heavy packs, and they had to master the South Korean dialect to the extent that they could pass themselves off as South Koreans if they were challenged. They were indeed an elite group of soldiers.<br />
<br />
The plot worked surprisingly well. After making it across the demilitarized zone separating the two countries, they made fast time. They moved at night, mostly, and rested during the day. But one day, as they were resting, they were discovered by four South Korean men who were out cutting wood. But the commandos had planned for such an event, and their orders were clear: kill anyone who gets in the way.<br />
<br />
But, for some unknown reason, the commander of the elite North Korean unit decided to instead try to convert the four South Koreans to the North Korean political ideology. So there, in the frozen forest, a four hour discussion ensued. The North Koreans had been taught that their neighbors in the south were oppressed, and that if given the chance, they would support the unification directed by the north. Of course, this propaganda was not correct, but the four South Korean woodcutters gladly played along, pronouncing themselves proud communists at the end of the indoctrination session. Vowing to keep quiet until after the ensuing revolution, the woodcutters were released. They promptly sought out South Korean police, and told them of the invaders.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-slb-active="1" data-slb-group="3897" data-slb-internal="0" href="http://i2.wp.com/militaryhistorynow.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/blue-house.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="South Korea's presidential palace, known as the Blue House, was the scene of a desperate gun battle on Jan. 21, 1968." class="size-large wp-image-3902" height="152" src="http://i2.wp.com/militaryhistorynow.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/blue-house.jpg?resize=620%2C295" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of militaryhistory.com</td></tr>
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But the North Korean commandos were so well-trained that, even though their presence was known, they were still able to continue their mission. Their goal was The Blue House, the South Korean presidential palace. Relentlessly, they continued to make their way toward their target.<br />
<br />
Their South Korean uniforms were perfect; their South Korean language and dialect beyond suspicion. They were stopped occasionally, by South Korean military or police officials, but were able to bluff their way out of any questions. In fact, they got to within 100 yards of The Blue House before anyone suspected them.<br />
<br />
An alert South Korean police official challenged them at a checkpoint. As he grew suspicious, he drew his gun, which caused the North Korean unit to open fire. A horrific gun battle ensued, in the streets of Seoul. A bus stopped at the checkpoint found itself between the North Korean commandos and the South Korean army, and almost everyone on the bus was a casualty. The North Koreans, realizing their objective was lost, dispersed through the streets of the city in groups of two or three, with the goal of making it back across the border as best they could. Most were killed immediately. One North Korean forced his way into a house, and told the woman who lived there to fix him a bowl of rice. Frightened, she complied. The North Korean sat down at her table, consumed the rice, and then went into another room and ended his life. <br />
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<tr><td><a data-slb-active="1" data-slb-group="3897" data-slb-internal="0" href="http://i2.wp.com/militaryhistorynow.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/shin-jo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="North Korean commando Kim Shin-Jo at the moment of his capture in 1968." class="size-full wp-image-3898" height="292" src="http://i2.wp.com/militaryhistorynow.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/shin-jo.jpg?resize=320%2C292" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Kim Shin-Jo, North Korean commando, at the time of his capture.<br /><br /></td></tr>
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One of the North Koreans was captured. Kim Shin-Jo was forced to reveal the plot. In the years after his capture, he told of the brutal training that the commandos endured to get ready for their mission. Interestingly, Kim Shin-Jo remained in South Korea after he was released from prison, eventually becoming a Christian minister.<br />
<br />
As the North Korean intruders began to attempt to return home, American and South Korean soldiers along the demilitarized zone were put on alert. They were to stop any North Korean from getting back across the border. One of the soldiers manning a checkpoint was Sgt. Paul Martin.<br />
<br />
The Associated Press newswire that accompanied the AP photo sent to papers across the country tells the awful story:<br />
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It is known that one of the commandos made it back across the border to North Korea. It is not known whether this is the individual who killed Paul Martin, or whether it was some other North Korean hostile intruder who had crossed the DMZ. At any rate, Paul Martin gave his life that cold January day.</div>
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Back home, the Advance Reporter carried the story. The headline was "Waldron Man Killed In Action In Korea." Here is the story as it ran in the Advance Reporter:<br />
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<i><b>SEOUL - Sgt. Paul W. Martin, 21, of Waldron, who was killed January 24 in a gunfight with North Korean Communist intruders, was paid final tribute Monday by his comrades.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Two generals, Lt. Gen. Vernon P. Mock, deputy commander of the 8th U.S. Army and Maj. General Frank Isenour, commander of the 2nd Division, were among those attending services and saluting Martin at Kimpo Air Base.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>A platoon from his unit, the 1st Battalion, 23rd Infantry, stood on the airfield apron in subfreezing temperatures. The division honor guard played a funeral dirge as Martin's aluminum casket, covered by an American flag, was borne to a bier, carried by six sergeants.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Capt. Clarence A. Olszewski, a chaplain, led the funeral procession and a short prayer.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Martin and other U.S. troops were trying to block off the remnants of a 31-man North Korean commando unit that slipped across the border and traveled to Seoul when he was killed. Authorities say the unit's aim was to assassinate South Korean President Park Chung Hee.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Policemen from the Korean National Police blocked their efforts and U.S. troops from the 2nd Infantry Division launched a major effort to intercept them when they fled. Martin was one of two Americans who were killed in encounters with the North Koreans.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Martin was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Charlie Martin. Funeral arrangements are incomplete at this time. </b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
The next week's edition of the Advance Reporter told of the funeral, how Paul's body had arrived back in Waldron on Sunday morning, with his funeral on a Monday afternoon at Winfield Baptist Church. Paul was buried at Oliver Cemetery with full military honors, including a 21 gun salute. <br />
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A few days later, the U.S.Navy vessel <i>Pueblo</i> was seized by the North Koreans, and the crew held captive for many months. That, and the war in Vietnam, occupied the minds of most Americans, and the death of a brave soldier in Korea was soon forgotten. <br />
<br />
But Paul was not forgotten by those whose life he had touched. And the quiet boy from Winfield, who had made of himself quite a soldier, was saluted by generals and earned his place in history.Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-13588207582279408242014-02-06T13:10:00.000-06:002014-02-06T13:10:14.212-06:00The GI Joe Mistake<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmT41FqKSvHEfliQi4PBniyma65Uex0_VdaYu_jZW0ff4bROxU5TIBuP9-lDrM_sKmVZ6egr_452hn3SFn9UeXXECj0CVd50zvu1JoxnDsNJHAQQYNpqJiBlrmDs1VousKonT4NNP-j-x/s1600/gijoe3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmT41FqKSvHEfliQi4PBniyma65Uex0_VdaYu_jZW0ff4bROxU5TIBuP9-lDrM_sKmVZ6egr_452hn3SFn9UeXXECj0CVd50zvu1JoxnDsNJHAQQYNpqJiBlrmDs1VousKonT4NNP-j-x/s320/gijoe3.jpg" height="238" n4="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A mortally wounded GI Joe is assisted by clones.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><span style="color: blue;"><b>(In honor of GI Joe's upcoming 50th anniversary as America's favorite ACTION FIGURE, here's a rerun from 2010...)</b></span></i><br />
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I blame it on the Sears catalog. It was their yearly Christmas edition that featured the pictures of GI Joe, fully attired in his military gear, camping beside a flowing creek or fearlessly plunging headlong into battle. It was 1964, the Vietnam War was raging, and young American elementary school boys were ready to do our part. <br />
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In our family, our Christmas gifts were not normally a surprise. We either picked out something reasonable from the Sears catalog or found something reasonable during one of our two yearly trips to K-Mart in Fort Smith. That year, I was intrigued by GI Joe - America's Movable Fighting Man. So, I showed Mama which particular GI Joes I wanted. I picked out three; two Army GI Joes and one Marine GI Joe. Odd, because the Yates' were Navy men. I think I liked the uniforms. The Sears catalog said they were wearing fatigues, a new word to me which I assuredly pronounced to Mama as "fat-ih-gyues." So, the order was placed, and on Christmas morning of 1964 I excitedly unwrapped my three GI Joes, along with accessories. They all three looked about the same; one had brown hair, one blond, and one had actual fuzzy red hair. They all bore the same serious expression with the requisite scar on their right cheek. They had guns affixed with bayonets; one had a phone-like communication backpack, and one had a little sleeping bag.<br />
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I tried to remember the scene from the Sears catalog...GI Joe was crouched over a campfire in a clearing surrounded by trees, a gentle creek flowing in the background. Since I had no trees, no campfire, no creek, and no clearing, I set up the scene as best I could on the living room linoleum. It was at that moment when it occurred to me that there was nothing really else to do with these guys. Yes, you could bend the arms and legs and turn the heads, but other than that they pretty much just sat there. <br />
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I thought they might be more fun if I played with them outside, where the background setting offered more potential. But, one of the older neighborhood kids came by while I was setting up my GI Joes and erroneously pointed out that I was playing with dolls. I was incredulous that he lacked the ability to differentiate between a doll and a movable fighting man.<br />
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In spite of my lack of enthusiasm, I did feel it important to send off the form that came with my GI Joes and become an official member of the GI Joe Club. After the GI Joe Club Board of Directors met to consider my membership, I received a packet in the mail which contained my membership certificate and official GI Joe dog tags. Col. Pat Lawrence, Commanding Officer of the GI Joe Club H.Q., sent me this welcoming letter:<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><strong>Welcome Buddy:</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><strong>We here at GI Joe Headquarters are glad to have you aboard one of the newest and fastest growing young men's organizations in America. Why just this month several thousand more GI Joe enthusiasts joined the ranks.</strong></span><br />
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<em>(Ah, I'd joined the ranks of a young men's organization...)</em><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><strong>We hope that you will find an important place in your room for your membership certificate, that you'll use your ID card as sure proof of your membership in the club and that you'll proudly display your GI Joe emblem on your T-shirt or other article of wearing apparel.</strong></span><br />
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<em>(Never actually found an opportunity to use my ID card for anything. I shudder to think what it says about me to note that I am still in possession of my membership materials some 46 years later...)</em><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><strong>We here at the GI Joe Club will be in touch with you during the coming months with dependable regularity. We'll forward to you news about the GI Joe Club and also news and bulletins about other club members such as yourself. We'll also tell you from time to time about new GI Joe gear and equipment that will show you how to expand your hobby into all the exciting aspects of Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps action.</strong></span><br />
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<em>(Actually, I never heard from them again. Col. Pat Lawrence was undoubtedly called into more serious pursuits. After all, there was a war going on...)</em><br />
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And so, my interest in my GI Joes progressively waned until it reached the point that I never played with them. But one day, I came into the house and saw that my sister Janet had set up a little scene with her Barbie dolls, using some little boxes to create couches and chairs. Barbie sat on a chair, and across the table from her was GI Joe, dressed in his fat-ih-gyues, evidently completely enthralled by the lovely vision of femininity that sat across from him. Oh well, soldiers need a little R & R on occasion, I guess.<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLL67CN2hnw">Click here to see an original GI Joe commercial from the 1960's.</a>Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-47341163840415513342013-12-02T16:30:00.000-06:002013-12-02T16:38:51.954-06:00The Bow Wow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: blue;">A rerun from 2011...</span><br />
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In the world of High School Journalism, Waldron High School surely had the student newspaper with the coolest name. In honor of our beloved mascot, The Bulldog, our newspaper, the Voice of the Bulldogs, was of course The Bow Wow. I have no idea who thought up that name, or even what year the Bow Wow first started. But every month, a group of dedicated students churned out another edition of The Bow Wow. And I do mean churned out; The Bow Wow was printed on a mimeograph machine. <br />
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The Bow Wow was sponsored by Suella Ross (later Bratton), who taught typing at Waldron High. The Bow Wow staff consisted of an editor, an assistant editor, an exchange editor, a business manager, two artists, two sports editors, and three groups of workers: reporters, typists, and production. The three groups were somewhat interchangeable; I was technically a typist but I got to do some reporting as well. <br />
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Each month, we would meet together as a staff and make decisions about what we wanted to include in that month's edition. The editor would assign various topics to different individuals, but if someone thought of something later on they could usually persuade the editor to include it. We were given a deadline to submit our work, so that enough time would be left to type the individual pages. We typed the paper on stencils, which were like ditto masters but a bit harder to work with. The stencil consisted of a sheet of paper attached to a second, wax-coated sheet of paper. When you typed the stencil, the impact of the typewriter keys made a wax impression on the back of the first sheet of paper. This would serve as your duplicating master. If you made a mistake, you had to take a knife and carefully scrape away the wax from the back of the page, and then make sure your page was still lined up correctly so that you could re-type over the mistake. The typists always breathed a sigh of relief when a page was completed successfully. <br />
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The next step was the production. Each page had to be carefully attached to the drum of the mimeograph machine. There was a little metal strip on the drum that raised up, enough to fit the top of the page under, and then it lowered back down to hold the page secure. You would take your stencil, tear off the front page and discard the wax-covered second page. Then, you carefully placed the master under the little metal strip on the drum. You had to get it just right, or else your page would wrinkle when the drum turned, which could cause a young person to lose their religion if not extremely self-controlled. But, if all went well, you could then crank out however many pages you needed. Since we were a newspaper, we printed on front and back, so you would turn the printed stack of papers over and print the next page on the back. Finally, after all the pages were printed, they had to be sorted and stapled along the left side of the page. So, as you can see, the production staff worked hard!<br />
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Then, the fun part; selling the Bow Wow. I believe we charged ten cents per issue. The Bow Wow staff could get out of class to sell the paper. We would all grab a stack of papers and disperse to all regions of school, some to elementary, some to junior high, and others to the high school classes. Elementary kids were eager to buy the Bow Wow, even though there was almost never anything about elementary school in it. <br />
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So, what was in the Bow Wow? We had reports from various clubs, a little bit of sports news, occasionally some goofy survey where we asked lots of people some off-the-wall question and published their answers, poetry, a student-made crossword puzzle, occasional serious commentary about national or world events, and I even got to do a series of comic private eye spoofs. Working on the Bow Wow was great fun, and we even learned a lot about teamwork and creativity, not to mention the importance of meeting deadlines.<br />
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But, alas, The Bow Wow is no more. It went away quietly, no one seemed to even notice. I don't know when it happened, actually. It just ceased to exist. I guess it was just a matter of time catching up with it. High school students now have access to technology and coursework that is far beyond what we were able to learn. And Waldron High is able to offer students training and experience in a number of high tech areas, at a level comparable with or above even larger school districts. So, we shall weep not for The Bow Wow; it will live on in our memories, and in the copies that I've kept since 1974. And maybe I can do a post sometime soon featuring exerpts from some of those Bow Wows.Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-61050741632224519312013-11-15T10:28:00.000-06:002013-11-15T10:28:29.577-06:00Self Promotion Friday: Ten Things About MeI've been seeing them for the last week or so, those ubiquitous Facebook posts in which people tell little-known facts about themselves. Fascinating, they are, truly; I have enjoyed reading them. <br />
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So, since I have been so short of material for this blog lately, I'm taking my cue from Facebook and posting...<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Ten Things About Me</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">1. I have not thrown up since 1977.</span></b></div>
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Perhaps the accomplishment of which I am most proud. I was in college at Arkansas Tech, living in prison-like conditions in a facility called Paine Hall. Caught a stomach bug, middle of the night, made the tortuous trip down the hall to our community/prison bathroom. Decided afterwards that the experience was far to unpleasant to repeat, and determined that I would not throw up again. Has worked for almost 37 years.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>2. I did not see a movie in a theater until I was 21 years old.</b></span></div>
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I am very thankful for the way I was raised, but some of you youngsters today might have considered it to be a bit on the conservative side. In my little church, going to the movies was considered a no-no. So, I didn't go. But, at age 21, I decided that I really wanted to see my favorite musical group, The Bee Gees, in their new movie Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. The movie, considered by critics to be possibly the worst movie ever made, I found to be quite good.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>3. I Own Every Episode of The Andy Griffith Show.</b></span></div>
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On VHS tape, so what good is it? But, I am a huge fan and in fact, the only area in which I consider myself to be near expert is Andy Griffith trivia. I'm even a member of an official organization called The Andy Griffith Show Rerun Watchers Association.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>4. I am a twin.</b></span></div>
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Yes, most of you probably know that already, but I'm trying to come up with 10 of these things, ok? I have a twin sister, Janet, who is 10 minutes younger than me. What you might not know, however, is that my mom didn't know she was having twins! So, when I was born, everybody was all excited and happy and then somebody happened to notice that my mom was not finished. So, they sat me down in the corner somewhere and proceeded to assist into the world the first female to be born into the Yates family in 50 years or so. Eventually, after the excitement settled down, someone remembered that there were two of us and, after a brief search, I was located in my corner and reunited with the family.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>5. I once worked on a garbage truck.</b></span></div>
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For a summer, in college. Pretty sweet, actually; anything I found of value I got to keep. That is, if the driver didn't want it.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>6. I like to do magic tricks.</b></span></div>
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For kids. Only simple ones though.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>7. I've been to the World's Tallest Thermometer.</b></span></div>
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In Baker, California. During a drive my wife and I made from Las Vegas to Oceanside, California. Which brings me to my next item...</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>8. I love the desert.</b></span></div>
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Although my wife hates it. I was enthralled with the beauty of the desert on our drive; at times it seemed like we were driving around on the moon. I guess I like it because the landscape is so different there than it is here. But I do love it.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>9. When I'm introduced to new people, they almost always mention Bill Gates.</b></span></div>
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Which allowed me to come up with a good little laugh line, which I use whenever I speak to a group. "The only difference between me and The World's Richest Man is one letter...and 9 zeroes!" (Pause for laughter)</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>10. I can't swim.</b></span></div>
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In fact, I'm quite afraid of the water. My beautiful wife Marilyn can swim. Our son Ross and his wife Maegan are excellent swimmers, as well as our daughter Laura and her husband Kip. Even little granddaughter Kate, age three (almost), is totally fearless of the water and is on her way to swimming. But not me. I did, however, buy a snorkel and mask in the spring. I thought about it all summer, and in September, on the last day Marilyn and I got in the pool, I donned my snorkel and mask, put ear plugs in my ears, and submerged my head underwater for what seemed like several minutes but was clocked by Marilyn at four seconds. </div>
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Gotta start somewhere...</div>
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Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-70430272446989429212013-11-11T11:09:00.000-06:002013-11-11T11:09:34.038-06:00100 Grand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The Growing Up In Waldron blog has been around since July 23, 2010. In its heyday, I normally posted one or two times a week, and then I ran out of memories, so posting has been sporadic at best for the last year or so. <br />
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In spite of the lameness of recent postings, I'm happy to say that the little GUIW blog has now reached the milestone of 100,000 pageviews! I find this particularly gratifying; I had so much fun living those stories and I'm pleased that others have enjoyed reading about them.<br />
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So, what do we do to celebrate 100,000 pageviews? I thought about holding a party, but my wife said I had to limit the invitees to 50,000 and I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. <br />
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So, I've decided to just have a chocolate malt for myself and, for everyone else, I'd like to share a few of my favorite pictures of the town that will always have a place in my heart, Waldron Arkansas...<br />
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I paid an exorbitant amount for this old postcard, but it was worth it. This is the oldest picture I have of Waldron. I don't know the year, but I think the old bank building in the background is still standing. Can you imagine what life was like for these folks?</div>
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This old postcard fascinated me as a child; the time-lapse photography is amazing. Sadly, the original postcard is lost; maybe when my Dad took it to the Waldron News for publication he never went back to pick it up. I would give anything to find another copy!</div>
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When going through some of my Dad's possessions after he passed away, I came across this incredible find; the shirt he wore when he was a projectionist for Waldron's only movie theater. For most of it's existence, it has been known as The Scott Theater, but when it first started it was The Pines Theater. My wife had this precious find professionally framed for me.</div>
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I love this old picture of Waldron from the 30s. I don't own it; I borrowed it from the Encyclopedia of Arkansas History and Culture website. Not a lot has changed in the past 80 years.</div>
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Here's another wonderful picture from the Encyclopedia of Arkansas website. This one is looking south down Main Street.</div>
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One more from the same website. My mom used to talk about how the sidewalks of Waldron would be so crowded with people on Saturday that you could barely make your way through the crowd. </div>
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One place that at some point almost everyone in Waldron visited was Crutchfield's Restaurant. I remember the booths with individual jukebox selections, and Madge's pies were a town favorite. </div>
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Although taken a few years before my time, this was my church and most of the people in this picture were an important part of my childhood. Precious Memories, how they linger.</div>
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The Methodist Church, foreground, and Baptist Church, background, were major Waldron landmarks. I passed both when I walked to school or town, and in fact we kept a permanent trail cut through the Methodist churchyard where we cut the corner. </div>
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I love this view of Main Street; it's one of my most prized cards. You see the Baptist Church at the far end of Main, and I love the trees in front of the courthouse. Lots of people in town that day, and one fellow making his way up Main Street on his bicycle.</div>
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Another great card, but nobody is really sure what was going on when this picture was taken. One person told me that Charley Forester was giving away a plow at his store, but I don't know if that's right or not. I hope there weren't any pickpockets in the crowd.</div>
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I got this picture from Herb Wilson, and I love it. Maybe the only time a buffalo has been seen on Main Street. I imagine this would have been quite a show to see.</div>
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So that's my Waldron, at least a quick view. If you're from Waldron, these pictures may bring on a few memories of your own, and if you're not, your hometown might have looked a little like this too. </div>
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And thanks for looking at this blog. All 100,000 of you. Now go get yourself a chocolate malt.</div>
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P.S. In my candy store days, we called it the "hundred thousand dollar bar"...</div>
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<br />Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-34195799496840530932013-09-13T08:40:00.000-05:002013-09-13T08:40:48.072-05:00A Brief Observation That Makes Me Feel Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was little, around 8 or 9 years old, my family had an old Model T, just like the one above, only ours was a bit rougher. My only memory of riding in it was the indelible image of the road zipping by beneath my feet as seen through the rusted out floorboard.</div>
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My brothers, who were older, had many more adventures with the old Model T. It was primarily driven by our cousin Jerry, who was a bit older than my brothers and thus more qualified to drive. I think we ended up selling it to someone for $25.</div>
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Even at my tender age, I recognized the old Model T as an OLD, OLD car.</div>
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When my twin sister and I left for college in 1974, we bought a used Buick Century almost identical to this one for the sum of $3,000, which comprised the life savings of both of us. It was far and away a much nicer car than we ever thought we could afford. </div>
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That wonderful car, that Buick Century, would be 40 years old now. That's about how old the Model T was when we cruised around Waldron in it back in 1965. </div>
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Oh, my.</div>
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Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-35999291279771894102013-07-01T16:37:00.000-05:002013-07-01T16:37:20.562-05:00Gary Explains It All<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHTV4DgTz5Q8MsLdtBjPFPDBt2MNQTyCF6b47PEA91FlzFBR1to4qRe5MesdNSB4IzfAO9_YGNeotWuCQHuDNoBgcPFZ5fcNDKmlKNqtuvBTvbWCfJK3EcmVWfTXT8W4jbjCmODiS39aH/s379/Gary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHTV4DgTz5Q8MsLdtBjPFPDBt2MNQTyCF6b47PEA91FlzFBR1to4qRe5MesdNSB4IzfAO9_YGNeotWuCQHuDNoBgcPFZ5fcNDKmlKNqtuvBTvbWCfJK3EcmVWfTXT8W4jbjCmODiS39aH/s320/Gary.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me and my dog Scooter and various other family<br />members. That's Gary directly behind me.</td></tr>
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Most of what I know, or think I know today came from my older brother Gary. In a family of seven people living in one tiny little house, it's sometimes easy to get overlooked. But somehow Gary always managed to be there when I had a question, or needed to know something. To this day, my sister and I continue to be amazed by his encyclopedic knowledge of confidential family information that we were previously completely clueless about. Gary, the firstborn of the Yates clan, is ten years older than my twin and I, so we have always looked up to him. Plus, Gary and I resemble each other more than any other members of the Yates family, so much so that to this day we are frequently mistaken for each other. Should I decide to hold up a liquor store on the way home from work today, there is at least a 50-50 chance that the wrong person would be arrested.<br />
<br />
The groundwork for our admiration of Gary was laid at an early age, when Gary would tell us bedtime stories. Gary has a brilliant and creative mind, so his bedtime stories were crafted with thoughtful moments of realism that seemed to bring them to life. There we would all be, in Gary's story, hiking through the woods on some generic pursuit, pausing by a little stream to sit down and eat, almost always bringing forth a snack of cheddar cheese and crackers. In Gary's story, you could actually taste the food. <br />
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One cold morning, Gary and I were in his Dodge Dart, for some reason heading out East 80 to get Aunt Addie and Uncle Joe and bring them to church. I noticed a fly on the dashboard, and pointed it out to Gary. "Watch this," he said. Gary reached out, and to my amazement picked up the fly with his fingers. Rolling down the window, he tossed the fly out. "How did you do that???," I exclaimed. Gary explained that the fly's metabolism slowed down due to the cold, so it could not react in time to fly away.<br />
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Some of Gary's scientific explanations were a little too complex for me, which sometimes resulted in confusion. For instance, there was at some point a discussion about the Earth's atmosphere freezing. I don't know what the actual context of that was, but for about four years after that I imagined a horrific scenario in which we were all attempting to make our way through layers and layers of thin ice. <br />
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Gary also indicated that sound waves continued on forever as they moved through the atmosphere. In my memory, he seemed to have suggested that perhaps the voice of George Washington was still out there somewhere, possibly trapped under a rock. <br />
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I lifted many rocks in the days and weeks following that, looking for old George.<br />
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Elsewhere on this blog, I've mentioned <a href="http://growingupinwaldron.blogspot.com/2010/12/art-of-chicken-hypnosis.html" target="_blank">Gary's incredible ability to hypnotize chickens</a>, and his life-changing <a href="http://growingupinwaldron.blogspot.com/2011/01/i-flunk-homemade-eye-exam.html" target="_blank">discovery that I needed glasses</a>. Those two stories are wonderful examples of Gary's contributions to my quality of life.<br />
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But perhaps the greatest lesson I learned from Gary was in the frequently overlooked realm of bathroom etiquette. It was Gary who took the time to point out to me that a gentleman, after visiting the facilities for the purpose of Number 1, always takes a little piece of tissue paper and goes around the rim of the toilet.<br />
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And it was even Gary who took on the herculean task of The Talk. Or perhaps, I should say, The Read. One Saturday, when I was about 10, Gary and his wife brought down a couple of little thin books designed to explain the birds and bees to children. I, after reading one of the books, was so amazed that I exclaimed, a little bit too exuberantly, "SO THAT'S HOW IT'S DONE!" <br />
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One of those moments in time that is still recalled by many family members.<br />
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I would not have gone to college if not for Gary. My sister and I lived with Gary and his wife for two years while we went to Westark Junior College in Fort Smith. We honestly could not have gone if not for this tremendous act of generosity. <br />
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And so, today, Gary is still my source of knowledge. He has fulfilled the Big Brother job description extremely well, and there is no one else on earth I'd rather be mistaken for. Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-38231992802249949632013-06-07T15:45:00.000-05:002013-06-07T15:45:44.077-05:00Yell "Ki-Yi! Ki-Yi!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><b>Another rerun...</b></i></span></div>
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It is, as every Waldron High School graduate knows, our assigned task. Upon leaving those hallowed halls and going out to make our mark in the world, we make a solemn promise to our beloved institution to, in the midst of our various pursuits, accomplish two significant things:<br />
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<em><span style="color: blue;"><strong>"We'll sing your praise, o'er all the earth,</strong></span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;"><strong>And yell, "Ki-Yi! Ki-Yi!"</strong></span></em><br />
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I am sorry to admit to all today that I have been remiss. Singing, yes. Praising, yes. Perhaps not o'er all the earth, but there are people from other countries who have read this blog, and hopefully read some various posting about Waldron High School. But, and it saddens me deeply to say this, I can not recall even a single "Ki-Yi!" emanating from my bashful persona. <br />
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If memory serves me, it was the WHS class of 1929 that created our Alma Mater. Not that I was there, mind you, but I've heard the story. Lorene May was a graduate that year, and she has not missed a single reunion event. They also gave us our school colors, orange and black. The complete song is:<br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">Oh Waldron High, Oh Waldron High</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">We sing your praise tonight.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">We'll let you know, where e'er we go</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">That the orange and black will fight.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">We'll sing your praise o'er all the earth</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">And yell, "Ki-Yi! Ki'Yi!"</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">In books of fame, we'll write your name</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">Oh Waldron High.</span></em></strong><br />
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<span style="color: black;">So, where did our beloved little ditty originate? Who penned those immortal words? Who unleashed a bunch of ki-ying country kids upon an unsuspecting world? Why, H.G. "Seldy" Seldombridge of course.</span><br />
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Who, you may ask, is H.G. "Seldy" Seldombridge? Seldy was a speech instructor at Oklahoma A & M College, later to become Oklahoma State University. In 1908, Seldy tooled on up to New York City, to Columbia University to be specific, in search of an idea for a senior class play. There, he saw a performance of the runaway Broadway smash The Red Mill. He was particularly taken by one song from the operetta, "The Streets of New York (Old New York)". <br />
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When he got back to Stillwater, he incorporated the song "Old New York" into a college production there. Looking at the stage decorated in orange and black while the song was being performed, Seldy was struck by inspiration. He told the choir to take a break, grabbed a pencil and paper, and soon had adapted the lyrics to "Old New York" into a song more appropriate for Oklahoma A & M College. His new lyrics were:<br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">OAMC! OAMC!</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">We'll sing your praise tonight;</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">To let you know where e'er we go,</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">For the Orange and Black we'll fight</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">We'll sing your worth o'er all the Earth</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">And shout: Ki Yi! Ki Ye!</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">In books of fame we'll write your name,</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">OAMC! </span></em></strong><br />
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<span style="color: black;">For the truly intellectually curious, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6DQi-d-Ht4" target="_blank">here is a performance of the original tune</a>, "Old New York." Stay with it until the chorus, there you'll recognize the familiar tune.</span><br />
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The night the song was performed, lettermen from the various sports joined the stage, waving in unison to the song, which had to be repeated several times. The enthusiastic audience waved back; the response was so exuberant that a near-riot erupted. From that point on, The Waving Song, as it became known, has been a staple at Oklahoma State University sporting events.<br />
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Click <a href="http://www.okstate.com/trads/waving-song.html" target="_blank">here for the full story</a> of the OSU Waving Song. <br />
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Was a WHS faculty member perhaps a graduate of Oklahoma State in 1929? Did they provide the impetus for the creation of our own Alma Mater? Interesting question.<br />
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So, what about one particular component of the song, those curious "Ki-Yi<em>s</em>"? At OSU, the second one was actually Ki-Ye, probably to rhyme with the "C" in OAMC (Oklahoma A&M College). Let us now research the historical literature in search of the elusive expression.<br />
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There are those who feel that "Ki-Yi" was perhaps one part of the fabled Rebel Yell of Civil War lore. The Rebel Yell battle cry was never specifically described, but <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6jSqt39vFM" target="_blank">there is a clip on YouTube of some Confederate veterans demonstrating the yell.</a> It doesn't sound like Ki-Yi to me, but there are some references to "Ki-Yi" being a part of the yell in other writings. <br />
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Another historical reference to "Ki-Yi" comes from Jack London's classic book <em>White Fang</em>. Here's an excerpt:<br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">The next moment he received a clout alongside the head that knocked him over on his side. Then all fight fled out of him. His puppyhood and the instinct of submission took charge of him. He sat up on his haunches and ki-yi'd. But the man whose hand he had bitten was angry. The cub received a clout on the other side of his head. Whereupon he sat up and ki-yi'd louder than ever.</span></em></strong><br />
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For the sake of our own pride, let's just skip over the reference of "Ki-Yi' as the sound made by a wounded puppy. We are The Bulldogs. Case Closed. <br />
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So, who will join me? I am pledging that before another week is past, I will yell Ki-Yi somewhere, sometime. And I'll continue to let them know, where e'er I go, that the Orange and Black will fight. That is, if a reasonable agreement can't be reached. Then, we'll fight. <br />
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And, in books of fame, I'll write her name. Oh Waldron High.<br />
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<strong>UPDATE: </strong>Carolyn Terrill with the Scott County Historical and Geneological Society has tracked down the source of the WHS Alma Mater! She found an article by Virgil Bethel, who came to Waldron in 1929 to teach and ended up starting our first football team. With used equipment donated by the Arkansas Razorbacks, the team played seven games and lost all of them. In the article, Virgil says:<br />
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<em><span style="color: blue;">"During that year (1929) I taught the Waldron School their Alma Mater. After that first year, I went to Oklahoma to teach. I returned to Waldron School in 1950 and I was so overjoyed to learn they had kept their Alma Mater I had taught them. It was to the tune of the Alma Mater of Oklahoma A&M College at Stillwater (now called Oklahoma State) but there is a little variation of words. I learned the song at Stillwater in 1916."</span></em><br />
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Thanks Carolyn!Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-84514476956331743772013-06-04T14:17:00.000-05:002013-06-04T14:17:06.521-05:00I Once Knew A Hero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I once knew a hero<br />
Long ago<br />
When no cares of the world<br />
Had weighed him down<br />
And no tempest or storm<br />
Had gathered round<br />
Just a young hero<br />
Yet to grow<br />
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He set about to live<br />
His life<br />
The way that heroes do<br />
You would not think<br />
This life he made<br />
Beyond the brink<br />
Of ordinary<br />
Still to grow<br />
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When we called for him<br />
He ran<br />
To lift us up or help us out<br />And leave us with a smile<br />
To back us up or point our way<br />
And go the extra mile<br />
And be our friend<br />
Nice to know<br />
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A hero lives his life<br />
Too brief<br />
And leaves us with a tear<br />
For dreams unknown<br />
And other things<br />
For foundations built<br />
On solid stone<br />
But Duty calls<br />
Time to go<br />
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I once knew a hero<br />
Long ago.<br />
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Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-62039377889313766392013-05-13T11:01:00.000-05:002013-05-13T11:01:09.510-05:00The Trouble With Percy Sledge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When my wife and I found out that the legendary Percy Sledge would be appearing in our area, we knew we had to go see him. It would be New Year's Eve, 2008, at the Choctaw Casino in Pocola, Oklahoma, only about 20 minutes away. Percy's great hit song, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQh112HQsoE" target="_blank">When A Man Loves A Woman</a>, was a favorite, and the chance to see him sing it in person was too good to pass up. <br />
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Percy was slated to go on at 11:00 PM, so we were in no particular hurry that night. We arrived at the casino around 10:00, figuring we would kill some time playing the slot machines while we waited for the show to begin. <br />
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But when we got to the casino, which lies just past the border between Arkansas and Oklahoma, we saw that the parking lot was unusually full. In fact, technically, we ended up parking in Arkansas and walking to Oklahoma. Literally, since the newest parking lot was across the state line. But we found one of the few remaining parking places, and walked in the freezing cold to the casino, to play some slots. We thought.<br />
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As you might suspect, EVERY single slot machine was in use. We walked around for a few minutes, searching, then finally decided we would just find the stage area where Percy was going to appear and wait there. We found it, but it, too, was packed. The few rows of chairs that had been set up on the gaming floor were already full, and a larger standing room only crowd had already assembled. So, we took our place among the hapless throng of standees and prepared to wait for the next 45 minutes.<br />
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But then, about 20 minutes into the wait, a disturbance erupted. A lady somewhere in front of us collapsed, falling onto the casino floor with a resounding "fluff." I would have said "thud," but the carpeting made it actually sound more like a "fluff" than a "thud." The people closest to the catastrophe, my wife and I included, began to motion for casino security to come quickly. They came, making their way through the standing throng, and knelt down next to the poor woman, who was conscious but definitely not chipper. As they dragged her to her feet, somewhat reluctantly it seems in hindsight, and carted her off, my wife and I noticed that her previous and now vacant standing point was located conveniently next to the side of a slot machine, which would offer a place to rest one's back at least. So, while our neighbors were still buzzing about the recent events, we covertly began to make our way over to the prime real estate next to the haven of the slot machine. Soon, we were ensconced in the best "seats" remaining in the house, thanks to what I assume was an inadequate blood sugar level of the previous occupant. That's the breaks.<br />
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Finally, Percy was introduced. He had a nice combo of musicians with him, along with back-up singers, and sounded great, especially considering his age of 68. Not only did he sing his classic hit When A Man Loves A Woman, but also nailed his other hits like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFxnUMdQsPw" target="_blank">Take Time To Know Her</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBnjomDksMc" target="_blank">The Dark End of the Street</a>, and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymDvV8pmyIg" target="_blank">My Special Prayer</a>. At midnight, when the new year of 2009 rolled around, and the whole casino raucously celebrated, Percy even called his wife on his cell phone from the stage, since he normally celebrated with her. Or tried to call, at least; I don't think the call ever went through, because he tried for about five minutes to place it. <br />
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Then, the show resumed for some more great Percy Sledge songs. My wife and I, leaning comfortably against the side of our slot machine, were enjoying it tremendously. But then, something caught my eye. Something barely visible, yet disarming. Something so discordant that it instantly zapped my attention away from the great music, so that I could focus on only this one thing and nothing else. Something that was beginning to freak me out.<br />
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As Percy sang, he was putting his all into it. When he hit the high notes, he hit them with every muscle in his body, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. And that included his facial muscles. So, as he neared the end of his performance, I began to detect a bit of color that didn't seem to belong. I wasn't sure, it was so tiny, just a little spot of color that I could make sense of. There it was again, when he hit that last note. What is that? What am I seeing?<br />
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And then, I realized what it was. It was Percy's right eyelid. His face was contorting so that, when he hit certain notes, his right eyelid was turning up on its edge, and then staying there. The dude was singing with his eyelid flipped over. <br />
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When I was a kid, we had a guy at church who would do that; intentionally turn both eyelids inside out and walk around like that, just to freak people out. And it worked. So, that memory securely tucked into my subconscious mind, seeing the great Percy Sledge popping that eyelid out freaked me out all over again.<br />
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I looked around to see if others were noticing; perhaps someone else would faint. Perhaps I would faint; I wasn't sure, but my enjoyment was waning the more I looked at that eyelid.<br />
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Then, Percy sang his last song, which happened to be a reprise of When A Man Loves A Woman. The song was so great that it caused me to overlook the eyelid thing and just enjoy the great performance that I was witnessing. It was after 1:00 AM, and time to go home.<br />
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But as we were leaving, some of the crowd had thinned out, and my wife saw a vacant slot machine. "I want to try that one, " she said, and I, figuring it was already late, knew an extra 30 minutes or an hour wouldn't matter any way, agreed. She sat down at the machine, put two dollars in it, and before her initial investment was gone managed to hit it for $1,256.50. Literally within minutes.<br />
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So, we get taken back to the cashier to collect her winnings. Which they give her in cash, of course, along with paperwork for the IRS. But the good news is, since it is now 2009, we don't have to declare those winnings for an entire 12 months! During which time, of course, I lose the paperwork for the IRS, and have to go back to the casino 12 months later to get a copy, which costs me $40, which is the amount I put in a slot machine while I'm there to get the paperwork. But, as I said, that's the breaks.<br />
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And of course, our tax man happens to be one of our deacons at church, so we have the somewhat awkward situation of explaining to him that we are turning in $1,256.50 of additional income as my wife's gambling winnings, and he, as an accountant, has to ask if we possibly have some gambling losses to turn in which would balance out the winnings, so we end up having a long conversation about our gambling prowess or lack thereof with our church deacon. But we really just went to see Percy Sledge, you know. The win at the slot machine was kind of an accident. <br />
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I didn't mention my $40 to him.Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-79358372519873286312013-05-04T20:43:00.001-05:002013-05-04T20:43:33.052-05:00Whatever Happened to Little Pearl?<strong><em>This post is based on an article that appeared in the Feb. 11, 1979 edition of The Southwest Times Record newspaper. The author of the story was historian Walter H. Watts. This story is familiar to may long-time residents of Waldron.</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
It was Friday morning, October 19, 1923. The little community of Tate was located between the Scott and Logan County line, in the remote White Oak Mountain region of Arkansas. <br />
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Lynn Turner was a sharecropper. He was out cutting firewood with two of his five children, Rosa and Ruby, when little three-year-old Pearl came out to where they were working. Lynn told his two daughters to take Pearl back to the cabin so she wouldn't get hurt. Rosa and Ruby gathered up a handful of wild huckleberries and bribed Pearl to follow; she did, and the girls left her in the front yard of the cabin and went back to help their father. They left little Pearl sitting on a tree stump, eating the huckleberries. <br />
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No one would ever see her again.<br />
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When the family gathered for the noon meal, Lela, Lynn's wife, asked, "Where is Pearlie?" Only then did the family realize that Pearl was missing. Leaving their infant son with Nola, Lela's unmarried sister, the family began a frantic search. They soon found tracks in the dirt road leading to White Oak Mountain, two miles away.<br />
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More tracks appeared along the road nearer to the mountain, and at the base of the mountain, where the tracks stopped, lay a little hankie that Rosa had made from a flour sack for Pearl that morning. It would be the last piece of physical evidence of little Pearl ever found.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U2IguMjCUZAMtZPUGl7u4G5AGCuzxuZ1VguMo5DIe1ZSELBp5uK55nJ8ih7ufly76yuX4oVcPDArFoKMOjXAFIJhJoQDFP2qOhFWGiRKp5cYEPj3XLhUf6n4rWWL-9HS_deFXR44Kjgu/s1600/pearl+parents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U2IguMjCUZAMtZPUGl7u4G5AGCuzxuZ1VguMo5DIe1ZSELBp5uK55nJ8ih7ufly76yuX4oVcPDArFoKMOjXAFIJhJoQDFP2qOhFWGiRKp5cYEPj3XLhUf6n4rWWL-9HS_deFXR44Kjgu/s320/pearl+parents.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lynn and Lela Turner in 1969. They died wondering.</td></tr>
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Frantic by now, Lynn rode to the home of hid landlord, L.P. Wilson, and requested help in organizing a search party. Before dark, a posse of more than 25 men led by Sheriff Allen of Scott County arrived and began searching the area where the last tracks were found. With darkness approaching, and the temperature dropping, Lela Turner searched frantically with the posse, crying, "Oh, my poor baby- out there in the dark and cold. Please find her!"<br />
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The long night passed with no trace of little Pearl. At dawn, more volunteers from Waldron arrived, and by noon, volunteers from Booneville showed up to help with the search. Sheriff Allen lined the men up 20 paces apart and told them to march forward, searching the entire area carefully. <br />
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All day, volunteers arrived on horses, in wagons and buggies, and on foot, to help with the search. <br />
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The Sunday edition of the Southwest American newspaper in Fort Smith carried the front-page headline "SCORES JOIN HUNT FOR LOST MOUNTAIN CHILD." Monday brought more searchers from Fort Smith and Oklahoma. One man arrived in a Model T Ford, which was the first car the Turner children had ever seen.<br />
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From Booneville, a man named Walker arrived with bloodhounds, and Lela Turner was beside herself with joy. "I dreamed about you!" she told him. "You're the man I saw find my baby in a dream last night! I'm going to stay with you until you find her." <br />
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The hounds, however, were unable to pick up any scent, and and Sheriff Allen advised Walker to call them off.<br />
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That night, the mountain looked like a giant Christmas tree, with lights from campfires scattered across the slope.<br />
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The next day, trucks furnished by OK Transfer and Storage Company in Fort Smith arrived, carrying Boy Scouts of America, Boy Rangers of Arkansas, and new camping supplies for the searchers. More wagon loads of supplies and searchers continued to arrive over the rough mountain road. A wagon loaded with groceries and supplies arrived, bearing a placard that read "From The Ku Klux Klan of Mansfield, Arkansas."<br />
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The search dragged on for days. The cold weather, and the hungry packs of wolves that lingered around campsites drawn by the smell of food diminished all hope. Lynn and Lela Turner searched along with the volunteers until they were forced by exhaustion to return to their cabin to rest.<br />
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On Sunday, October 28, services were suspended in all area churches in Waldron and Booneville and a call was made for more searchers. Repeated searches with no success led most of the searchers to believe that Little Pearl had been kidnapped.<br />
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Frustrated by failure, the attitude of the searchers changed to sullen suspicion. Muttering groups of searchers assembled in the Turner's yard began to demand that the Turners tell what they had done with the child. <br />
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Others pointed a finger of suspicion at a community resident known as "Preacher," the leader of a small religious group. He had been at the cabin throughout the search, but never joined in with the searchers, choosing instead to sit on the porch. He was known to be fond of Pearl. The sheriff was urged to arrest him for suspicion, but Sheriff Allen was too busy with the search to do it. <br />
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By the third week of the search, people began coming out of the woodwork. A fortune teller arrived in a car from Hot Springs, telling Lela Turner she would help locate the child. In a vision, she saw the child being held captive in a home in the community. A posse was dispatched to the designated home, but the child was not there. Then, the fortune teller said that Pearl was being transferred from house to house by the kidnappers. The posse searched every house in the Tate community, but did not find Pearl. The uproar, however, caused even more people to turn against the Turners.<br />
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It was discovered that, on the morning Pearl had disappeared, a man had visited the Turners at the cabin and had then proceeded on foot on the road toward the mountain. When this became known, it turned many neighbors who had been kind and concerned into an angry mob. The man, of course, was never seen again. <br />
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From Magazine Mountain 20 miles to the east, an eccentric mountaineer known as Hermit arrived with a report of having seen little Pearl. Two days earlier, he said, he had seen Pearl, who he knew well, sleeping on a bed at the home of a man on the outer edge of the mountain community. On the basis of this report, the man, his wife, and their 17 year old son were arrested as material witnesses. When Hermit failed to appear at the hearing, the family was released.<br />
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Nothing was known of Hermit's background except that he had appeared in the mountains as a wandering poet and writer of songs, which he delighted in teaching to the small children of the community. <br />
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From Malvern came a report of a man and a woman passing through in a covered wagon with a child fitting the description of Pearl. The Hot Springs County Sheriff sent a posse to intercept the couple, but they were able to produce proof that the child was theirs.<br />
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From Hodgens, Oklahoma came word of a couple passing through with a child that also matched the description of Pearl. The man, it was reported, told people at a grocery store that they had found the child wandering in the woods near Waldron and, believing her to be abandoned, had taken her with them. A Leflore County posse was sent out to look for the couple, but after a week of searching, returned to report no trace of the mysterious couple.<br />
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Another report came from the owner of the Atalee Hotel on Garrison Avenue in Fort Smith, who told of a man with a little child fitting Pearl's description staying at the hotel, then catching a train to Oklahoma. <br />
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In a strange development, Lela Turner was taken secretly to Fort Smith to spend the night at the home of the Matron of the Missouri Pacific train depot. The matron had engaged two clairvoyants to interview Mrs. Turner. They assured Lela that the child was well, happy, and would return in due time. On the return trip home, Lela told two companions that she felt at peace about Pearlie for the first time.<br />
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On November 8th, the Southwest American ran the headline "MISSING TURNER CHILD REPORTEDLY FOUND IN OKLAHOMA." A child abandoned by an itinerant construction worker at a boarding house in Picher, Oklahoma was believed to be Pearl. The man had shown up at the boarding house the week of Pearl's disappearance, telling the owner that the child was his daughter Elizabeth. The owner, seeing that the child fit the published description of the missing girl, asked the child her name. "Elizabeth," she replied, "but it used to be Pearl Turner." The child went on to tell the woman that she used to live in a place where "the hills were all covered with trees." She left, she said, "when a man and a nice lady" promised her candy, a new dress, and stockings if she would go with them. The owner of the boarding house contacted her local sheriff, who contacted Sheriff Allen in Waldron. <br />
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Sheriff Allen was getting a haircut at a barber shop in Waldron when he received the telegram. "Whoops!" he shouted. "Little Pearl is alive!"<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLDtXlHga8fqYnRQebG-i7F4BYbQWP4cu2rcblU7kAo5Cxfpx_3kA6Qqg9A_uO__4kbP9GT2twkrZ-30Cb-krhk5OT6WAkAIbbDM9qa_QxSGyTg_DRQLZz097Kq6uWJ9ZwnrSTXDQMW4M/s1600/pearl+not+her.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLDtXlHga8fqYnRQebG-i7F4BYbQWP4cu2rcblU7kAo5Cxfpx_3kA6Qqg9A_uO__4kbP9GT2twkrZ-30Cb-krhk5OT6WAkAIbbDM9qa_QxSGyTg_DRQLZz097Kq6uWJ9ZwnrSTXDQMW4M/s320/pearl+not+her.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little girl thought to be Pearl Turner</td></tr>
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The wave of gladness that through the community was short-lived however. When Lela Turner was shown a newspaper photograph of the child in Picher, she said, "It looks kind of like her, but it's not my Pearl." When the man called Hermit saw the picture, however, he said, "No doubt about it, that's little Pearl." The manager of the Artelee Hotel in Fort Smith also identified the child as the one that had stayed at his hotel. <br />
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Meanwhile, the drifter who had abandoned the child at the boarding house in Oklahoma was arrested, and when questioned, maintained that the child was his daughter Elizabeth, and that he had left her to await the arrival of her mother to pick her up. This proved to be false, since it was soon discovered that his wife had been dead for three years. <br />
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Under further questioning, it was discovered that the man had been in Fort Smith at the time of Pearl's disappearance. To further cloud the issue, he had in his possession the license plate of the Fort Smith clairvoyant who had joined in the search for the child. The man had no explanation for this curious detail, and it remains one of the inexplicable facets of the case.<br />
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Area citizens raised money to send Lela to Picher to see the child at the boarding house. The Southwest American newspaper provided funds to send Hermit as well. He told the newspaper that they would know for sure if the child was Pearl, because she would recognize him at once. <br />
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Lela Turner and her oldest child arrived at Picher on the same train as Hermit. However, Hermit was first to arrive at the boarding house. When Lela and her daughter arrived, he was sitting on the porch of the boarding house with the child on his lap. When Lela and Rosa approached, Hermit asked the child, "What is your name?" The little girl replied "It's Pearl Turner, and I have a little dog named Robbie." Lela told Rosa to check the child to see if she had a scar on her rib cage, and Rosa did so, reporting that there was no scar.<br />
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"It's not my Pearlie," said Lela. She left for the railroad depot to return to Arkansas. Hermit, however, insisted that the little girl was Pearl, and that she sang a little chorus that he had once taught her. <br />
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Lela Turner returned, heavy-hearted, to the little mountain community of Tate. Hermit returned to his retreat on Magazine Mountain, still insisting the child in Picher was the missing Pearl. Hermit remained on good terms with the Turners and continued to visit them as long as they lived in Tate.<br />
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On November 18th, the last headline about the Turner case appeared in the Southwest American; "NEW HUNT TO BE ORGANIZED IN HILL SECTION." The proposed new search never materialized, however, and the Turner story disappeared from the newspapers just as little Pearl had disappeared into the White Oak Mountains. One searcher, however, never gave up. When winter came and the snows fell, hunters would often encounter Lela Turner wandering in the mountains, crying "Pearlie? Pearlie? Where are you?"<br />
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When spring came, the Turners left to share crop a farm near Booneville. Later, they moved to Oklahoma, and then to California, where they remained. Lynn Turner passed away in 1970, and Lela in 1973. <br />
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Many questions remain about the disappearance of little Pearl Turner. It is a mystery that will never be solved.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMhevBSd-KugUzTX1K4WGrOWyyg7N4i-S8tecRRSarxNeSkZpirLPEt2301qv3lY8Z1DkCev6AMV2SzBM4-8UeDeFKCM1Qh43sMQ_TaQpTh3AqOZU8xx7jrz21lWGWTt554m9O_tZgvyR/s1600/pearl+watts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMhevBSd-KugUzTX1K4WGrOWyyg7N4i-S8tecRRSarxNeSkZpirLPEt2301qv3lY8Z1DkCev6AMV2SzBM4-8UeDeFKCM1Qh43sMQ_TaQpTh3AqOZU8xx7jrz21lWGWTt554m9O_tZgvyR/s320/pearl+watts.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
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This is a retelling of the story written by Walter Watts that appeared in the Southwest Times Record newspaper.<br />
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Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-22034133767611563622013-04-26T16:22:00.001-05:002022-08-12T10:45:55.981-05:00Great Candy I Have Known<em><span style="color: blue;">Another rerun, but one of my favorites...</span></em><br />
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Before we ever had to worry about calories and triglycerides and saturated fats, there was candy. Not a lot, mind you; none of us were rich enough to have all the candy we wanted. But, when we really needed it, there was candy. A nickle or dime of our lunch money was often allotted to candy, and when we could spare it, a grocery delivery from Robert Davis' store often included something sweet.<br />
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Here are some of my all time favorite candy memories:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAwjCy9GeL0x7WjTjxuGCLjApkdvMraBWQeSwyIuDOB3hEfmeLRdhsWfxgPNOJ4VvURThqPE-H2ShUzI1LHZbYPMTgpm6Xho6eqgN0u3KSPVHZ97brGanQo825mW3xo4e6Ej9FOIHDnig/s1600/wowee+whistle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAwjCy9GeL0x7WjTjxuGCLjApkdvMraBWQeSwyIuDOB3hEfmeLRdhsWfxgPNOJ4VvURThqPE-H2ShUzI1LHZbYPMTgpm6Xho6eqgN0u3KSPVHZ97brGanQo825mW3xo4e6Ej9FOIHDnig/s1600/wowee+whistle.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">The Wowee Whistle</span></strong>. These came out around Halloween each year. They were made of wax, similar to the wax candy lips that you can still get. You blew on the whistle until you got tired (a skilled musician could actually produce songs), then you chewed up the wax. The wax was infused with a flavor similar to Beeman's gum, and was quite tasty.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9I59mHaHY9BzMPdpC3BL28L_fEr3MbiFM6965i87_YWy1Ih9tr9mD3Tn6Yhvz2T1Hfgn9TGfn_A_X66Q38i2U0ImNiHOULhejSYi4Yv3UkyQIK09xUf6-iD4WHVk1qGX_0IXPf6AKdST/s1600/black+cow+sucker.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="71" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9I59mHaHY9BzMPdpC3BL28L_fEr3MbiFM6965i87_YWy1Ih9tr9mD3Tn6Yhvz2T1Hfgn9TGfn_A_X66Q38i2U0ImNiHOULhejSYi4Yv3UkyQIK09xUf6-iD4WHVk1qGX_0IXPf6AKdST/s320/black+cow+sucker.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The <strong><span style="background-color: white; color: red;">Black Cow</span></strong> was a chocolatey, caramel sucker similar to a Sugar Daddy but vastly superior in flavor. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzBO-jPN1zl7mkWPG3Cw9MOOuxFPqfBH0EVEGgzYSbOY34og-u5Qrj8RUanG-koYEiePqfCczTImvurcHtFYcVwpvqIAOcmCK2OY7MFlea8AepxRSq1VBD6BT2QqeS9dC7PbQzMiBo3lj/s1600/candy-cigarettes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzBO-jPN1zl7mkWPG3Cw9MOOuxFPqfBH0EVEGgzYSbOY34og-u5Qrj8RUanG-koYEiePqfCczTImvurcHtFYcVwpvqIAOcmCK2OY7MFlea8AepxRSq1VBD6BT2QqeS9dC7PbQzMiBo3lj/s1600/candy-cigarettes.jpg" /></a></div>
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In a stroke of marketing genius probably covertly funded by America's tobacco industry, <strong><span style="color: red;">candy cigarettes</span></strong> were available in packages that looked just like Dad's smokes, and with names that were often similar. The candy cigarettes tasted pretty bad, but they looked oh-so real. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwCS3hZjwySGaA0HaTae3Y3Q1dVNWfw_E4IVTGojZ_ku57uEqTBAdTvFC9LJmLE6IgeSGFKgGYHk0aoY5HzIGH37pzTvvcs_kq_ZjGtb5_IxIwnWv7Off16YrpC7ecHOzI_b_ZVjFqw15/s1600/beeman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwCS3hZjwySGaA0HaTae3Y3Q1dVNWfw_E4IVTGojZ_ku57uEqTBAdTvFC9LJmLE6IgeSGFKgGYHk0aoY5HzIGH37pzTvvcs_kq_ZjGtb5_IxIwnWv7Off16YrpC7ecHOzI_b_ZVjFqw15/s1600/beeman.jpg" /></a></div>
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I could always count on my Aunt Addie to have a stick of <strong><span style="color: red;">Clove</span></strong> gum ready at church when the sermon started getting a little too long. I was never a fan of <strong><span style="color: red;">Black Jack</span></strong>, but the flavor of <strong><span style="color: red;">Beemans </span></strong>is delightful, and Clove is probably the most unique flavor you'll ever taste in gum. These gums are still available at Cracker Barrel. I was never much of a gum chewer; I always felt that gum required too much of a commitment. After all, with candy, you chew it up, enjoy it, and then move on. With gum, you chew it up, enjoy it, but it just keeps hanging around.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuBqIP_gCUzdJO9P67iMS1kC_5MwoEZEzC94t05SPARElDwbw13sD3vVqPV8YMV-M5X2OZ2EIwPsbrglF5M1rAuxDslHGLP7zePbFY7VDz2ZDwPk_fdz6zWhRkVFUfQAoLnvV_JNn6jwN/s1600/space_food_sticks_pillsbury.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuBqIP_gCUzdJO9P67iMS1kC_5MwoEZEzC94t05SPARElDwbw13sD3vVqPV8YMV-M5X2OZ2EIwPsbrglF5M1rAuxDslHGLP7zePbFY7VDz2ZDwPk_fdz6zWhRkVFUfQAoLnvV_JNn6jwN/s1600/space_food_sticks_pillsbury.gif" /></a></div>
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As it turns out, my research reveals that astronauts probably never actually ate these, contrary to the advertising. <strong><span style="color: red;">Space Food Sticks</span></strong> were a chewy concoction similar to a Tootsie Roll, but much softer. They came in flavors like chocolate, butterscotch, peanut butter, vanilla, and others. They were somewhat pricey, so we didn't get to have Space Food Sticks very often.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsaHiQy8ZhgfUwzh3MomXfdl3oy_iOvb3MiZsIhvYWaRDbIHctXPNay5ph5DIorkU5gx66991-dbE6UxwWQZCvznuB_eY6vzOput84bNz7JjKRpCfe85mtWo8PWUl3YKpYvuf0h81IiDP/s1600/butternut_candy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="97" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsaHiQy8ZhgfUwzh3MomXfdl3oy_iOvb3MiZsIhvYWaRDbIHctXPNay5ph5DIorkU5gx66991-dbE6UxwWQZCvznuB_eY6vzOput84bNz7JjKRpCfe85mtWo8PWUl3YKpYvuf0h81IiDP/s320/butternut_candy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The <strong><span style="color: red;">Butter Nut</span></strong> bar consisted of caramel and peanuts surrounded by milk chocolate. It was not necessarily my all-time favorite candy bar, but it was a good go-to candy bar when you wanted something different.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9lOEtEWWyCVixerfFQnqAjYOLfDSUFbVe6p_JB-k3juT1_rghrm7G5Mmd3MLU3JgwXhABQnAynwEmqobZ3yCyX96qs2uLmWriQrXxG7Ls2UKrBSkLA94AaJ2tLW2XJK6gyUDaNx_92DP/s1600/grape+sucker.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9lOEtEWWyCVixerfFQnqAjYOLfDSUFbVe6p_JB-k3juT1_rghrm7G5Mmd3MLU3JgwXhABQnAynwEmqobZ3yCyX96qs2uLmWriQrXxG7Ls2UKrBSkLA94AaJ2tLW2XJK6gyUDaNx_92DP/s320/grape+sucker.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">Winner Suckers</span></strong>. No, this picture is not an actual Winner Sucker. Evidently, no photographic evidence of this great candy exists today. But, it did look kind of like this, with its cluster of grapes on one side (it also came in a cherry flavor, although I never bought that version). The other side of the sucker was flat, and if it had a little piece of tape stuck on it that said "Winner", you got a free sucker. Not a bad investment for five cents.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">UPDATE: Kathy Lagrange has provided us with a couple of pictures of actual Winner Sucker boxes!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz43Fx1lNn8TjAKA3ItiCCQw2drkGHLMfN1Rr2pujvIwrTY55Z9ehAmZRTRSx7HGRIf86dQo-SmMeiQFW5UdOam4225MiN-a2MoTQa5jmOUQwKpRFhnvfWc6V6bDr9J3445jSAvkFsIZ58XQ8ryO_ij57Up7MOHezEfBhtIYgFFsaLv4ml2sVac4D8QA/s640/winnersucker1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="472" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz43Fx1lNn8TjAKA3ItiCCQw2drkGHLMfN1Rr2pujvIwrTY55Z9ehAmZRTRSx7HGRIf86dQo-SmMeiQFW5UdOam4225MiN-a2MoTQa5jmOUQwKpRFhnvfWc6V6bDr9J3445jSAvkFsIZ58XQ8ryO_ij57Up7MOHezEfBhtIYgFFsaLv4ml2sVac4D8QA/s320/winnersucker1.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigA83Lj8fhlGKDzfH2pwsi7qw0YChvX8OjjrVi1v0gd34I5xZBkaGbnozSAV6-MlaWy3zH2QnzmZDax9ER5akv00zuKY8zfcUupXaL3s9Kgw3X9Hz8OqMCg4XWi9gWVcDtyumY-2gqvTjh5-N0cIoQAh7C4hqB5G0WZbrOpbJnCys3tpxg-hXcZKTbzA/s640/winnersucker2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="640" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigA83Lj8fhlGKDzfH2pwsi7qw0YChvX8OjjrVi1v0gd34I5xZBkaGbnozSAV6-MlaWy3zH2QnzmZDax9ER5akv00zuKY8zfcUupXaL3s9Kgw3X9Hz8OqMCg4XWi9gWVcDtyumY-2gqvTjh5-N0cIoQAh7C4hqB5G0WZbrOpbJnCys3tpxg-hXcZKTbzA/s320/winnersucker2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thanks Kathy!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDD9j_YtE7pfxjMzmXxE9mdjbBbFTJM3DiG2KtO2SFB_ph4aZcMHlcUpRIP8YFeu-r-jR3JKZWECdyAqnKfQxRd-DEf0xHKAHIrHtnGWdSygJ5OmHgLQ4CtxEYkBLMua79GZi4HWm1O50H/s1600/hot-cinnamon-toothpicks-packs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDD9j_YtE7pfxjMzmXxE9mdjbBbFTJM3DiG2KtO2SFB_ph4aZcMHlcUpRIP8YFeu-r-jR3JKZWECdyAqnKfQxRd-DEf0xHKAHIrHtnGWdSygJ5OmHgLQ4CtxEYkBLMua79GZi4HWm1O50H/s1600/hot-cinnamon-toothpicks-packs.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">Hot Toothpicks</span></strong>. These cinnamon flavored toothpicks were popular because you got your money's worth for a nickel; enough hot toothpicks to last way past the time you finally got tired of them. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhle5ZbCjKQwTG-J0zKV_u3P5AHJsB067Pk_NLcpI4_eqJTDoUL3inUVpZnjgyd0w_aa0YNOAZNIYSA1eibo4xIejzQmpcdp8j6G1o-_b6hlVUuI4_hMpp0NjxyEA08NE-w6l9HT-3OpMJL/s1600/wacky+packages.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhle5ZbCjKQwTG-J0zKV_u3P5AHJsB067Pk_NLcpI4_eqJTDoUL3inUVpZnjgyd0w_aa0YNOAZNIYSA1eibo4xIejzQmpcdp8j6G1o-_b6hlVUuI4_hMpp0NjxyEA08NE-w6l9HT-3OpMJL/s1600/wacky+packages.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">Wacky Packages</span></strong> were wildly popular among the younger set back in the 1960's. I include them here because you did actually get one stick of bubble gum with the package. I usually gave the gum away (I've mentioned my commitment issues) and laughed hysterically over the cards, which featured popular products of the day with their well-known advertising slogans slightly altered to produce hilarious results. There are several websites devoted to the vintage Wacky Packages of the 1960's and 1970's.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTN5MIU35QYBzGIxb2l3K0cYMcbSxxSCQFDMXiZCR1pScCPGmbQ9XPSmGLe0QXMwJnnLloTS2lqekuQ2clOF1RNxNGp9YsWmPGjliOX_dks7XcuxVTnq9pJq_1hzXE5b1CDSfuguqoR3Wc/s1600/mars+bar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTN5MIU35QYBzGIxb2l3K0cYMcbSxxSCQFDMXiZCR1pScCPGmbQ9XPSmGLe0QXMwJnnLloTS2lqekuQ2clOF1RNxNGp9YsWmPGjliOX_dks7XcuxVTnq9pJq_1hzXE5b1CDSfuguqoR3Wc/s320/mars+bar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My candy bar. The <strong><span style="color: red;">Mars Bar</span></strong>. I ordered one at Burden's Candy Store each day during most of my school career. Back then, you ordered what you wanted, there was no self-service. You told the person working at the candy counter what you wanted, they retrieved it for you, and you paid them for it. For some reason, I always told the clerk that I wanted "a Mars Bar with almonds," evidently under the erroneous impression that there was a Mars Bar without almonds. The Mars Bar is no more; it has been replaced by the Snickers with Almonds. There is, of course, a Snickers without almonds, so be careful what you order. <span style="color: red;">(Update: In the time since this blog entry was originally written, the Mars Bar has been reintroduced!)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStBWgsf_Gfj31vnB-Iw770or04lS9f2zxj7m7241_XR59wZZeLq7M36M81y4H4hnVrCKr5adsMKwxK8oZz3pvwKS00jQ8OfavI8GVldbgOI8bFWUHnnuJVplPorocftcoOi2pjw5ndNGc/s1600/mallo_10_50_dbl-thumb-200x400.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStBWgsf_Gfj31vnB-Iw770or04lS9f2zxj7m7241_XR59wZZeLq7M36M81y4H4hnVrCKr5adsMKwxK8oZz3pvwKS00jQ8OfavI8GVldbgOI8bFWUHnnuJVplPorocftcoOi2pjw5ndNGc/s320/mallo_10_50_dbl-thumb-200x400.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">Mallo Cups</span></strong> and <strong><span style="color: red;">Smoothies</span></strong> were made by the same company, Boyer's. I never cared for Mallo Cups; a chocolate and coconut shell with marshmallow cream in the middle. But Smoothies, that's different. A butterscotch and peanut shell, with peanut butter in the middle...delicious! Plus, there was a little card in each package that had an image of a coin. You saved the cards, which had coins ranging from five cents up to fifty cents. My sister Janet loved Smoothies, and she decided that she was going to collect enough coins (500 points worth) to send off for the prize, which incredibly was a box of Smoothies! She saved every card, as we all did, and after a while, she had enough points. She mailed her collection of paper coins to the company, and we could hardly wait until the box of Smoothies came in the mail. After what seemed like an eternity, a package from Boyer's arrived. With trembling hands, Janet carefully unwrapped the package. Sure enough, it was a box of...no, it can't be...Mallo Cups!</div>
Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-60720790138437892602013-04-17T11:01:00.000-05:002013-04-18T09:29:21.543-05:00When I'm Down, And Feeling Low, I Read My eBay FeedbackI love eBay. I love it so much, in fact, that I have forced myself to make it cost neutral; I must sell something of equivalent value to cover my purchases. I started out buying and selling View-Master reels. (Insert appropriately condescending comments here.) Then I ran across a large collection of Coast Guard Search and Rescue patches at a flea market that turned out to be a goldmine. Now, I search eBay for old postcards of my hometown of Waldron Arkansas. <br />
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Needless to say, I have successfully completed a number of both purchases and sales on eBay, and consequently have had quite a bit of feedback left for each transaction. I am happy to report that my feedback score on eBay is 100% positive. Nowhere else in life, with the possible exception of my two dogs, do I enjoy a 100% positive feedback rating. So it is understandable that I, on occasion, visit my eBay feedback page, just to remind myself that I do in fact have some redeemable qualities; that I am honest, reliable, and by golly, an excellent shipper.<br />
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In 1998, <strong><em>ilovefilms</em></strong> described me as <span style="color: blue;"><strong>Top notch in my book. Fast & friendly. A pleasure to deal with.</strong></span> Later that year, <strong><em>ladesco</em></strong> said <strong><span style="color: blue;">Bill, thank you for the great view-masters...your quick response is impressive!!!</span></strong> That's right. Three exclamation points. Shortly thereafter, <strong><em>No Longer A Registered User</em></strong> captured my essence succinctly: <strong><span style="color: blue;">Quick exchange; great item; great person!</span></strong> Only one exclamation point, but from the heart, I think. <br />
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Then, <strong><em>jgdg220 </em></strong>effused <strong><span style="color: blue;">Ah!!! Bill is best kind of eBay dealer! Merchandise better than described!!!</span></strong> I don't think I have to count the exclamation points there, you can see for yourself. I can take no credit for the excellent quality of the merchandise, I didn't make it, I just described it. Inadequately, evidently. But nevertheless, a home run with <strong><em>jgdg220</em></strong>. <strong><em> cinedux</em></strong> was less effusive, but still complimentary: <strong><span style="color: blue;">Pleasant honest trader. Will deal with again. </span></strong> That turned out to be an empty promise, but that's OK. <strong><em>skycap</em></strong> later captured a characteristic overlooked by others: <strong><span style="color: blue;">Item as described. Very fast transaction, informative seller. Recommend highly! </span></strong> That's me; I inform. <br />
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Others became more personally involved in the transaction. <strong><span style="color: blue;">Fast shipment, great communication. Love ya Bill - keep 'em coming</span></strong> said <strong><em>viewmasterlady</em></strong>. <strong><em>melmc</em></strong> said <strong><span style="color: blue;">Bill took great care with my item. He was very responsive and kind</span></strong>. That's just the way I am, <strong><em>melmc</em></strong>. <strong><em>wildbillgaye</em></strong> also picked up on my innate goodness, with the simple <strong><span style="color: blue;">Very kind and good at word</span></strong>. <br />
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Some eBayers, probably on the rebound from some hurtful previous transaction, chose to compare me to other sellers. <strong><em>lov2shop4mojo</em></strong> declared <strong><span style="color: blue;">This was one of the most timely transactions I've had - Wonderful eBayer!! A+++</span></strong>. Still greater praise came from <strong><em>bjricehawg</em></strong>, who said <strong><span style="color: blue;">They don't get any better than this guy!!!!</span></strong> I'm pretty sure he was talking about me and not himself. <strong><em>topps55 </em></strong>summed it up best, I think, with the comment <strong><span style="color: blue;">Wow, if only all eBayers were this good! </span></strong> <br />
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And then, there are a few feedback comments that are notable simply due to their, shall we say, uniqueness; to their particular turn of phrase. <strong><em>paisley beatle</em></strong>, in keeping with the spirit of her user ID, said <strong><span style="color: blue;">Perfectly Positive..thanks so much for a fab transaction.</span></strong> For <strong><em>cascade2</em></strong>, our online transaction took on its own reality, commenting <strong><span style="color: blue;">Such a pleasure to meet!! Great customer! Recommend AAA++++!!!</span></strong> <strong><em>2297653 No</em></strong> <strong><em>Longer A Registered User</em></strong> said<strong><span style="color: blue;"> Merchandise exactly as described!! At our house, Bill's the One!!!</span></strong> I must go there someday. <strong><em>seawitch89</em></strong> waxed poetic, saying <strong><span style="color: blue;">Completed in the fashion of 'the way things should be'. Very Good. </span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Space does not permit me to share the comments from the likes of <strong><em>bbpoodles</em></strong>, <strong><em>beccasladybugacres</em></strong>, <strong><em>woody64</em></strong>, <strong><em>woodnfish</em></strong>, or <strong><em>levelord</em></strong>. Suffice it to say, they all verified my excellent shipping record. But <strong><em>cavemuseum</em></strong>, perhaps, gave me the highest praise: <strong><span style="color: blue;">It doesn't get any better than this, great transaction, a credit to eBay</span></strong>. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">So, when I'm long gone, my electronic feedback will remain, and all will know. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">I was a credit to eBay. </span><br />
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<br />Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-61026808684046776282013-03-28T21:07:00.001-05:002013-04-17T08:56:32.972-05:00I Ate A Bug (My Cincinnati Travelogue)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_CJkwvLpTn4cRmJVWpmnX_E9Q9k46BhrCq-RrlJ2dyGNcTpTFIhoYSINhhHpQlVoTGaqp9W2Nl9U6DFrMM4TDMmSCESfLIzI5p4RSgiLbh8O4RcFQ7sFz7YDBm3rOMYYdPtoNHtjN1CY/s1600/Cin-Skyline2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_CJkwvLpTn4cRmJVWpmnX_E9Q9k46BhrCq-RrlJ2dyGNcTpTFIhoYSINhhHpQlVoTGaqp9W2Nl9U6DFrMM4TDMmSCESfLIzI5p4RSgiLbh8O4RcFQ7sFz7YDBm3rOMYYdPtoNHtjN1CY/s320/Cin-Skyline2.jpg" usa="true" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But I didn't eat one here.</td></tr>
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Yes, I did. Because when you talk big, you have to back it up. That's the Law of the West. I ate a lot of other things, too, which were all significantly more tasty than the bug. It all happened last week. So we depart, once again, from the normal pattern of happy and humorous reminiscences of my life growing up in little Waldron, Arkansas that you usually find on this blog, for another post from the present day. What follows is a recap of the exciting week I just spent in the city that old Henry Wadsworth Longfellow called the "Queen of the West," Cincinnati Ohio.</div>
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The journey to Cincinnati was a long one, about 14 hours counting the stops at gas stations, McDonald's, and Cracker Barrel. My travelling party consisted of myself, my wife Marilyn, my stepson Ross and his wife Maegan, and their little two-year old daughter Kate. We were going to Cincinnati to visit my stepdaughter Laura, who is doing a fellowship at Cincinnati Childrens Hospital. Plus, it was Spring Break, and since everyone else was going south, we decided to go north.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhbe8HmKBKGTIZLQ3RdOcO34eFzuCORSgGISxtzXEVyo8M80DNize5ngjjNHz7TmafnfEW8AW7yRNJBBQLL8oCeU0eeLW-n5wwfQ6KF6LjSmp5axfMNWP_amzefrj_LEf-KWuVXHxdUFs/s1600/Cin-Eleanor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhbe8HmKBKGTIZLQ3RdOcO34eFzuCORSgGISxtzXEVyo8M80DNize5ngjjNHz7TmafnfEW8AW7yRNJBBQLL8oCeU0eeLW-n5wwfQ6KF6LjSmp5axfMNWP_amzefrj_LEf-KWuVXHxdUFs/s320/Cin-Eleanor.jpg" usa="true" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eleanor in repose.</td></tr>
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The long journey to Cincy, as we hipsters call it, was pretty uneventful. We arrived late on Monday night, and were warmly greeted by Laura, as well as Eleanor, the World's Greatest Jack Russell Terrier. Exhausted, we quickly found our beds, and rose the next morning to a delicious quiche that Laura had prepared for us. The first of many great moments of epicureal delight.</div>
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Tuesday marked our first shopping excursion. My family loves to shop, and sadly, I must include myself in that as well. A few years ago, Marilyn and I were at some kind of timeshare sales pitch in Branson, and the lady conducting the meeting asked everyone present why they were in town. The young couple to our right said that they loved to rock climb, and they were enjoying doing that in the beautiful Ozark Mountains. The woman then asked the two ladies seated to our left, and one of them said, "We like to hunt." Then, the woman in charge of the meeting looked directly at Marilyn and me, and said, "And what about you?" For some reason, the words that immediately escaped my lips were, "We like to shop." This created a bit of suppressed laughter in the room, and the lady conducting the meeting for some reason felt compelled to amplify my comments a bit. "See there ladies," she triumphantly bleated, "there ARE some men who like to shop." <br />
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Not one of my more triumphant moments.<br />
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Anyway, back to Tuesday. Ross had researched for me the location of a Nordstrom Rack store, which turned out to be in the Rookwood Pavillion shopping center. I have difficulty finding shoes in my size, and I had heard that Nordstrom carried a good selection. Sure enough, I found a pair that fit me. We went to a few other stores too, but since I had already made a purchase for myself, I was pretty much just going along for the ride. It's all about me, you see. Anyway, after some shopping, we decided to look for a place to pick up some lunch. We settled on a nearby sandwich shop called Potbelly Sandwiches. It was good. Extremely good. <br />
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After lunch, we headed back home to rest up, since we had not fully recovered from our 14-hour sojurn of the previous day. When Laura got home from the hospital, she had in mind a destination for our evening meal. A restaurant called The Senate.<br />
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The Senate is downtown, on Vine Street, in the area the locals call Over The Rhyne. Laura had been here before with some friends, so she had already given us a bit of an idea what to order. As our appetizer, we chose roasted marrow bones. Yes, really. You get two bone halves that have been roasted with garlic; you dip your spoon into the marrow and put a little bit on your toast along with some of the supplied cranberry sauce. We all had some, although there isn't much marrow in the two little bone sections. The marrow reminded me of the residue that might be left in a skillet after frying a steak. After we had all experienced the bone marrow, it was time for the main course. After carefully perusing the menu, I settled on the McSchnitzel. This was a porkbelly sandwich with a glaze of carmelized onions and apples, and my friends, it was superb. <br />
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On the way out of the Senate, while I was waiting for the others to come out, a nice gentleman struck up a conversation with me. He asked me how the food was, reported that he himself had tried to get a job at the Senate but with no luck, asked me my name, and then proceeded to recite an impromptu poem about my name. Being the country rube that I am, as he was reciting his poem, I wondered to myself if he was a bum. I had never really seen a city bum before, so I was perplexed. At the conclusion of his poem, another person walking by handed the poet some folding money, so I followed suit. I gave him five dollars; I'm not sure what the going rate for poetry is now days.<br />
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Here are some pictures of our exciting first day in Cincinnati:<br />
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<tr><td style="border: currentColor; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6H-8YUUKixZGNF2BX7b1V6vlqo8_I56PpECx7sugWD06z3q5lLZqQ3EN2VEvenpEthpuVEHBZse_Q3XUFL69py3SXHji3TNx5YNO7mEh6UhhvXh7Y2RlyFEhlBpVVumSPpvfaD8Bm4qB0/s1600/Cin-Nordstromrack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6H-8YUUKixZGNF2BX7b1V6vlqo8_I56PpECx7sugWD06z3q5lLZqQ3EN2VEvenpEthpuVEHBZse_Q3XUFL69py3SXHji3TNx5YNO7mEh6UhhvXh7Y2RlyFEhlBpVVumSPpvfaD8Bm4qB0/s1600/Cin-Nordstromrack.jpg" usa="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nordstrom Rack in Rookwood Pavillion</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border: currentColor; text-align: center;">A mighty fine sandwich shop.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTCo3aS3anjb0HtlZGt8NYBmn126Og0eOV-DFtdNFtsViVy5aTKMwhg5R85-vDyAQWS5TgHu2FjCJYAoAI9_z7dRpCsPQekDVo4qXt8IjrQDxUCvJO87uwC8YhSeA0eqCHG-uCRVyh_lN/s1600/Cin-senate1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTCo3aS3anjb0HtlZGt8NYBmn126Og0eOV-DFtdNFtsViVy5aTKMwhg5R85-vDyAQWS5TgHu2FjCJYAoAI9_z7dRpCsPQekDVo4qXt8IjrQDxUCvJO87uwC8YhSeA0eqCHG-uCRVyh_lN/s320/Cin-senate1.jpg" usa="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Senate Pub on Vine Street</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoo68v-fcou4W2UG94ukd0U3EPSpjnwgLsQt2xYWEDoZysUXytMwCtu3aLdA6RIcYUEDbq0DmSpwEM3yD6IaoJ4g9Pk8HEIGD5Rf76ud3ogvA-VDstgUxgRRLO05DAHw79kQbKg2JCt4w/s1600/Cin-Senate.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoo68v-fcou4W2UG94ukd0U3EPSpjnwgLsQt2xYWEDoZysUXytMwCtu3aLdA6RIcYUEDbq0DmSpwEM3yD6IaoJ4g9Pk8HEIGD5Rf76ud3ogvA-VDstgUxgRRLO05DAHw79kQbKg2JCt4w/s320/Cin-Senate.JPG" usa="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roasted marrow bones, with cranberry sauce and toast.</td></tr>
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On Wednesday morning, after a late breakfast, we traveled north of Cincinnati up Interstate 71 to an outlet mall that Ross and Maegan had read about, the Tanger Outlet in Jeffersonville Ohio. This day turned out to be much colder that the previous day, and windy. Marilyn and I took Kate to the food court while Ross and Maegan shopped. After a bit, we ventured out to a few shops with Kate, but by the time we hit the Disney store she was fast asleep in her stroller. I tilted the stroller back so that her little head could lay against the back of the stroller, and kept her that way for the next two hours. At one point, as we were walking along the sidewalk, big snow flakes began to fall. Kate, who had stirred a bit, stuck her hands behind her back and went back to sleep.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate taking a break at the outlet mall.</td></tr>
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By the time we left the outlet mall, Kate had seen the playground with the slide, which happens to be one of her favorite things. She really wanted to slide, but we felt like the cold wind would not be good for the cough that she had developed, so, much to her disapproval, we left the outlet mall and headed to our next stop, IKEA.<br />
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I had never been to an IKEA store before, so it was quite an experience. The only problem was, we had barely managed to get everything we brought with us loaded into the car in the first place, so any additonal purchases of large items was out of the question. I did allow myself, however, a small lamp and a set of door stops.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganrfqUL3uBf2J0jkEXByu4aLCPqJFf_iBj9RoRs8jkUfnlr_yZe0fyULCnHJgA08ysXeQgNEYkyW3tMp3Kv_rEtu2VjrslUTM6V6-ncaWFoVLJbDkzanp-aq-GP2ALBGvADYn07H-RxJC/s1600/Cin-Elis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganrfqUL3uBf2J0jkEXByu4aLCPqJFf_iBj9RoRs8jkUfnlr_yZe0fyULCnHJgA08ysXeQgNEYkyW3tMp3Kv_rEtu2VjrslUTM6V6-ncaWFoVLJbDkzanp-aq-GP2ALBGvADYn07H-RxJC/s1600/Cin-Elis.jpg" usa="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eli's Barbeque. We parked in the back.</td></tr>
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Laura was working nearby that day at the Liberty Township branch of Cincinnati Childrens, so she met us when she got off that afternoon. Our destination for supper this time was Eli's, a barbeque place on the riverfront. Another winner picked by Laura. I had the pulled pork sandwich with slaw, baked beans, and a coke in a bottle! Kate really enjoyed this place, constantly referring to the couple sitting beside us as "those kids." She also broke into song, favoring the crowd with an impromptu version of the "I Love You" theme from Barney. She also felt compelled to have us join hands and say grace not once, but twice during the meal. </div>
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After Eli's, it was back to the house to bed. I might mention that my bed for the week was a blow-up air matress that I found incredibly comfortable. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn's Happy Place</td></tr>
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As cold as it was Wednesday, Thursday was even colder. Big snow flakes were again falling that morning as we left the house. Our destination was downtown Cincinnati, and Marilyn's favorite store, Macy's. She had visited this store in January when she helped Laura move in, so she was familiar with how to navigate the parking garage downtown. Let me brag on Marilyn here a bit; she was fearless driving around in Cincinnati. She did the driving on this day, Ross (who was also extremely skilled at driving around the city) did the driving most other days, except for when Laura went somewhere with us. She was by far the bravest and most skilled of our driving pool. I pretty much just sat back and relaxed. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Cincinnati tradition.</td></tr>
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After a few hours at Macy's, where I tried in vain to convince Marilyn that I needed a bow tie, we headed out for lunch. I had made it known that I wanted to eat at Skyline Chili, but the enthusiam for that concept from the other members of my party was neglible, at best. So, as we were driving along we spotted a Chipotle restaurant. We decided to go there, and when we turned the car around and headed back, we were surprised to see that there was a Skyline Chile in the same complex. So, it was agreed that I would eat at Skyline, and the rest of them would go to Chipotle. However, gripped with remorse at their decision, Marilyn, Ross, Maegan, and Kate all followed me into Skyline.</div>
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At Skyline, the chili is served over thin noodles and piled high with cheese. A "Three Way" is noodles, chili, and cheese; a "Four Way is noodles, chili, cheese, and either onions or beans; and a "Five Way" is noodles, chili, cheese, onions, and beans. I chose the "Four Way" with onions, along with a chili sandwich that consisted of chili and cheese on a hot dog bun. I really liked the Skyline chili; many people don't. It is flavored differently than most chili, with a bit of a cinnamon flavor actually, which some don't care for. However, it is so popular that it is even sold in cans at grocery stores. I brought back a small supply for some of my friends, as well as a couple of cans that I put in our own pantry. </div>
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By the time we finished at Skyline, Laura had rejoined us. We went back to her house for a brief rest, and then headed to another unique Cincinnati landmark, Jungle Jim's International Food Market. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel9ZHmdO1CoQdL_GOBGeFjvS7bkoY4W-flfN5Bj6-bnMccZZxs0JkS9UdSIYiS7DGUit2gBfAUddXHebO40NrPhqTQAL5Bso8UQejBEZrYlhJRajEGvpXu7vPcHWLN2cBjngydv2oUIy1/s1600/Cin-Jungle+Jims+International.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel9ZHmdO1CoQdL_GOBGeFjvS7bkoY4W-flfN5Bj6-bnMccZZxs0JkS9UdSIYiS7DGUit2gBfAUddXHebO40NrPhqTQAL5Bso8UQejBEZrYlhJRajEGvpXu7vPcHWLN2cBjngydv2oUIy1/s320/Cin-Jungle+Jims+International.jpg" usa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
Jungle Jim's is unlike any place you've ever been. It is full of unlikely food items from all over the world. The whole time I was there I kept thinking of my dad, Abb Yates, who passed away last year and who had a lifelong love for the quirky and unusual. He would have really had a time a Jungle Jim's. <br />
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This is a real U.S. Navy firetruck, which greets you at the opening of the hot sauce section, which is a house-sized room with what has to be every kind of hot sauce ever manufactured.<br />
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I had read on the Internet that you could get dehydrated insects at Jungle Jim's, and sure enough, you can!<br />
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Kate gets International flavor at Jungle Jim's.<br />
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Kangaroo. It's what's for supper. <br />
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Well, since I had talked big about eating an insect, I felt that my honor was at stake if I failed to follow through. So, I carefully selected one of the Giant Waterbugs. The bug was completely intact, eyes included, just dehydrated. So, for the honor of Abb Yates and the Arkansas Razorbacks, I ate it. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsSibT0oo3GxlzRIXxASNgBW3_eCtWCzTqWESyAfypbA5PuJNfjFUflLkMrsa5pnRDo0091dcYg-E-I8nAYAOTgvbAGaPyA6E7D3ZzV_PNcGUR3zP3cv6HavUE7fHu18Xxor8zENK4eUP/s1600/Cin-Bug.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsSibT0oo3GxlzRIXxASNgBW3_eCtWCzTqWESyAfypbA5PuJNfjFUflLkMrsa5pnRDo0091dcYg-E-I8nAYAOTgvbAGaPyA6E7D3ZzV_PNcGUR3zP3cv6HavUE7fHu18Xxor8zENK4eUP/s320/Cin-Bug.JPG" usa="true" width="213" /></a>It took about four bites to get it down, each one accompanied by a sickening "crunch" sound. The bug was basically flavorless, perhaps with a bit of a salty taste, but it took forever to chew up each bite. But I got the whole thing down.<br />
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After our trip to Jungle Jim's, we got take-out from an Italian place called Buca Di Beppo. Outstanding, but frankly, after a Giant Waterbug, most anything tastes good.<br />
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End of Thursday. Whew!<br />
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Friday, it was a bit warmer. Laura was off that day, so she got to experience the full day with us. Our first stop was the Gap Outlet, <strike>which may be the only one in the country (not sure).</strike> (It's not; thanks Uncle Skip for the info.) They all bought stuff, and I even found a sweater in my size for $1.99. After that, we went to the Kenwood Mall, where there was another large Macy's. We spent several hours there, and I made another pitch for a bow tie, and Marilyn and I actually looked at some, but they were not priced as cheaply as the one I saw at the downtown Macy's. So I let it go.<br />
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For lunch, we went to a place Marilyn had been before; the BonBonnerie. It is a bakery on one level with a little tea room/cafe below. I had a delicious roasted turkey and colby sandwich on pickle bread, along with a slice of their signature quiche. I had a small pot of English black tea to drink. What a marvelous lunch it was! Afterwards, we stopped at the bakery and Laura bought us a salted caramel cupcake. Unbelievably good.<br />
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Later that evening, we went to the Chipotle that everyone had passed up for me for our supper. The portions were huge, the food was delicious, and everybody was happy. End of Friday.<br />
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Saturday was designated as Kate's day. She had been very patient, and actually made it through the 14 hour trip with almost no complaints. She was content to watch her favorite show, Calliou, on her mom and dad's iPad. We had hoped to go the the famous Cincinnati Zoo that day, but we realized early in the week that it was too cold. So instead, we went to the Cincinnati Children's Museum in the old train station downtown.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 1930s era former train station, now a museum.</td></tr>
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The museum was a art deco marvel, so beautiful in design. I could easily imagine the trains steaming into the station, the concourse busy with travelers. I had noticed earlier that there was an IMAX theater in the museum, so I bought a ticket for the "Flight of the Butterflies" show about Monarchs, while everyone else went with Kate into the Discovery section of the children's museum. I figured everyone would be ready to go by the time my 45 minute movie was over, but when I located them downstairs, Kate was just getting started. She had the best time! She climbed into a tree house, played with the 3,000 plastic balls in the fun zone; spent a LONG time at the water table, and then went back and did everything again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate crawling in the tube under the aquarium.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate having fun at the water table.<br />
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Ross, Kate, and Maegan, and the Cincinnati skyline. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn, Laura, Kate, and me.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Laura and Little Kate.</td></tr>
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Home then for naps, then I stayed with Kate (who was taking a LONG nap) while the others went to a store Laura wanted Marilyn to see called Bizarre Bazaar. There happened to be yet another Macy's across the street, so they stopped by there and, yes, bought me a bow tie.<br />
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That evening, Laura took us over to the part of town where Cincinnati Children's Hospital is located. She showed us the route she drives to work, which includes a short trip through what I would describe as one of Cincinnati's mean streets. Our destination was Dewey's Pizza. We had to wait a bit to get a table at this popular spot, but the wait was worth it. We got three different pizzas; mine was a southwest pizza with white sauce, chicken, and barbecue sauce. Very, very good. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My, I love these people!</td></tr>
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And then, it was over. We left at 3:30 (Arkansas time) on Sunday morning, stopped around 7:00 for breakfast at Bowling Green, Kentucky (home of Bobby Petrino), drove, and drove, and drove some more, got caught in the Interstate 40 construction in eastern Arkansas, but rolled in to beautiful Alma, Arkansas around 5:30 Sunday evening.<br />
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It was so nice to be with my family the whole week, and we had such fun and laughed and laughed. Little Kate is quite the comedienne, it turns out. I'm looking forward to going back; there's lots of places to eat waiting for me...</div>
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Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-46991993835133266262013-03-15T10:49:00.000-05:002013-03-15T10:49:46.799-05:00Just About The Best Dog There Ever Was...And Other Pets We Loved<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglI8VgROg3QGdnznTh9i5wO28eU7iFtaCf3PU8RYvLJKbAhg9ceAacAQAi46bujYc005GTQFfKN1oWXS6UikHhfrY7wtlotQr7FL9m8-0ctlHQcuAkaI6D_6NRDOSI2HjTWKBHYpqJ6uxK/s1600/Lucky1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglI8VgROg3QGdnznTh9i5wO28eU7iFtaCf3PU8RYvLJKbAhg9ceAacAQAi46bujYc005GTQFfKN1oWXS6UikHhfrY7wtlotQr7FL9m8-0ctlHQcuAkaI6D_6NRDOSI2HjTWKBHYpqJ6uxK/s320/Lucky1.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every kid should know a dog like Lucky.</td></tr>
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<em><span style="color: blue;">A rerun from a couple of years back...</span></em><br />
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The very earliest memory that I can recall today was a memory of Lucky. My sister Janet and I were about three years old, so it must have been Christmas of 1959 or 1960. I was sitting in the chair next to our coal-burning pot-bellied stove, and I was holding this little ball of fur that was licking me on the nose. I don't know which family member gave him the name of Lucky, but it fit him perfectly.<br />
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Lucky was mostly collie, but he also had a healthy mix of other breeds as well. He was a sweet, gentle soul who would have protected any of us with his very life if the occasion had ever arisen. His bark was ferocious, but I don't think he ever bit anyone. But, should a stranger come up on the porch, Lucky announced his presence with a bark that brought the family running. Lucky would become particularly alarmed when M.C. Maxell would deliver the groceries we had ordered from Robert Davis' grocery store. M.C. made a lasting friend of Lucky, however, by always bringing along a bone from the store's butcher.<br />
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Lucky's favorite activity was to chase rocks. If you went out on the street and picked up a rock and threw it, Lucky would chase it down, pick it up and drop it, and then turn back to be ready to chase the next one. He was also very intelligent. Mama used to laugh when she would tell the story of the time that she had a letter that she needed to get to my Grandmother who lived down the street, so she clipped the letter to Lucky's collar and called my Grandmother on the phone, telling her to call for Lucky. My Grandmother stepped out on her porch and called Lucky's name, and off he went to deliver the letter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqA0qQZ8sO4OdNKWLcF2i8XP9jraDfhO1bRmCxe36svIbO1prgAPJbJ-37-xJJL1AKcIYlu-RkVjp5zcnGvlEziw3t1oj3h8Y_pJsAaECl7unVbQ_6LbRWrgAKM9U_r1SLStfnnPrPiQu/s1600/porch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqA0qQZ8sO4OdNKWLcF2i8XP9jraDfhO1bRmCxe36svIbO1prgAPJbJ-37-xJJL1AKcIYlu-RkVjp5zcnGvlEziw3t1oj3h8Y_pJsAaECl7unVbQ_6LbRWrgAKM9U_r1SLStfnnPrPiQu/s320/porch.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucky, Scooter, and Tom</td></tr>
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Another early addition to our lineup of pets was our cat Tom. My brothers brought Tom home after catching him in some lady's yard. I remember she had a bunch of cats running wild, and Phil and Gene went up there and came back with Tom. When we got Tom, he had an open wound on his neck that we referred to as a "wolf." I've never seen that word used in that context anywhere else, but it was some sort of a parasitic infection, or as my brother Phil refers to it, an "alien life form" living in Tom's neck. Well, Tom was able to overcome his "wolf" and became a gentle, sweet cat who would rapidly sweep into the house anytime you were too slow in closing the back door. Tom used to love to sit in the living room and watch TV with us. Bonanza was a particular favorite of his, I believe. Tom was afflicted with seizures, however, and it may have been a result of his "wolf."<br />
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My Uncle Joe got me my dog Scooter when I was about ten. I've mentioned Scooter in a couple of earlier posts. This picture of Lucky, Scooter, and Tom on our front porch is a good one; you can see the sweet nature that Scooter had just by looking at his face. <a href="http://growingupinwaldron.blogspot.com/2011/01/random-memories-part-1.html">As I mentioned before</a>, Scooter was killed by a thoughtless man in the neighborhood. A sad ending to a sweet little dog.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucky, Janet, and Puff</td></tr>
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Somewhere along about this time, we got an additional cat. I don't even remember where we got him, but my sister named him Puff. I always thought it was from the song "Puff the Magic Dragon" that was popular about that time, but I also seem to recall that there was a cat named Puff in the Dick and Jane books that we read at school. Puff was yellow and white and had absolutely no interest in coming into the house, not even to watch Bonanza. He got along great with Tom; they were great friends and never fought. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skipper was a bit ornery and was known to cause<br />
trouble, but I loved him nonetheless.</td></tr>
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And then, Uncle Joe found me another dog. Skipper was at times a bit of a handful, such as when he would chase motorcycles (his favorite pastime), bite my sister, fight with Lucky, or break his leg (see my post <a href="http://growingupinwaldron.blogspot.com/2010/12/skipper-breaks-his-leg.html">Skipper Breaks His Leg!</a>) But skipper was my pal, and when I needed time to lie on my back and stare up at the clouds, Skipper was right there with me. As I've mentioned before, it was generally assumed that Skipper had some emotional problems, but he and I got along just fine. Not the case with Skipper and Lucky, though. If they happened to get into an altercation that escalated into a fight, Skipper would not give up. Even though he was small, he would keep on fighting long after Lucky was ready to quit. The only solution would be to tie up both Lucky and Skipper to the clothesline, where Skipper would continue to bark at Lucky until he finally got tired of it. I have a vivid memory of a near tragedy involving Skipper. One day when I had just walked home from school, I saw Skipper in the yard across the street. I called his name, and no sooner had I gotten the words out that I realized that there was a speeding pick-up coming up Pine Street. Skipper, upon hearing my voice, immediately started running to me, unaware of the speeding truck. I watched in horror as Skipper ran in front of the truck, and as if in slow motion, he turned his head just as the truck was about to hit him and managed to somehow run sideways for a fraction of a second, literally inches away from the front tire. Needless to say, when he got up to my arms, he got an extra hug from me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxDs_xGNcNcLjkD8BxIlxIy6zcDyJPZVdw5gnfQ0TQB6e17QB7MLx7CRsO4ylko81N8xOkohAcrkUwP4TG1EQ7nliVCh1cM8U0n_bCVZAI-A8SDRw8kS1zjyu9YVyopOE_sAN5yfBf1Qh/s1600/clothesline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxDs_xGNcNcLjkD8BxIlxIy6zcDyJPZVdw5gnfQ0TQB6e17QB7MLx7CRsO4ylko81N8xOkohAcrkUwP4TG1EQ7nliVCh1cM8U0n_bCVZAI-A8SDRw8kS1zjyu9YVyopOE_sAN5yfBf1Qh/s320/clothesline.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time out.</td></tr>
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By the time my sister and I left for college, the only pet left was Lucky. His front legs were hobbled by arthritis, so that he ran with a stilted gait, but he would still try to chase rocks. Even after his eyesight was almost gone, he would listen to the sound of the rocks and try to give chase. But, his health continued to deteriorate. One day, when he seemed to having a particular amount of trouble, Mama realized that keeping Lucky alive would be unfair to that great dog. So, with a heavy heart, she called the vet, and Lucky, at age 17, got to rest.<br />
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The story is told of a rainbow bridge, where dogs and cats that have left this life run and play all day. But they keep one eye on the bridge, and when they hear a familiar voice, they come running to meet the one they love. I'd like to think that's true. But even if it's not, I'm sure glad God made dogs and cats.Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-51799681703685043312013-02-20T19:23:00.000-06:002013-02-20T19:52:50.832-06:00Snow Day!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLabm-enYUXl-w4HgN8B2m2grtdelLUqCpgPDRc4nBR86hDO3z23ENNE2WncJ0rzxOjnu-GvLBoo8jf_8SdZ0qjyaCyhg8nAF4jrVjHmpgv44LSZ-sAdhffs4lO4dYO2J3q0lIwlpgLM4W/s1600/snowday1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLabm-enYUXl-w4HgN8B2m2grtdelLUqCpgPDRc4nBR86hDO3z23ENNE2WncJ0rzxOjnu-GvLBoo8jf_8SdZ0qjyaCyhg8nAF4jrVjHmpgv44LSZ-sAdhffs4lO4dYO2J3q0lIwlpgLM4W/s320/snowday1.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skipper and I enjoying a Snow Day, 1969</td></tr>
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Cold winter mornings, with a blanket of snow covering the ground, were moments of great excitement when I was a kid. We knew we would be getting a day off from school; the only problem was, we had to wait for the official announcement. That meant sticking close to the TV in the living room, the little gas stove turned up as high as it would go, watching Frank Blair on the Today Show and waiting for Channel 5 to cut in with their 5-minute newscast at 7:25. There was no such thing as a “crawl” across the bottom of the screen in those days; the technology didn’t exist. No, we had to wait for an actual human to read a list of the schools that were going to be closed. Sure enough, near the end of the list, the newsman would say “Waldron,” and shouts of glee would ring out in living rooms across the city. Snow Day!<br />
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With what seemed like the weight of the world unexpectedly lifted off our shoulders, my sister and I would plan the day. The first order of business: a little celebratory hot chocolate. Mama made it with milk heated in a pan over the stove and some Hershey’s Cocoa from the can in the cabinet. Then maybe some pancakes, since we had time for a leisurely breakfast. Sufficiently fueled, it was time for our first excursion outdoors. This was primarily a walk-around, just to see how deep the snow was and how slick the street was (already considering the potential of another day off tomorrow). This was also the first opportunity to taste the snow. This was always done with some reluctance, because there was strong support among some kids for the theory that the first snow of the year was potentially radioactive. But, pushing our fears aside, we would make huge snowballs, not for throwing, but for eating. In the back yard, we had a storage building that we called the Smokehouse, which had a low enough roof that we could break off an icicle for an additional treat. Eventually, our feet would get cold, and we knew it was time to go back inside for a bit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSZXse1NThTVsM8O8CREIrL3cY6ncCsjCYwyvcrEDaBRcfzevGasuy3CEeNclc7ZvSTORRj40kUhW9hwCQBxcKDxrcDceJLU1fbLkhv6gpo7Ml-iYDeNnTha9Rqy48lIhW9uwnyd3XY8g/s1600/snowday2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSZXse1NThTVsM8O8CREIrL3cY6ncCsjCYwyvcrEDaBRcfzevGasuy3CEeNclc7ZvSTORRj40kUhW9hwCQBxcKDxrcDceJLU1fbLkhv6gpo7Ml-iYDeNnTha9Rqy48lIhW9uwnyd3XY8g/s320/snowday2.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
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As we warmed around our little gas stove, the house was filled with the aroma of the beans and cornbread that Mama was cooking in the kitchen. A second cup of hot chocolate, and it was time to enjoy a little daytime TV while we waited to go outside again. At our house, we got only one channel, Channel 5 from Fort Smith. In those days, it was known as KFSA, the call letters standing for Fort Smith Arkansas. But, since Channel 5 was the only station in town, it wasn’t limited to one network. As John Candler used to say every morning during the station sign-on, “KFSA is affiliated with both the NBC and the CBS television networks, and is authorized, under contract, to transmit <em>some</em> ABC programs.” Which was actually a pretty sweet deal, because Channel 5 could pick the most popular programs from each network and broadcast them. <br />
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After the Today Show went off at 8:00, Channel 5 switched over to CBS and broadcast Captain Kangaroo. Although aimed at kids younger than us, we still liked to hear The Captain tell stories and visit with Grandfather Clock, whose eyes and mouth moved in a moderately frightening manner, and Mr. Green Jeans, and of course Mr. Moose, a puppet who invariable tricked The Captain into standing there talking while a cascade of ping pong balls fell around him. There was a particularly good block of programming beginning at 9:00, with reruns of I Love Lucy, and at 9:30, reruns of The Real McCoys, and at 10:00, reruns of The Andy Griffith Show which had been renamed Andy of Mayberry (to avoid confusion with current versions of The Andy Griffith Show which still aired on Monday nights) and at 10:30 The Dick Van Dyke Morning Show (again, reruns of the still currently running Dick Van Dyke Show). It took a really great snow to pull me away from the latter half of that programming block. At 11:00, it was time for Love of Life, which was my signal to return to the outdoors.<br />
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If the snow was ok for building, I would usually build a snow fort. Others could build their snowmen, but I took a more practical approach. In the event that a spontaneous snowball fight should develop, it was always good to have a snow fort to retreat to. We didn’t really have any good sledding hills nearby, other than the sloped bank in front of our house, which was steep enough to slide down, but you couldn’t go very far. We usually just tromped around in the snow with no particular destination in mind. Lucky, our faithful dog, was content to follow us around. Tom, our cat, had usually managed to sneak into the house and was lying low somewhere by the fire.<br />
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At noon, it was back indoors to warm up and have lunch. The beans would have cooked several hours in the Presto-cooker, and the cornbread had just come out of the oven, cooked in the iron skillet that was a wedding present for Mama and Daddy many years before. I would crumble the cornbread on my plate and pile the beans on top. It was never too cold for iced tea, which completed the feast. I don’t know what Mama ate for lunch when it wasn’t a snow day, but on an occasion like this she really outdid herself. For dessert, she might cut the center out of some canned biscuits and fry them in hot oil to make donuts, which she glazed with icing made from powdered sugar. And of course, sometime that afternoon we would have snow ice cream. Mama would go outside and find some clean snow, and bring it back inside and mix it with Pet milk and sugar. Delicious!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even Mama had a little fun on Snow Days</td></tr>
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After lunch, another little TV session was in order. This time, it was game shows. At 1:00, Password came on, with Allen Ludden as host. At 1:30, it was Art Linkletter’s House Party, which featured a hugely popular segment in which Art interviewed four kids sitting in tall chairs, producing hilarious responses to seemingly innocent questions. At 2:00, Gary Moore hosted To Tell the Truth, a show in which celebrity panelists had to guess which of three guests was in fact who or what he claimed to be. At 2:30, it was soap opera time again, with The Edge of Night and The Secret Storm coming on, so it was time to go back outside. This was reality check time, because you could get a sense of whether or not the streets were beginning to clear and whether or not the snow was melting, so you sort of begin to get an idea whether or not your impromptu vacation was likely to be extended or not. <br />
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At about 3:30, a new show came on ABC called Where the Action Is. This show later changed its name to The Happening, and actually only lasted for a couple of years or so. The show was produced by Dick Clark, producer of the wildly popular American Bandstand show on Saturday afternoons. This show was on every day at 3:30, and featured pop music acts performing their songs in various locations around Southern California. Every show featured different artists, but regular performers included one of our most popular singing groups, Paul Revere and the Raiders. Their lead singer, Mark Lindsey, was very popular with the girls, and the keyboard player, who I guess was Paul Revere, had the grill of a Ford Mustang in front of his keyboard, which I thought was really cool. They all dressed like Patriots from the 1700’s, and I remember some sort of contest that required Mark Lindsey to cut off his ponytail, which I believe was then awarded to some young swooning female. Between 4:00 and 5:00, Channel 5 showed reruns of two great westerns, Maverick and Sugarfoot. <br />
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By that time, it didn’t really feel like a snow day anymore; the normal routine had pretty much returned. But sometimes, when you watched the 6:00 news, you got the advance word that tomorrow, again, would be…a SNOW DAY!Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-69553332914819574632013-02-14T13:05:00.000-06:002013-02-14T15:11:06.857-06:00Weekend Special: Be My Valentine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahAQElZP7xB8X1ddI0QrlpJ5gAZtnzmNwtuMMszN3zkWxmhq_EvM9j2VL1DQk1-hA0lzSW53XWJvwPZs62UTidkyKctFTgM0Eki_vxkb-e5cRonTIdGEW5-mYmXe-XnmgKz67x6LGlHKV/s1600/Valentine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahAQElZP7xB8X1ddI0QrlpJ5gAZtnzmNwtuMMszN3zkWxmhq_EvM9j2VL1DQk1-hA0lzSW53XWJvwPZs62UTidkyKctFTgM0Eki_vxkb-e5cRonTIdGEW5-mYmXe-XnmgKz67x6LGlHKV/s400/Valentine.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
This is a Valentines Day card that I made in 1965, when I was in third grade. It's an intricate little piece of art, with a paper band around the outside featuring a triple layered heart (one of the most difficult kind of hearts to construct) discretely stapled to the band. Inside, the verse...<br />
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You may marvel justifiably at the penmanship. I'm sure that the poem itself is not original, at least I recall no other instances when I included the word "twas" in my vocabulary...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgln-ilBr2HMi2BNWobMKYP8lm3sOn_6RYDGOM5VdSmRfAVu11WXqlm0qpsRE_YYkAjiAdPEAGSaPcqlFR2nZh8T-6OERpfNW8nBJmcoJcQjY1LTYk72kmm90oH5vGyvWYsXd2tRigeBzK/s1600/Valentine2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgln-ilBr2HMi2BNWobMKYP8lm3sOn_6RYDGOM5VdSmRfAVu11WXqlm0qpsRE_YYkAjiAdPEAGSaPcqlFR2nZh8T-6OERpfNW8nBJmcoJcQjY1LTYk72kmm90oH5vGyvWYsXd2tRigeBzK/s640/Valentine2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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And, it only took me 40 years to find the one I was supposed to give it to. But that, as they say, is a story for another day...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYQytUAukm9v9j35HEdVHVXLQy_vkdksPFYuAbtqvFznaOog7oH3SvngOIuLPFt2qMIJF1o1uBAna9Yci-5snDhqSJYPV3kECA4rIFW-OKcTkRK6yW8TM0mG_MVD3XMOkyEEoqK0Q1wvP/s1600/Bill+and+Marilyn2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYQytUAukm9v9j35HEdVHVXLQy_vkdksPFYuAbtqvFznaOog7oH3SvngOIuLPFt2qMIJF1o1uBAna9Yci-5snDhqSJYPV3kECA4rIFW-OKcTkRK6yW8TM0mG_MVD3XMOkyEEoqK0Q1wvP/s320/Bill+and+Marilyn2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
With love to all,<br />
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BillBill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-24104343425788965652012-11-29T21:10:00.001-06:002012-12-01T18:25:38.227-06:00Beautiful Beulah Belle and Other Tales - Now Available!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87xLAfAJ4U-Thf55SU6GSs-NHp8-m-rztzC0wvtGRv1M9EQRAaN06tzRgoJX6AMNInnxHnh5iEOe7x1vKLnpy978zD0Zeh6LbO5nWHM_nq0M5CpRx9rPTgXsETBhjkTyRzDoeoOqg-x2l/s1600/New+Book+BBB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87xLAfAJ4U-Thf55SU6GSs-NHp8-m-rztzC0wvtGRv1M9EQRAaN06tzRgoJX6AMNInnxHnh5iEOe7x1vKLnpy978zD0Zeh6LbO5nWHM_nq0M5CpRx9rPTgXsETBhjkTyRzDoeoOqg-x2l/s320/New+Book+BBB.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
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<span class="userContent">I'm happy to announce the publication of my new book, "Beautiful Beulah Belle and Other Tales." This book contains 34 new stories about growing up in Waldron in the 1960s and 1970s. Included are some of my favorite stories, such as Bill Yates, President; The Freddie Rush Murder Trial; and The Week That Changed Waldron. The book will be available at Nook and Cranny Gifts and More in downtown Waldron, or is available by mail for those outside of Waldron by sending a check for $12 for each book ordered to Bill Yates, 1025 Riverview Drive, Alma AR 72921.The book is also available during the month of December on Ebay. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did putting it together!</span><br />
<br />Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-31931668180893781302012-06-26T09:10:00.001-05:002012-06-26T09:10:40.209-05:00Mama and Daddy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxI8Uehht5tZxjj05BRvc-Bkll0EVprv6xJYIpoxOM4cj-8VJeRPeS_8Nsgf_DRYpPThPlNfImq5WgM6YTJmHPwNDlHH6aPh2EjXi8qqSLlgiLY05vNuAx7-_nKdEscrTx93_2_Uw8kDiB/s1600/mama+and+daddy+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxI8Uehht5tZxjj05BRvc-Bkll0EVprv6xJYIpoxOM4cj-8VJeRPeS_8Nsgf_DRYpPThPlNfImq5WgM6YTJmHPwNDlHH6aPh2EjXi8qqSLlgiLY05vNuAx7-_nKdEscrTx93_2_Uw8kDiB/s320/mama+and+daddy+1.jpg" width="260" /></a></div> People always thought it was kind of funny that their names were so similar: Albert and Alberta. Albert was never called that; everyone who knew him called him Abb. In her younger days, Alberta was known to her friends as "Peaches," but by the time I came along, everyone called her Alberta, except for her closest friend, Florene Douglas, who called her "Berta." But I and my siblings were fortunate enough to get to call them Mama and Daddy.<br />
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Daddy worked for the phone company, which over time had gone from the Waldron Telephone Company to the Interstate Telephone Company to the Continental Telephone Company and possibly a few other names that I have forgotten. It was probably one of the best jobs available in Scott County; not that we ever got rich, but it was a company that offered lots of benefits. Because of the nature of his work, Daddy was friends with almost everybody in town. He was also very handy at repairing things, and lots of people called him to work on their appliances. He never said no.<br />
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Mama was mostly a housewife, except for a brief period of time in the 1960's when she worked as a waitress at the Rock Cafe, and again briefly when she worked at Judy's Drive In. Her main focus in life was her five children; my older brothers Gary, Gene, and Phil, and my twin sister Janet and I. She cooked, cleaned, worked in the garden, provided medical attention when necessary, while never missing a church service at the Assembly of God Church, and making sure that we kids likewise never missed a service. As she went about her unrelenting chores, she could almost always be heard singing a gospel song. I believe, in all sincerity, that Alberta Yates was incapable of thinking a negative thought about anyone. <br />
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Their life together was full of both happiness and trials. Daddy fought an ongoing battle against alcoholism, which consumed a large part of his salary and severely damaged his relationships with his wife and children. He was never abusive, but his addiction to alcohol prevented any semblance of normalcy in his family life. For most of his life, he was able to separate his drinking from his work life, but eventually, he had to retire from the phone company due to his alcoholism. Mama was patient and loving throughout the difficult years, as was her nature. She was a devout Christian, and her faith sustained her. She was somehow able to pass this faith on to her children. Her insistence that we go with her to church undoubtedly saved us from lives as alcoholics ourselves, since the disease is often passed down through the generations. Watching her life made us want to have a relationship with Christ; if she could be that happy in spite of her surroundings, so could we!<br />
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We knew that Mama and Daddy loved each other, although we never heard Daddy say it. He was doing the best he could; he was just fighting something that was bigger than him. And it was a fight that lasted a long time. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BHCNastOPiGSP9w_cODEVyBPH_shoeDNqGwaJvOYmgplaNBdZ4juzkrvvKd1bDS9DYCfhZIdtEjhS_zzP5gVYn7R2xTTYBVeC6e4H6PIeL8VTfwE_A5wQuHktZ75pKFxr7QZLsIbnM6z/s1600/mama+and+daddy+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BHCNastOPiGSP9w_cODEVyBPH_shoeDNqGwaJvOYmgplaNBdZ4juzkrvvKd1bDS9DYCfhZIdtEjhS_zzP5gVYn7R2xTTYBVeC6e4H6PIeL8VTfwE_A5wQuHktZ75pKFxr7QZLsIbnM6z/s320/mama+and+daddy+2.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>When Mama was around 70, she developed lymphoma. When she first got the diagnosis, we were terrified. But we learned that it was a disease that could be managed, and in true form, Mama managed it. When a tumor would develop, she would go in for treatment, which usually required radiation, and when that was done, she would go on about her life. Meanwhile, Daddy was not doing so great either. His drinking was causing him to fall and injure himself, and on more than one occasion we had to get an ambulance to take him to the emergency room. He broke his upper leg one time, and that required an extended hospital stay. After that, when he was away from alcohol for a couple of months, he was able to finally stop drinking when he got to come back home. I couldn't believe it; he had finally managed to win against an enemy that I was convinced couldn't be defeated.<br />
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In late September of 2007, Mama had to go into the hospital again for treatment for her lymphoma. Everything seemed to be going well until she experienced a spinal hematoma, in which she had bleeding into her spinal column. In addition to the excruciating pain this caused, it also left her legs paralyzed. But she rallied, and we brought Daddy up to the hospital one Saturday to see her. They shared the most pleasant of days together, with Daddy sitting beside her bed holding her hand, talking and visiting with their children. A few days later, Mama told me, "I hope today is the day I get to go home.. I said that to that nurse, and she didn't know I meant my Heavenly home." Later that night, that's exactly where Mama went. <br />
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We all drove down to Waldron early the next morning to tell Daddy. We had to wake him up, and my sister Janet gently told him what had happened. He was quiet as we made sure he understood what we had said. "I just wasn't expecting that," he said.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjlOo2Oo5LT9II1ClKEmKkgNbfYmCOkduARIykUIBTcpDLNpRyDehMT993yLgfzdkV6HZdc_XyKlwo0I7j0HCwS4dh6-oBFvdVslgj9E3IK2izfrPHd7dqVVi0ieFjG3GoqrSro16JFt3/s1600/postcard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjlOo2Oo5LT9II1ClKEmKkgNbfYmCOkduARIykUIBTcpDLNpRyDehMT993yLgfzdkV6HZdc_XyKlwo0I7j0HCwS4dh6-oBFvdVslgj9E3IK2izfrPHd7dqVVi0ieFjG3GoqrSro16JFt3/s400/postcard.jpg" width="400" /></a>Later, I found a post card that Daddy had sent Mama when he was in the Navy. He was in Basic Training at the Great Lakes Naval Station, and he must have been missing Mama quite a bit. In the card, Daddy writes, <em>"Hello Sweet. How are you feeling today? How is Memaw (Mama's mother) and all? I just finished writing you a letter and I'm all out of things to write. I haven't got your letter yet. Maybe tomorrow. Bye, Abb"</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd never heard Daddy speak so tenderly to Mama. That must have been the guy she fell in love with, and that was the man she always saw. I didn't understand that until I found that post card. He called her Sweet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Be patient, Sweet. It won't be too long now. You'll be holding his hand again soon.</div>Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6083340366169713282.post-85801006748154484262012-06-26T09:09:00.000-05:002012-06-26T09:09:13.395-05:00Skipper Breaks His Leg!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90K4LiLap7sfTtY8bvCaPrpJUhjig4n5HciFkn2j4KUIr6lFtMdUkwJ0wohXDlTuSVne-FboV6hBCzvwslwpxX1tEpgdwX2aJ9_0Ixub8RjzkqAHXSRSxEMezHnRW7ssGwd_Hv2eAo6m2/s1600/skipper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90K4LiLap7sfTtY8bvCaPrpJUhjig4n5HciFkn2j4KUIr6lFtMdUkwJ0wohXDlTuSVne-FboV6hBCzvwslwpxX1tEpgdwX2aJ9_0Ixub8RjzkqAHXSRSxEMezHnRW7ssGwd_Hv2eAo6m2/s320/skipper.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love Always, Skipper</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The rest of the family always said that Skipper was emotionally disturbed, and there’s a better than even chance that they were right. I got Skipper when I was about eleven years old, after the tragic death of my dog Scooter (more on that later). My Uncle Joe found Skipper for me, and we were best friends right from the start. He was a mixed-breed puppy (actually, Mutt) with a lot of Fiest in him, which made him a little high-energy. He was black and tan with mid-length hair and a tail that curved up over his backside. As far as the emotionally disturbed part of it goes, he did have a tendency to annoy our great dog Lucky quite a bit, which occasionally resulted in a fight between the two. Lucky would fight until he was ready to quit, but there was no quit in Skipper. Eventually, Mama would have to tie both of them to the clothesline to get them to stop fighting. Now, those fights were rare, but they did happen on occasion. <br />
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For some unknown reason, Skipper took a particular dislike to a specific pair of pants belonging to my sister. They were a bright, checkered pattern, as was the style back in the 1960’s, and they reminded me of a pair that I often saw one of our neighbors wearing, so I euphemistically referred to them as Janet’s “Kay Bray Britches.” Skipper evidently picked up on my disdain for this particular article of clothing, because every time Janet wore them, he bit her. No, EVERY time. So, among those questioning Skipper’s mental state, Janet was at the forefront.<br />
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Skipper, being a young, unaltered male, often went on what we might call group dates with some of the other dogs in the neighborhood. One evening, when I went out to feed Skipper, I found him in obvious pain, his right foreleg hanging limply. He had gotten into a fight with a bigger dog, and it was obvious that his leg had been broken. I quickly summoned Daddy, who looked Skipper’s leg over and constructed a crude splint which he placed on the damaged leg. After a sleepless night, I hurried outside the next morning to check on Skipper, and found his leg swollen to more than twice its normal size. <br />
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We loaded Skipper into our 1967 Ford Custom 500 and headed downtown to the office of Dr. Stubbs, the local vet. It was a Saturday morning, but Dr. Stubbs was there. He examined Skipper and told us we would have to leave him there for the rest of the weekend. When we returned to his office the next Monday, he had me call for Skipper from the lobby, and when he heard my voice, Skipper came trotting out with a clean white cast on his front leg. He was overjoyed to see us, as we were to see him.<br />
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We took him home with the instructions to keep him inside the house. Skipper quickly recognized two things: One, he was not an inside dog, and Two, this weird thing on his leg didn’t belong there. We were in school, and Mama was working at the Rock Café, so Skipper was going to have to stay by himself. So, we left him in the house and headed out to school and work.<br />
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You can imagine our surprise when we got home from school and found Skipper waiting for us on the porch, his curly tail wagging. He had somehow managed to find his way outside. A quick inspection inside the house revealed how he had done it. There was a bed next to a window in the back bedroom, and the window didn’t have a screen, so Skipper had managed to break the glass and jump through.<br />
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The next day, with a piece of plywood over the window, Skipper decided to work on getting the foreign object off his leg. We had gone to school, and Mama was hurrying around getting ready to go to work at the Rock Café, when she entered the living room and saw what she believed to be Skipper’s leg lying in the middle of the living room floor. Taken aback, she examined the object more closely and realized that it was in fact only Skipper’s cast, which he had somehow managed to get off his leg. Hurriedly, she loaded Skipper in the car and hauled him back to Dr. Stubbs, who replaced the cast. Mama brought him back home and went on to work, arriving uncharacteristically late. That evening, we decided to go ahead and let Skipper stay outside, broken leg and all.<br />
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Well, Skipper was completely happy outside. As an added bonus, he discovered that he could wind his way through the hedge next to the driveway and remove his cast with only minimal effort. By now, we were used to it, so we would just pull the empty cast out of the hedge and stick it back on his leg. After a few weeks, the leg was healed up and we just left the cast off permanently.<br />
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Skipper’s leg didn’t seem to bother him much after that. However, when my Aunt Lola would come down, she would get a kick out of giving Skipper sympathy over his leg, talking to him and repeatedly mentioning his leg until he would invariably raise his “injured” leg off the ground, holding it in mid-air which sent Lola into peals of laughter that could be heard all over the neighborhood. Lola knew how to laugh, and she didn’t hold back. She had the kind of laugh that just made you feel good, and she always got a good laugh over Skipper and his pitiful leg routine.<br />
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Skipper, my good and faithful dog, lost his life on December 5, 1973. He was run over up on Featherston Street. I took it hard, but we’d had lots of good days together. As I said earlier, I got Skipper after my previous dog Scooter died. When Scooter was killed it was a tragedy, but it was almost a tragedy of unimaginable proportions. But that's a story for another day.Bill Yateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14013671433714660351noreply@blogger.com1