If you attended the 88^th running of the Red Bluff Roundup, you saw a first class four hour show. If you also purchased a souvenir brochure, you may have seen an article titled “I Say at the Red Bluff Roundup”. In said article was a quiz. If you read it, and wondered about the correct answers, they were given on page 121. Just thought you might want to know, for instance, if there was ever a hippy  contestant in the Roundup.

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            California is the land of fruits and nuts, and in our fair city, I notice an early blooming, not only in the orchards…but also in the vicinity of the Post Office. We have not one, but two blooming recalls, one of Superior Court Judge King and the other of Judge Garaventa. Of course none will come to fruition. They are bound to fail because they are generally perceived, by voters, as being promoted by the disgruntled…if not the deranged. The merits of the recall attempts, if any, are obscured by their misguided instigators and proponents. If one were to distill their charges, they would drip something like this: “This (insert name of recall recipient), was elected to uphold the laws of the land…and he/she, refuses to do so. We must therefore throw the rascal out.” That’s about it, isn’t it?

            However, the above harmless pursuits illustrate that we live in a country where free speech…and often inane speech, is not only allowed, but encouraged.

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            In the side bar “We Said”, several weeks ago, I reported the Ivy Apartments, formerly on the north east corner of Walnut at Jackson ,were torn down to make room for a parking lot for Holiday Market. Not so. They were moved a block north to 905 Jackson.  

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            Last week’s quiz was answered correctly by R. Adams and W. Kelsey among others, who knew that Perry White was Clark Kent’s boss, Pete Smith produced “Specialties” at MGM, Henry Mancini wrote the music for the Peter Gunn TV shows, and Porky Pig was enamored with Petunia Pig.

            This week’s quiz: What twin brothers made scientific explorations of not only the stratosphere, but the ocean’s depths, the latter in a bathyscaphe? What was the route of the short lived Pony Express? James Dean was killed in car crash in 1955. Name the car.

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            There was a tragic article in the DN, regarding the death of a 10 year old boy who had been struck by a car a week ago.

             I was also hit by a car at the same age of 10, and was fortunate to have survived. However, if the outcome of my accident had been as the boy in the article, many things would have turned out quite differently.

             Our old meat plant might have had a more graceful demise if my father, without an heir, had eventually closed the doors and just walked away.

             I would not have grown up to marry and father four terrific children…and the missus could have become a movie star…or married into money. Ah life! The luck of the draw…

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            A playboy took a girl on a first date to an amusement park. After going on a half a dozen rides, he asked, “What do you want to do next?”

“Get weighed.” she said.

            He thought this strange, but found a scale and weighed her. However, as she answered his question with the same request several times, he finally took her home. Her mother wondered why she was home so soon, and asked how she felt. The girl replied, “Wowsy”.

(to respond to this website: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com )

            The sky is lead grey, for a change, and the clouds have been making a feeble attempt at rain. The wind is gusting at 30 miles per hour, but even the horses know it is of no concern, and do not turn tail to it.

            From my desk, I look out over a broad expanse of horse pasture and the fields of Pacific Farms further to the south. They planted onions last winter and have allowed them to go to seed. The harvest has just been completed and farm `manager Richard Bruce says the seed may be worth five dollars per pound! That sounds high, but there is considerable hand work involved in the growing of same.

            Now, why tell you about agricultural pursuits when the Farmer’s Wife does it so much better? Well, because our oldest daughter is home for the weekend, and she, plus daughter number two and the missus, have gone off across the above mentioned fields to “borrow” a few cucumbers. Pacific Farms does plant a much diversified crop, you know.

            So, from my window, I see them tramping off across the windswept  fields with assorted dogs tagging along behind. This is an altogether satisfying experience. If I participate in no other worthwhile venture in my life, the rearing of our family will be reward enough. At this moment in time, it seems much more worthwhile than running the State of California…or the entire United States, for that matter.

            A bachelor or spinster may not relate to the above…and bereaved parents, having lost a child, will find it all too painful in the remembrance…but the fact remains that parenthood is an experience like no other. It is a condition seemingly easy to attain…and yet, so easy to abuse.

Robert Minch

            If there was one establishment, in our old home town, dear to the hearts of young men… now old men, it was the famous Trede Bros. Saloon at 659 Main Street, in the Red Bluff of yesteryear.  Their phone number was 91…and their advertising slogan was simply “MEET THE BOYS at TREDE BROS.”

            Descendant John Trede recalls that  Claus Trede Sr. started a sandwich shop on the site in the early 1900’s, and upon Senior’s  demise, sons Claus and Albert came into the business as Trede Bros. Soon after prohibition, they opened their famous saloon, and the rest is history. 

            Across the exterior of the store, facing Main, there was a 4 foot high wainscot of small black and white tiles. On the windows were painted cocktail glasses. The entrance had double swinging doors. The long Pine Street wall of the saloon featured a painting of a mountain stream surrounded by pine trees, plus a large oval “Coca Cola in bottles” sign. Over a small side door were the words “Cousin Al’s Beverage Emporium”. But the interior is what burns long in the memory of those fortunate to have frequented the place.

            A long front room occupied much of the building with a bar stretching from the front door nearly to a dividing wall which separated the casual  drinkers from the frivolous pool and snooker players in the rear, though both rooms sported sturdy oak card tables. At the west end of the bar, was a small kitchen, with a counter and stools.  As D. Sale recalls,  a surprisingly varied menu of steaks, hamburgers, fried potatoes and excellent chili beans was available, served up by an ex-navy man.  

            The walls were covered with trophy size deer, elk and moose heads, with an occasional bobcat and maybe a pheasant or two. The heavy wood flooring was covered with sawdust with strategically placed spittoons here and there.

            The front room clientele were mainly sheep and cattle men, plus a downtown merchant or two ducking in for a quick libation. In the early days, Claus and Albert traded off as bartenders.

            In the rear room, one snooker and two pool tables were available, where   sharp players Ray Rice and H.K. Kyler held court, and were able to make a modest living with their adroit handling of a cue. High school kids were allowed to participate and often heard tales of the latest scandals circulating about town.

            The card tables were occupied by older men who appeared, to me, to be of some importance. Supervisors, County officials active or retired…and their overheard conversations seemed to dwell on what was wrong with the country…and how it should be corrected.

            Over all hung a pall of cigar and cigarette smoke mingled with the smell of stale sweat and fermented spirits. They must have allowed women in Trede Bros., but I don’t recall seeing any. However, an enterprising young woman…or an aging one for that matter, might heed the slogan “MEET THE BOYS AT TREDE BROS.” and enter to stake out a claim.

            Those were the days, that was the place… and it continues to live vividly in our memories.

THE POETRY CORNER for 24 April 2009

            This is a new category in the website, in which we will  determine if readers will respond to poetry.

            Poetry does not have to challenge, but it does have to convey an emotion…serious or humorous. It can be as pedestrian and scatological as poems found on public restroom walls…or it can have a meaning difficult to convey by any other means. So, let us experiment with a pot pourri of poems by well known (and some home grown) poets, designed to brighten your day. If readers offer positive response, or wish to convey their own efforts, we shall continue. If negative reviews prevail, we shall fold another tent. It may not be the Obama way…but it is the democratic way.

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Let’s begin by stacking the deck with animal  poems:

The Springer Spaniel:

“The Springer’s at home on water and land,

Retrieves ducks for his master, glad at lending a hand.

But when he’s completed his aquatic tricks,

He just wishes his master would stop throwing sticks.”

The Poodle:

“The poodle is contoured and shaped like a shrub.

Her mistress escorts her to tea at the club.

She’s perfumed and pampered…class runs in her blood;

What she wants is to run wild and to roll in the mud.”

R. Scheuler 2003.

The Dog or the Tree:

“I think that I shall never see,

 A dog as lovely as a tree.

But a trait in common, I shall now mark;

 They both have a substantial and durable bark.”

R. Minch 2007.

And to add a little class:

“The turtle lives twixt plated decks

Which practically conceal its sex.

I think it clever of the turtle

In such a fix, to be so fertile.”

Ogden Nash.1930

Concluded

            I have, on the tailgate of my pickup, an outline of a fish with the word “DARWIN” within the body of the fish. Some folks find this amusing…and others shake their fist at me in a type of religious road rage. It is unfortunate they take umbrage at the little fishy…but I confess it was placed there to stir, if not awaken, drivers to the news that there are those who do not wear their religion on their sleeve…or their tailgate. Anyhow, I find it a refreshing statement of a sort.

            Speaking of Charles Darwin, in his 1859 book “Origin of species”, he cites 4 postulates or requirements which must be satisfied in order for natural selection to occur. 1) A species must show variation. Humans exhibit this in abundance…height, eye color, toe length, intelligence…and one’s appendix may be present or absent at birth. 2) Variations must be inheritable. For better or worse, parents pass their genetic strengths and weaknesses on to their offspring. 3) Not all individuals in a population survive to reproduce. This observation unfortunately applies more to elephants than humans. 4) Some individuals can cope with selective pressures better than others… politicians, for example.  

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            Think twice before you apply for vanity license plates. One young woman submitted “ILVTOFU” and was promptly rejected by a small minded DMV person…even though she explained that she “…loved tofu.” Of course. What else?

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            “Dear Nancy Pelosi: I see where the Swigs are hosting a fund raiser for your Democratic Central Committee; $5,000. per couple,  $10,000 to be a Sponsor, or $30,400 to be in the “Speaker’s Cabinet”. I regret the recession has sapped my available funds for such noble enterprises. Maybe next year. R. Minch”.

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            Early day phone books are a source of confirmation of my remembrance of things past. Mary Lee Grimes handed me a copy of a Red Bluff City Directory 1938-1939 which, although not a phone book per se, is a font of information. On the cover is a picture of a bucking bronc with the caption “RED BLUFF, THE ROUND-UP CITY.” In addition, advertising for the State Theatre, Norvell and Hunter Co. Haberdashers, Zuckweiler’s Dept. Store, Floyd’s Fountain , Carl Stenberg Trucking, C& H Market…and, last but not least, an add instructing readers to “MEET THE BOYS AT TREDE BROTHERS.” The last advertisement will prompt a future Passing Parade article on that splendid establishment.

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            Last week’s quiz was answered by S.Orner who knew that the British National Gallery had been split into 4 different museums: Tate Britain, Tate Liverpool, Tate St. Ives and Tate Modern…and “The Peanut Gallery” referred to the cheap seats in theatres with many balconies. It was also a feature of the old Howdy Doody TV show.

            This week’s quiz: Name Clark Kent’s editor at the Daily Planet, what did Pete Smith produce at MGM 1935-1955, who wrote the theme song for the TV series “Peter Gunn”…and what was Porky Pig’s girl friend’s name?

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            Today begins the 88^th running of the Red Bluff Roundup. In these tough times they may not have a full house each day. But, the Los Angeles Dodger’s opening day attendance was the largest ever, so maybe people will be going to movies and ballgames more often than taking extended vacations in far off places. The Roundup would be a good place to start.

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            A lawyer was late for lunch with his friend, another lawyer, and he explained, “I ran over a milk bottle on my way over, and got a flat tire.”

“Didn’t you see the milk bottle?”

“Nah…the kid had it under his coat…”

(to respond to this website: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)

            Elspeth (c1910 - 1997)

            She was an exotic beauty who led a very different life from that of other denizens of Red Bluff. She was an intelligent, witty, sometimes sardonic creature, and, during her early life, a lousy mother. If still with us, she would agree and laugh heartedly at my brief description.

            As a young woman in the bay area, she was guided by a wealthy aunt, schooled in the arts deemed proper for a young lady, and first visited Red Bluff as a guest of Mrs. Cone at the fabled Cone Ranch east of town. There, she was wined and dined by her host, danced in the garden (captured on early 16 mm film) and was wooed by an up and coming doctor. They were married a short time later.

            Elspeth joined the social circles as she was urged to do, but never felt such a life was her destiny. The same early films show her half-heartedly joining in an impromptu snowball fight in the middle of Main Street during a major snow storm of the mid 1930’s.

            She and the doctor had one son, but she soon felt not cut out to be a mother in a small town. A short time later she secured a divorce, journeyed to far off lands…and settled in Mexico high atop a penthouse in downtown Mexico City where she quickly learned the language and settled in for lengthy stay. Thus, Elspeth became an early day version of the liberated woman.

            My folks visited her as World War II broke out in 1941, and were surprised at her self sufficiency and good humor. She said she loved the country and, abetted by the low cost of living, had no intention of ever returning to the hum-drum life of Red Bluff.

            She held this resolve for nearly 40 years until her now grown son began annual visits to see her.  She was charmed with his wisdom and good natured outlook on life that he had managed to create for almost entirely on his own. As a young lad, with only housekeepers to console him during his mother’s absence, he rapidly became a popular student in elementary and then high school. As an adult, he eventually merged effectively into local civic positions.

            Eventually the son convinced his mother to return to Red Bluff. She purchased a house on Rio across the street from my mother, and they resumed their friendship after a long absence, which endured until my mother’s untimely demise in 1987.

             As an amusing sidebar to Elspeth’s settling in and acclimating to small town rural life, she developed a relationship with Elmore’s Pharmacy to the extent that when she called in an order for those products usually carried by such stores, she would also ask for toilet paper and other sundries that Elmore’s did not carry, but eventually placed in their basement to continue supplying her most personal needs.

            We have several large colored photographs of Elspeth modeling various trendy hats. She bore a striking resemblance to early day screen siren Dolores Del Rio.  She was indeed an exotic, opinionated creature full of energy wit and a lust for life…if not in our fair city, then in far off climes. She reveled in this notion, and always referred to herself as “That foreign devil”.

It is unlikely we will see the likes of her again.

            “The moving Finger writes; and having writ,…”
            Most of the fingers I’ve seen have written poorly…I’m speaking of penmanship. My own was so bad I started to print since my high school days, and never looked back. My father’s hand was equally as bad, and sister Lizann’s…well, not the best. On the other…ah…hand, there was mother and grandmother’s. They had lovely penmanship. District Attorney Arthur Ludeman’s writing was a beauty to behold…bold and flowery.

            Perhaps good penmanship is a lost art. Whom do you know that takes the time to improve the way they write? Whom do you know that writes, period? This fine method of communication is on its way out. It is a known fact that first year college students fail most forms of written essays…hands down, so to speak.

            The typewriter is the neatest way to go. If you can master one of those babies, you don’t need to print, script or whatever. But to pick up speed, one needs a bit of dexterity. My wife maintains that the best typist are those who play the piano. But then her sister, Ila Jean, types well but does not tickle the ivories.

            I am now a fairly good typist. This was not always so, however, because, before the fall (the loss of our meat plant) I had my own secretaries to whom to dictate. But those days are gone forever and I am now reduced to doing my own correspondence…and picking up my room. It is hell, I don’t mind telling you.

            One advantage to typing your own letters is that you can use dirty words without having your secretary color up like old glory. Of course I stopped writing obscene words years ago. That was in Miss Jaekel’s Geometry class in high school. In the following class, Tom McKibbon sat at the same desk as did I the hour before. I would leave a note in the inkwell, he would pick it up the next hour, add some obscenity, and then replace it for my artistry the next day. However, Miss Jaekel intercepted our communications and hauled us both off to the Principal’s office. He read the notes, and then said, “Are you gentlemen enemies?”

            “Oh no, sir, “I interjected, “We are the best of friends!”

            “Well then why,” the Principal replied, “do you write that he should perform an un-natural act on himself?”

            We were at a loss for words. After a moment he said, “I suggest you two, in the future, confine your reports to the subject which you should be studying.”

            That was certainly good advice, and I, for one, never put my obscenities in writing again…at least where Miss Jaekel could get a hold of them.

Robert Minch

            Popular television series have glued-to-your -seats season ending finales. Think 24, Damages… or Deadwood. This is not one of those. This finale is more of a sigh than a denouement. It is merely an ending and a tepid one, at that.

            As you recall…you do recall, don’t you? Hello? Country western singer Proberta Gerber turned up missing. Of course, if one “turns up”, they are not technically missing. But this chick, week after week, failed to materialize. Private Eye Grimes Arbuckle was hired by guardians of the Whompdocker and Humdinger Diamond Cartel to find the songbird who was destined to inherit the whole enchilada. During his hunt, Grimes met and questioned characters such as shyster lawyer Maxwell Williams and his hired gun Henly Hornbrook, secretary Adin Lookout,  matron Crescent Mills, Zamora Esparto, Buttonwillow McKendrick, Chico Anderson, Chester Redding , Cummings Skyway and Quincy Davis, to name a few.

             Discerning readers might reason these names were merely towns in close proximity to one another…and would not only relish the possibilities…but submit names of their own.  A few wits joined in initially, but then the game cooled, the recession warmed and we all had other fish to fry.

            So, to bring the series to a merciful close, Grimes has tracked down the singer to the Tehama County Fairgrounds, and a makeshift stage on the north side of the arena, in the process of being groomed for the 88^th running of the famous Red Bluff Roundup. As the final scene opens, Grimes is standing stage right and Ms Gerber is warbling “When It’s Roundup Time in Texas”, not knowing the words to “When It’s Roundup Time in Red Bluff”. As a small crowd of rapt manure rakers listen intently, Grimes speaks. Listen!

Grimes: “Hullo!”

Proberta Gerber stops in mid song and turns to the handsome but cross eyed stranger and says, “Hullo, yourself. Who are you? What’s your handle, heavy?”

Grimes: “Arbuckle.”

Proberta: “Hah! That’s rich! Are you one of those ” Arbuckle and no cattle?”

Grimes: “Enjoy yourself, kid. I’ve got a job to do. I’m supposed to find you and haul your butt back to the Diamond Cartel. There are a few bucks in it for me if I deliver you safe and sound. You get it?”

Proberta: “Get this!”

Grimes: ” Why you…!”

Grimes was about to deck the songbird for making an obscene gesture, but then remembered the code of the Private Eye: You may hit on a lady…but never hit a lady.

Grimes: ” I must be losing my grip. You made me lose my temper. Nobody has done that in a long time. You’re some dame, you are. What’s your real name?”

Proberta: “Well, seeing you ask, it’s Brigid  O’Shaugnessy.”

Grimes: “I don’t think so…”

Proberta:  ”Very well. My name is Stella Dallas. No…wait…I’ve had so many aliases lately…uh, it’s Ammonia Kravatz.  Ah, Effie Perrine? Wait…Nancy Palooka…I mean Pelosi. Sorry…maybe Ursula Undress? Or Hannah and her Sisters Montana? Wait. It’s just…Mary Smith. Yes, that’s it. It’s Mary…”

Grimes:  ”…and a grand old name it ‘tis. I’ll buy that. But now, pack your bags, Mary, I’m taking you back to the Cartel…”

Mary: “Hokay, but first I must stop by a little single wide in Proberta. I stay there from time to time. An Assemblyman claims it as his primary residence.”

            Grimes raises an eyebrow, but agrees, and the two climb into his ‘47 Huff, to toodle on down to Proberta…and into history.

            Not much of a conclusion, but then it is free…and, as you know, the best things in life are free.

                                         -30-

            I hope the era of Political Correctness, along with sub-prime mortgages, is coming to a close. It is a time when writers and speakers nervously look about every time they make a statement. Touching the queen…and merchandising fried chicken, comes to mind.

            Michelle Obama put a protective, or perhaps overly familiar arm, about the Queen of England. The move was dutifully reported by the press as a protocol gaff; one does not initiate touching the Queen. If she wants to be touched, she will tell you. For example, if she is alone with her husband and, sotto voce, says, “You may touch me now”, that is hokay because she has made the first move.  Mrs. Obama says she did not know of the rule. It is fortunate she did not hold the Queen by the shoulders and air kisses her.  Though on foreign soil, Political, or at least Protocol Correctness, has reared its silly head.  But what about the fried chicken gaff?

            A fellow back east operates two fried chicken restaurants formerly called, I believe, “Royal Fried Chicken”. Sensing an advertising opportunity, he changed the name to “Obama Fried Chicken”. Immediately, another opportunist, Al Sharpton, got on his case, held a press conference, and demanded the name be changed because it was demeaning to the President to link fried chicken with him, thus implying some sort of racial profiling! Uh huh.

I thought Sharpton and Jesse Jackson would have to seek traditional employment, for the first time in their lives, when Obama became President and surrogates were no longer needed to plead the case of disenfranchised blacks. As it happens so often in these matters, I was wrong.

            We don’t know what will happen to “Obama Fried Chicken”, but it seems silly to be outraged, in the name of Political Correctness, by linking “Obama” with “Fried Chicken”. Talk show host Ron Owen said, “Most Presidents…even ex- Presidents, would probably not give a second thought to such links. For example, I don’t think Bill would object if an enterprising fellow opened up a “Clinton Dry Cleaners”  

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Speaking of silliness, Headline in TIME: “Infused with positive intentions via prayer and music, ‘embedded’ food wants to make us happy.” What does that mean? It means certain companies are subjecting their products to with “good vibes”    through meditation, prayer and music”. I kid you not.

            Since 2006, a California company has sold water infused with wishes for love, joy and perfect health which “creates a specific vibratory frequency”. If you think this is an “only in California” craziness, there is a Canadian maker of protein powder that has employees gather around each shipment and state aloud the benefits they hope to imbue it with their consumers.

While we cast doubt regarding the efficacy of such activity, it is obvious it is not the maker that is nuts…it is the consumer who buys his product.

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Last week’s quiz was answered by Maralyn Dooley, of the Woodside Dooleys, who knew that Herb Caen’s favorite pol was Willie Brown, favorite haberdasher was Wilkes Bashford…and Howard Gossage was his advertising guru.

This week’s quiz: Where could the “Peanut Gallery” be found? The National Gallery of British Art was split into four galleries and renamed what?

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J Angelo reports seeing the following sign in a store: “UNATTENDED CHILDREN WILL BE GIVEN AN EXPRESSO AND A FREE PUPPY.”

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            Some jokes are good enough to tell twice: A woman was holding a young child when a drunk walked by and said, “That’s a real ugly kid!” The woman burst into tears.

            A cop walked by and the woman told him she had just been insulted. The cop said, “There, there, little lady. Here’s a tissue for your eyes…and a banana for the chimp.”

 (To respond to this website, go to rminchandmurray@hotmail.com )