I REMEMBER..."Big Red" - My Volkswagon Bus

...my Volkswagon Bus - "Big Red." I loved that van. It was an all-purpose vehicle. I hauled plywood, tools, people, furniture, and went camping in it. It was my first NEW vehicle, and I drove it to Mazatlan, Mexico, the first week I owned it. I had the first 1,000 mile check-up at a Volkswagon factory in Mexico. Stayed in a little hut on the beach south of Mazatlan for quite awhile. Fished every day; had a great time.

Back in Chico, California (99 miles north of Sacramento - I graduated CSUC in 1969), I had various jobs from running the Italian Cottage Restaurant, working at Kramore Inn, etc. Most of the time I had my own business as a carpenter and a leather worker. Leather worker stories (Lone Eagle Leather) later. While I was a carpenter, I worked on a great three-story Victorian (built for a college student by her parents - nice), helped build the Redwood Forest retail store in a downtown mall, remodeled Ron's S.F. Flowers flower shop, Sundance Records record store, Bird in Hand Gallery, a couple of homes, a big 6,000 square foot mansion and caretakers quarters/barn in Woodside, CA (lovingly referred to as the home to Horses & Porches) and worked on my 40-foot houseboat in Walnut Grove, California (yet another story). I hauled my table saws and tools and lumber in Big Red. Never had a problem.

Side bar: I once bought a quarter ton of walnut slab scraps from a gun stock manufacturer in Chico. I hauled that pile of walnut from house to house, storage to storage for years, thinking I would someday make valuable things out of it (clocks, I think, was the original idea). All of that was accomplished with Big Red. After close to five years of hauling that wood around, I eventually used it as firewood in my fireplace...ha.

Went camping often to the north coast of California in the Ft. Bragg area many times and slept in Big Red when it was foggy and cold. Caught many a good fish--but never a cold. Picture of successful fishing trip attached.

Before I was a carpenter, I had many fun and successful years as a leather worker in Chico. I used Big Red to go to San Francisco and Berkeley for leather supplies and Haight Ashbury trips (used as a very loose term here). More stories to come later about those days, if I can remember them. (My sister, Sharon, says that if you can remember the 60's, you weren't really there.) Anyway, I bought a radial arm saw to manufacture belt racks from redwood to help convince retail store owners to carry my line of leather belts and so got hooked on carpentry. Leather evolved into wood. Big Red was perfect for both ventures.

All things have a beginning and an end. Good times and bad. The one thing you can always count on is that whether times are good or bad, they will eventually end. The beginning of Big Red's life I took him to Mexico for quite an adventure and throughout the leather and woodworking years, I never had a problem.

I was commuting between Chico and Walnut Grove (on Snodgrass Slough in the Sacramento River Delta) on a regular basis. I co-owned a house in Chico with friend Bob Crowe. I learned the hard way about the downside of living in and remodeling a house simultaneously. We had every room torn up and half finished for a very long time. Sheetrock dust and sawdust was in everything. By the time we eventually finished it, we had turned it into a rental and eventually sold it to break even on the investment.

On weekends, I would travel to Walnut Grove to work on the houseboat (was thinking I would become a houseboat builder and write a book about it--and travel to Amsterdam to check out the world famous houseboat community there...never did...but it was a temporarily good dream). I traveled back to Chico one fateful weekend and (thank God) unloaded all my tools at the house and set off through the middle of downtown Chico, headed to the lumberyard. The cool thing about Volkswagen buses is that they had a notoriously good Porsche engine block and except for an occasional minor flaw, ran forever and a day with no problems. The minor flaw was that the fuel line would occasionally become detached while in motion and spew fuel all over the hot engine block, causing a weird little "POOF" explosion, just loud enough to get your attention...followed by a lot of fire and an exceedingly large amount of smoke in, say, two seconds. Fortunately for me, I was traveling down Main Street, Chico, at about ten miles an hour, when it was Big Red's final moment. I slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and ran from store to store on Main Street, looking for a fire extinguisher. By the time I found one, poor old Red was engulfed totally in flames. Even the tires were on fire. Someone had called the fire department, and when the firetruck eventually pulled up, it was too late for Red. As they arrived, a rather memorable last hurray for Red happened. There was an electrical short and Big Red started up and started lurching down the street, full of smoke and flames everywhere. The firemen thought someone was still inside, trying to drive away. They were dragging the hose and running alongside, spraying it with foam and water. One fireman ran up and whacked the driver side window with an axe to see if someone was driving. As the fresh air hit the now broken window area, a small firestorm replaced the smoke and finished off old Red right there on the spot. Melted to the ground in the middle of Main Street. Note: I did not need the pictures someone took to convince the insurance company that it was to be declared a total loss. Rest in Peace, Big Red.

I REMEMBER - Cancer 1 Year Later

...one year ago today I was in Vancouver on my last vacation for awhile. I had been diagnosed with Tonsil Cancer and had started my first Blog; Robert Welton: Another Day in Paradise. "On May 29, 2008 I was diagnosed with Tonsil Cancer. I created this blog to share my thoughts and sequence of events for family, friends and others that are experiencing the same "Inconvenience in Life." I have been blessed with a great life full of wonderful experiences, a caring family, a fabulous wife, outstanding children, good friends, and satisfying careers. Each day is truly: Another Day in Paradise."

A lot has happened since then - with Radiation and Chemo and a very difficult recovery period. I have much to be thankful for. Life is almost back to the "normal" that was a year ago. I am 20 lbs. lighter and have a significantly altered view of our most precious commodity...time [the interval between events].

I have everything I ever wanted and have been everywhere I ever wanted to go and experienced just about all a person could hope for. The statement that one "can only go as high as they have been low" is relative to my life, in that I have had my share of lows, but also an abnormal amount of "highs". This Cancer experience was a new low, but has produced some extraordinary highs and inner observations. I sincerely appreciate the wealth I have amassed in family and friends, especially my wife Lise and my sister Sharon.

My bank account of Love is overflowing...and that is the best part of this latest bit of education in life.

I REMEMBER- Jamaica Part 2

....my trip to Jamaica again. This us an update to the post from before. Finally found some photos to back up the claims made in the "bathrooms around the world" post.

Posted here is a picture of the couple I stayed with and their boat that they bought with a gift from Stephen from the Kramore Inn in Chico (see photo and story from a few days ago). Stephen turned me on to the spot in Strawberry Field, Jamaica, and to the couple I stayed with.

Herein is a picture of the infamous outdoor toilet in the jungle of Negril (see, I bet you didn't believe me).

The third picture is the banana orchard bathroom spot I referred to in the Jamaica post, and last, but not least, is a view from my room in the two-room hut (made from driftwood and Coca-Cola signs) that I shared with the couple in the first picture.

It is a million-dollar view for $0. A nice place on the cliff, overlooking the ocean, fresh fruit for the picking just outside their door, gorgeous weather ,and a view to die for out their window.

This was truly a family that had virtually nothing to their names but in actuality had everything.

I REMEMBER- Grandma Grace Stories Part 1

...talking to my Mom [Grace Margaret Chiles (Whitlock) Welton] after her first emergency trip to the hospital emergency room when she had serious problems breathing. She called it her "Dress Rehearsal" and how lucky she was to have the opportunity to focus on the last part of her life and attend to the business of getting things in order. She still didn't get every thing done, but got pretty close. She had a chance to say how much she loved the important people in her life and did a pretty fair job of tying up loose ends and categorizing things for Sharon (my sister) and me to handle after she was gone. Things were pretty well organized and easy to find ( after many, many weekends of closet and garage cleaning with help from her children) and she had lots of directions written down for us to follow (teachers are like that you know)....kind of like leaving lesson plans and homework for us. She considered herself blessed with the opportunity to have time between the "dress rehearsal" and the "final show". Not everyone gets that precious gift of time. So many people pass away "before their time" and leave unfinished business and unrequited relationships...people they never got around to saying "I love you" to and "I appreciated knowing you", etc.

I find myself going through a similar phase now. I shrugged off being diagnosed with Glaucoma a few years back. Later, I discovered I had heart valve issues and having to start a permanent regimen of pills to keep the a-fib in check was just a minor inconvenience (other than having to give up caffeine). My outlook was that my body parts warranties were just expiring along with my receding hairline and defective hearing and found it somewhat humorous, but it didn't slow me down. After this latest bout with Tonsil Cancer, I am somewhat close to admitting I just might be in the last portion of my turn on earth. Not morose, just insightful observation. I fully expect to live another 20 plus healthy years. I hope so, as I have a lot of loose ends to clean up.

I had far too much fun for one person to experience the first 3/4 of my life and although there are some regrets, I wouldn't trade much away for the fantastic experiences I have had. I went everywhere, did everything (some things more than twice), and accumulated a lot of "stuff" along with my memories and stories. I was in the "acquisition" mode for most of my life. I think mostly it was the satisfaction of "acquiring" vs. real need that has caused my bulge in excess things....like cook books I loved when I bought them, but never read beyond one or two recipes. I was probably in one of my "blonde" moments and succumbed to the fact that it was pretty and shiny with a delicious looking cover. I am now considering selling-giving away all my cookbooks and getting a small laptop to keep in the kitchen and tune it into the food network or cooking .com.

I am consolidating all my photos and slides to jpgs and becoming a good philanthropist with Goodwill. I am tossing my slides, creating photo and cd albums for my kids and of course, this Blog - living forever on the internet and perhaps even in print. This Blog is a big part of my commitment to divest myself of stuff I can't take with me. I am hoping for a long experience of enjoying the "Zen" portion of my life...such as a single orchid and 3 stones vs crates of crap in my closets.

I found a box of my mom's things last weekend. In it was my mom's pre-internet version of the "Blog". She was a writer. Not much ever got written down, but when she did, it was beautiful and touched your heart. She had so much to share ( and used her turn to teach), but the budding writer never burst forth as she had imagined.

I found two of her spiral notebooks in a box. The first one said " Grandma Stories! It was a journal she wrote to chronicle her life stories for the grandkids (six at the time - pre Sarah Grace Loeffler Welton). There was about a half a page of some story about being a little girl on her daddy's farm. I think she was going to tell the story about her pet raccoon and the sugar cube her older brothers gave it to wash before eating. I loved that story, and although I loved my uncles, I was upset with the way they teased her pet raccoon.

I am not sure though, as the story stopped in mid sentence. She was probably interrupted or distracted by someone selling Girl Scout cookies at the front door; the notebook was put down somewhere in her "office" and never found again until last weekend. I chuckled and picked up the second notebook. It too was a spiral 8 1/2" by 11" and almost identical to the first. This one also said "Grandma Stories" on the cover. She must have given up finding the first one and just started over.

This time, she had written a two page prologue about who, what, when, where, why, and how she was going to accomplish this wonderful gift of her life's experiences. The next page was a cover page that stated in big colorful bold marker pen..."Grandma's Stories". The next 95 pages were blank.

I am now committed to writing my "Robert Welton Remembers Blog" as regularly as I can, with the time I have left (twenty years just about do it if I write fast and stick to it). I have already gotten past my "prologue".

I REMEMBER- Kramore Inn Creperie in Chico

...working in Chico restaurants (part 2). After working at the Italian Cottage for quite a while, I grew my hair down to there, bought a bigger motorcycle and headed to the “City” (San Francisco) to make my fame and fortune…many stories connected here, but later for those.

I eventually came back to Chico and got a job as a waiter and cook at a very cool crepe restaurant called the Kramore Inn. The restaurant morphed into being pronounced: “Cray –Moor Inn” (very sophisticated sounding for economic development reasons)…but in the beginning, owners Steven and David, were goofing one night, trying to come up with a name for their budding restaurant idea, and as they made fabulous food you just couldn’t stop eating…they came up with “Cram More In”.
 
Great little restaurant, where I learned the fine art of being a good waiter. Crackers and banana slices immediately to families with small children, before they even order. Quiet dinner, bigger tip.

Young women tipped the best, sometimes with a slip of paper and a phone number. Young men didn’t tip at all (slobs) and even more insulting, was a table of old ladies…all had to have a separate check, after endless haggling over who ordered what. Then they would each leave a quarter or even less, in small change.

I learned how to cook well, how to make an impressive crepe dinner (all young men should learn how to do this, as it works wonders on a “have dinner at your house” date night).

I also learned the hard way why you don’t ever chip frozen ice off the freezer elements with an ice pick. I had sleepless nights for awhile after stabbing to death the house freezer in the middle of lunch rush and standing by helplessly as Freon spewed out through the stab wound to the coils.

A few days wages covered the repair and paid for the hard-knock lesson.

I REMEMBER-Working in Chico Restaurants & The Music Scene

...working in restaurants while living in Chico [part one]. I had worked in the school cafeteria (Bradley Hall) while a student at Chico State College (1965-1969). I had been "recruited" by the wrestling coach (Doc Peterson) and our 'scholarship' was that he would get us a job, get us all the classes we wanted in advance, without having to stand in line and apply and at least 2 classes we could get an "A" in, to keep our GPA up so we wouldn't be kicked off the team for academic issues.

My job was working in the cafeteria (for about $4.75/hr) and my two gimme classes were sex education that Doc Peterson taught and a communications class where I was actually the DJ on the school radio station ( I now do very well with 60's music trivia contests).

Those classes could be another story, but today it is about working in restaurants in Chico. My first job outside the cafeteria was working for Pizon's Pizza on Nord Ave. where the owner taught us to make intentionally bad coffee, so students wouldn't hang out and take up the tables and lose potential dinner customers. He also watered down the pizza sauce so much, you had to hustle it out to the customer before it separated into red water and tomatoes.

The San Francisco hippie scene was in full swing with the greatest (soon to be classic) rock music and a host of young bands you may have heard of ( Jefferson Airplane - Hot Tuna, King Krimson, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Janis Joplin, Santana, Savoy Brown, The Band, Golden Earring, Delanie-Bonnie & Friends (Eric Clapton), Country Joe & the Fish, Laura Nyro, Sly & the Family Stone, Joy of Cooking, Fleetwood Mac, Guess Who, Seals & Croft, Chicago, Beautiful Day, Albert King, B.B. King, Canned Heat, Cold Blood, Jimi Hendrix, Buddy Miles, Dino Valenti, Al Kooper & Friends, Mike Bloomfield, Creedence Clearwater, Moody Blues, Deep Purple, Jeff Beck, Frumious Bandersnatch, Sha-Na-Na, Kinks, Taj Mahal, Greatful Dead, Humble Pie, Chambers Brothers, Grand Funk Railroad, Fat Mattress, Noel Redding) and a host of others. As I purge myself of excess, I continue to run across some very cool rememberances of the past. Just found a handfull of playbills from Bill Graham Presents from the late 60's and early 70's - Winterland, Fillmore West, etc. Tickets to see the greatest bands ever were about $3 and on Tues nights from 9pm to 2am was "Sounds of the City" - Auditions, Jams and Guest Performers - only $1.

Anyway, as I said, this is a story about restaurants in Chico (part one)...so I was off to the "City" (often referred to as "Frisco") to live the good life during the Summer of Love (1967) on weekends and even grew (gasp) a mustache and hung out in the Fillmore and in the Haight Ashbury. The owner of the bad coffee, watered down spaghetti sauce, Pizon's Pizza, became paranoid that I would bring back "hippie diseases" in my mustache from the city of sin and infect his restaurant, so it was my job or the mustache. The mustache won.

As I was only 20, I went to the only place that would serve me beer to bemoan my unemployment, The Italian Cottage Restaurant. Very cool place, sawdust on the floor, good pizza, good coffee and good pizza sauce.

They had a job open for night manager, and as I was having a beer while filling out the application...I put down that I was 21. As interim manager, my job was to answer the phones when applicants called about the manager's job. Strangely, none of them seemed to be qualified and I got the job. I managed that restaurant for quite a while and had to forgo an eventual 21st birthday celebration at work, as I had to tell everyone I was turning 22. Every night after work, everyone would head to the "Silver Room Bar," in downtown Chico and I couldn't go, so I wouldn't get carded and expose my tender age. Once, the owner, age 35, got carded at the liquor store buying more wine for the restaurant. He didn't have his ID, so he came back to the restaurant, got me, and took me back to the liquor store to buy the wine. I was terrified I would lose my job, until I discovered I was born for sales and never stopped talking until we were out the door with the wine- never got asked for my ID.

Side bar: a kindly pregnant waitress at the Italian Cottage lent out her birth control prescription to a young couple I knew, as they were too young and too intimidated to get their own. The pharmacy was in "White Front", an early forerunner of stores like Sam's Club. It would have worked, except for the couple's reluctance to pick up the prescription when their name was called over the store loud speaker system. As the waitress's name was Vera Dee Balls ( I am not making this up), the prescription was called out with initials and last name: "V D Balls, your birth control pills are ready." They just left the store and never came back.

Now that my fading memory is jogged a bit - coming soon: partying with Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna in Asbury Park, New Jersey and my trip to Woodstock West - the Altamont Free Concert...but not now, as I said before, this about my jobs in restaurants in Chico (part one).

Today's song: Super Jam - Santana, Greatful Dead & Jefferson Airplane

I REMEMBER-Mother's Day Tradition

...little traditions that have come to pass over various holidays. We have our Christmas totally on Christmas morning. Whereas, for various reasons, some families have their celebration on Christmas Eve or at least partially on Christmas Eve. Ours has always been on Christmas morning. When I was a single Dad, the boys always were at their Mom's house on Christmas Eve and then brought to me late that night to wake up at my house on Christmas morning.

On Father's Day, I always barbecue ribs and we go bowling [Bob's BBQ and Bowling day].

On Mother's Day, we go on a picnic up to the American River Canyon outside of Placerville. We always go to the same spot. There always seems to be one spot left to park along side the road, next to the trail to walk down to the river [we say it is due to excellent Karma]. We have been going there for many years, starting when Sarah was so small, I had to carry her up and down the steep path, balancing myself with the picnic basket.

We had a favorite particular spot under a big Valley Oak, until it was washed away one winter. We had to move to a different spot about 100 feet away, but still just as nice. Sarah and I go to the deli and procure delicious treats that Lise doesn't know about until we pop open the picnic basket once we are there. The picnic basket is always a bit too heavy on the way down, but after we eat it all, it is not so bad coming back up.

We have a whole slate of great pictures, at the same spot on the river, just about one year apart. As Lise and I will be forever young (thanks, Bob Dylan), the great part is noting Sarah in each set, being one year older.

Song of the Day: Forever Young...Bob Dylan

I REMEMBER - My Sons & the Fraternity House

...that when my boys were small and we were a fraternity house...they were always being ornery, as all boys are meant to be. They always got lectures [extended lectures] from their Dad [me] as Dads are meant to do.

My oldest, Ian, finally figured it out and instead of arguing with me, right after the beginning of one of my finest extended lectures, would cut me off and say- "You're right Dad, it won't happen again"[it always did, but that isn't the point]. That would put a halt to the perfectly logical argument I had prepared, hoping, that at the end, he would say just that...but he would beat me to the point and I was done.

His two brothers, Nick and Dustin hadn't figured it out yet, and my career as a lecturer was able to continue. Older brothers have a certain responsibility and whether they like it or not, they burn [literally, sometimes] the path their younger siblings follow.

Sometimes, when he did stuff that was cool [to his brothers, not necessarily to me] they would be his pack of lemmings and try their versions of whatever it was he was doing. Sometimes, when he was doing something stupid and not cool and got in trouble for it, his brothers [it is easy to appear smart when your sibling is getting in trouble for being stupid...just ask my sister, Sharon] would learn a good lesson by NOT repeating his actions.

All parents know that when there are three teen/pre-teen boys in the same room with each other and there is no noise, something [usually bad] is going on. Stumbling upon one of these moments, I overheard [back in the day when I could still hear] my oldest son giving advice to his younger brothers: "Listen to me, do you really like Dad yelling at you? He just goes on and on and when you fight back, he just starts all over again. All you have to do is say 'O.K. Dad-I won't do it again' and he will have to shut up". At that moment I was stunned and a bit proud of him as an ally in the family responsibility program....until he continued...."you don't have to stop doing it, you just tell him you won't and he will stop the lecture".

They all turned out to be good guys and I am absolutely confident it was a result of the 100+ decibel wisdom I imparted to them before they figured out how to push my mute button.

I REMEMBER-Sacramento River Rats Hockey

...my experiences as President of the Roller Hockey International, Sacramento River Rats.

I was happily performing my duties as a sales manager for the Raley's Senior PGA Gold Rush Golf Tournament in El Dorado Hills, California (side note: part of the job was to drive Chi Chi Rodriguez around in a golf cart to sign autographs...but that is another blog) when I was enticed away to run the professional RHI Sacramento River Rats roller hockey team.

I was doing well economically with the PGA gig, so when approached, I said no thank you. Next, the CEO asked what it would take to make the move, and I told them a certain dollar figure, President of the team, stock in the team and a three-year personally guaranteed contract from the owners. (That last part turned out to be very cool. I had seen on an ESPN report that Steve Young had a personal contract with the owners of some NFL wannabe league, and when it folded, he kept on getting his money.) I had replied with this ridiculous counter-offer to end the conversation and have them stop, as I truly loved what I was doing. So, if you actually read the opening sentence you can see how that went.

The principal owner of the team and CEO of the RHI League was Larry King, ex-husband of Billy Jean King and owner of the Virginia Slims Tennis tournament (and others) . Very honorable guy, and when the RHI league folded (lost contract with ESPN) a few years later, he honored the contract and paid me for my last year in the deal. He actually gave me his BMW 740i to drive for a few months until he sold one of his tennis tournaments and paid me off. Very nice.

Three main stories that stand out:

1. July 1996, Arco Arena (home of the NBA Sacramento Kings), Sacramento, California. It is hotter than hell outside, easily past 100 degrees. It is Fan Appreciation night for the Sacramento River Rats as Arco Arena was our home stadium. A rolling power "Brown Out" in most of northern California and all the power is lost just before the puck is dropped. Emergency lighting pops on, but there is no Jumbo Tron video, no electricity to the beer vendors and no power to the automatic flushers in the restrooms. 

Quite a visual: A pro hockey game and no beer (probably just as well, seeing as how the toilets didn't flush). I think we played against the LA Blades and we needed the win to stay alive in the playoff hunt. So, as necessity is truly the mother of invention (there is my Mother's Day [tomorrow] tribute), we started our indoor inflatable miniature dirigible to fly around dropping numbered ping pong balls into the crowd, to be redeemed for prizes, snagged some flashlights so the players could get dressed in the darkened locker rooms, pulled a police cruiser (always on duty next to the ambulance--kind of required attendance at hockey games) down one of the aisles to park up against the glass, put the sports announcer on the roof with the police loudspeaker (yes, the power was out to our announcing system as well), placed a couple of guys behind the nets with bright red long underwear and started the game.

The announcing was actually pretty good through the police cruiser system, and when a goal was scored, the cop would turn on his siren and red lights would flash and the guy behind the just-scored net would stand on a chair and wave the red underwear (no net lights operational). I think we won, but don't actually remember. It was such a carnival.

2. June 18, 1997, Cal Expo Arena, Sacramento, California. We dropped our expensive lease with Arco Arena and opted to build a controversial outdoor hockey arena at a rarely used rodeo arena on the California State Fairgrounds. It actually was pretty cool (figuratively, not temperature wise) and this was opening night. It was a great crowd, lots of press and VIPs from around the RHI League to see how this new phenomenon would work out. We worked 24/7 the last week , but could not get it finished enough to satisfy the building inspector, so he closed us down and drove away. My very thankless job was to go out into the middle of the arena and announce (once again, this is a hockey crowd) to everyone that the game was called, a forfeit to the San Jose Rhinos, and give everyone a refund and send them home before the puck even dropped. I must have aged about 10 years in that last hour--probably the toughest thing I have ever had to do. I definitely recalled how I had given up hanging out with Gene Littler and Chi Chi Rodriguez in the Senior PGA Miller Beer Tent to have this shining moment.

3. July 1997, Cal Expo Arena, Sacramento, California. The Sacramento River Rats are playing, ironically, once again against the LA Blades RHI team (owned by Jeannie Buss, daughter of Jerry Buss, owner of the NBA Los Angeles Lakers). There has always been a Sacramento vs. LA rivalry in the NBA, and it quickly spread to the RHI and our two teams. Picture this: A nice warm, summer night in Sacramento at the new Cal Expo Outdoor Arena (yes, we finally got approval from the building department and were finally getting our season under way). The roller hockey playing surface was constructed of smooth plastic squares made by Sport Court, and ours was colored deep blue. The stadium was a hop and skip from the Sacramento River and a short flight for about 5,000 giant June Bugs this particular night, who were looking for a pond to land in. They descended onto the arena like a plague from the Bible, covering the court, the fans and, of course, down the blouse of LA Blades owner, Jeannie Buss, who was in town to check out the new outdoor stadium. It was quite the scene, with some hysteria, cursing and partial wardrobe malfunctions. It was just about the funniest thing I have ever seen and somehow Jeannie did not appreciate the humor of the situation...mumbling something about our "freaking" hick town.

That short two-year stint (1996 and 1997) as Sacramento River Rats president ended after our attempt to sell stock in the team fell short of its goal, and with the loss of the ESPN contract, the team and the RHI League took a year off and then folded. I had drastically cut the expenses and tripled the revenue from the previous season, but it was too little, too late. The stock sale was an interesting experiment and got me in the newspaper in a more positive light than in the sports columns that followed a team loss. Even with the addition of goalie, Manon Rheaume, model pretty, two time world champion goalie for Team Canada, Olympic Silver Medalist for Team Canada, first woman to play in a professional hockey game, etc. couldn't drive enough revenue to cover the losses.

After many years working in professional sports with the Canadian Football League Sacramento Gold Miners, the Sr. PGAGold Rush Classic and the RHI Sacramento River Rats, I was done with the ups and downs of pro sports. When your team is winning, the stands are full, sponsors are happy, and "We will Rock You" is on the sound system, it is truly an incredible high. When you are 0-10, fans are dropping like flies along with the sponsors, owners are losing millions, it can be a living hell.

I miss the highs, but do not miss the lows (unless you count the scourge of the June Bugs...then maybe...).

Song of the Day: Queen - We Will Rock You.

I REMEMBER- Summers in Tishomingo

....summers at Grandmother Clara Whitlock's house in Tishamingo, Oklahoma. It was a small white house with a big yard, shaded by many large trees. She never worked at a job outside the home. She was the Harriet of Ozzie and Harriet.

I remember her always wearing an apron and every once in awhile her German would slip out. [The kitchen sink was the "zink."] I loved the summer vacations at her house. She spoiled my sister (Sharon Kay Welton Chamberlin) and me in fabulous old-fashioned ways. Summers in Oklahoma were hot and humid, and the fans and swamp coolers were always running. We spent the days in shorts and tee shirts. My grandfather bought me a 5 lb. keg of nails (an actual tiny wood barrel full of nails) and brought home a short length of railroad tie. I would sit in the shade of that big tree in the yard and pound nails until the cows came home. Each summer I would take up where I left off the summer before, until there was no more wood to be seen: it was just nails. I could barely move it.

My job around the house was to take the kitchen scraps (eco-composting was alive and well in the early ’50s) out to the garden and bury them. It was mostly egg shells, coffee grounds, and orange peels, as I recall. There were tons of worms in the dirt each time I dug a new spot. The garage was a stand-alone building away from the house and next to the garden. It housed a beautiful root beer-colored early ’50s Plymouth, long cane fishing poles (about 10-12 feet—could have been a lot shorter, but they sure seemed long to a 7-year-old) and mud dauber (wasps) nests in the rafters. On bold days, I would poke the tip of the cane pole into one of those nests to piss off the wasps and then run like hell. I remember vividly [and this is 55 years ago, so it made quite the impression] the last time that I pulled that stunt. The very angry wasps flew right down the pole and into the armpit of my shirt and stung the bejesus out of me. Bees only sting once, and then their guts pull out while leaving the little barbed stinger in their victim [little Kamikaze bees]. Wasps have little needle stingers and can sting you repeatedly. Well, I am running, yelling and screaming into the back door of my grandmother’s house with the wasps fast after me. My grandfather thought it was pretty damn funny and that I deserved it, and my grandmother felt sorry for me and put baking soda poultice into my flaming armpit and made me a sling to keep my arm still. Never did that again...sort of instant and short learning curve.

When my grandfather and I went fishing, it was always a grand experience. I got to ride up front in the old Plymouth (it was of course new then). No booster seat, no seat belts. The seats were made of wool and were as scratchy as hell on my legs (wearing shorts). We went fishing in a little river (stream) a few miles from my grandparent’s house. It had a rickety old swinging bridge that was fun (and scary) to walk across. This one time we did not have the proper stringer to keep the fish on, so we used a length of clothes line (before driers) and a spindle part off my grandmother’s sewing machine. Nobody messed with my grandmother’s kitchen and even fewer dared to touch her sewing machine. My brave grandfather snagged the part with the stipulation to me that we would go fishing for a few hours while my grandmother was visiting friends and get the part returned before she got home. No harm—no foul. Or so we thought. We caught a mess of fish and had a stringer full—until I dropped the stringer into the river and the little horde of strung-together fish just sort of swam away in front of our eyes. Nothing ever happened to me, but I am sure my grandfather paid the price.

One of my favorite pastimes, when I wasn’t pounding nails, going fishing, or aggravating wasps, was to go to Alaska [in my mind]. I mentioned there was a giant swamp cooler in a window in my grandparent’s bedroom. It would blast ice-cold air like a jet engine. I would pull a big overstuffed arm chair up in front of the cooler and fill it with all the goose-down pillows in the house. I would then climb into the chair and snuggle down under the pillows [including one on top of my head] until just my eyes and nose stuck out. I would carefully reach through the pillows and hit the on button. I was in Alaska! Could sit there for hours and imagine trekking to the North Pole. Remember: no day-time TV shows, no Nintendo, game boy, PC’s, computers, internet, etc. We had to use our imagination…it was a blast.
 
As the summers were hot and humid, my grandmother would have my sister and me take a bath each night, powder us down with foo-foo powder from a big, pink round box, and then we would lay down on a pallet [pal・let (pal′it) noun - a small bed or a pad filled as with straw and used directly on the floor] in front of the black-and-white TV (giant box, small screen) to watch Lawrence Welk. [We didn’t care for it much, but my grandmother loved it.] We would have root beer floats with cherries in them. 

No way at home would mom let us have a root beer float and watch TV before bed. It’s good to be spoiled by grandparents.