Sightem:  A sunburned hitchhiker, sitting on his knapsack at the entrance to the south bound ramp of I-5. I was in a line of cars waiting for the light to change, and had opportunity to see him pull out an envelope from his pack, tear it open, and extract a letter along with a single currency of unknown denomination. He showed no emotion as he pocketed the money, and then settled down to read the accompanying letter.

            What scenario best fits this picture?

• 1) “Dear Son: Enclosed find money you requested sent to General Delivery, Red Bluff. I hope it helps in your journey through life. Please keep in touch. We miss you. Mom”
• 2) “Dear Jerk: Here is your alimony, you miserable bastard. I am glad to get rid of you and it is worth every penny to me to never see you again. You should thank that shyster lawyer for the way this turned out. You’re the one that should be paying alimony! Rot in hell! Debbie”
• 3) “Dear Shareholder: Please find enclosed your Microsoft dividend. I have sent you this one hundred dollar bill, at your request, because the Treasury Department is no longer printing and circulating $10,000. bills. Therefore, the balance of your monthly dividend, $9,990.00, has been deposited in the Swiss Bank you have selected. Hope you are well and will furnish us a more permanent address when your personal quest for enlightenment has been achieved. Anthony Perkins, Microsoft Accounting Department.”

      There is no correct answer to this rhetorical question, of course, but I found

it provocative until the light changed…and hope you will find it the same until your light changes.

* * * * * * *

            Speaking of I-5, heading for the Antelope Blvd Overpass, I saw a large puff of black smoke. Atop the overpass, I could see a flaming wreck about several hundred yards to the north. The fire trucks were there along with an ambulance, and the first thought that crossed my mind was how hot it must be inside one of those heavy fire fighting yellow suits, when the temperature outside is approaching 110 degrees! It was then I realized what a dedicated group were the fire fighters…and how they deserve every penny they get.

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`           Last week’s quiz was first answered by J. Angelo who knew that the Piltdown Man discovery in England turned out to be an elaborate hoax and that the old time radio duo, Lum and Abner, operated out of Pine Ridge, Arkansas. However, when it came to the first licensed airplane pilot, John came up with William McCracken, whereas my sources said Glen Curtis. Take your pick. It happened a long time ago.

            This week’s quiz: There is a walking entrance to the TRAX parking lot between Main and Rio. Can you name a former business or two which once occupied the building on that site? And, on the north east corner of Main and Pine, sits that magnificent columned building now housing Fidelity Title. Name the first and subsequent tenants of same.

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            (Internet humor) “The new supermarket near my house has an automatic water mister to keep produce fresh. Just before it goes on, you hear the sound of thunder and lightning.

            When you approach the milk cases, you hear cows mooing and witness the scent of hay.

            When you approach the egg case, you hear hens cluck and cackle and the air is filled with the pleasing aroma of bacon and eggs frying.

            However, I don’t buy toilet paper there anymore…”

(To respond to this blog: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)

            Grandfather Benjamin Franklin Minch (1869-1936), contributes from beyond the grave:

            ‘Oft have I seen the fruit that might have hung

            Till richly ripe upon the laden bough,

            Fall premature, thro’ some insidious worm

            That worked, unmoved by summer heat or storm.

            Unseen itself though one could mark its labor.

            So upon man, best fruit of god’s creation,

            Doth feed the worm of fierce and fell disease,

            Quiet sometimes as one who sits at ease,

            At others struggling with his human prey,

            Too oft the victor in the bloodless fight.”

(Here is a  limerick from a little book of same circa 1906)

            “There was a young man of Devizes, whose ears were different sizes,

            The one that was small, was of no use at all, but the other took several prizes”

(Challenged to write an octosyllabic verse…only 8 syllables to a line, someone wrote:)

            “It was his winter of dissent

            When his thingee got really bent.

            He tried a vise and saw and chisel

            To straighten out his poor pizzle. “

            A multi faceted and talented man was Carl Coleman (1909-1982).For many years a teacher at Red Bluff Union High School, he was revered by students, faculty and administration alike. He was basically a music teacher, but doubled in counseling and athletics. His students called him “Ikie” but I have no idea why. In later years, we called him Uncle Carl. He was a handsome blond haired athlete and his powerful upper body was offset by undersized legs belying the overall strength of the fellow. As such, he was an active competitor playing softball in summer evenings when our town had adult league play, a swimmer, avid tennis player and meat packer. Yes, for many years, to supplement his meager teacher salary, Carl worked evenings and weekends at our old meat plant carrying large quarters of beef into waiting delivery vans. He was able to pack large bull quarters that otherwise required two men to lug into the trailers. Thereby hangs one of the many tales about the man.

            When we loaded out on Sunday afternoons, we generally had three or four 40′ foot refrigerated trailers to load, and supplied the men with milk shakes from Frank’s Creamery. During one break, while Carl was sitting on the dock dangling his feet over the edge, one of the workers decided to play a little trick on him. He sneaked up behind him, and stuck a cattle prod half way down his back. The prod contained 6 or 8 batteries designed to give a cow quite a jolt, let alone a man. Carl was propelled off the dock and landed in a heap about 4 feet down in the declined ramp. He was certain he had experienced a heart attack. When the contrite practical joker confessed he had just given him a little jolt, Carl convinced the fellow he should not do so again.

            Carl and his wife Irene had one son named Kenneth, who contracted polio while quite young. However, the Coleman’s read up on the Sister Kenny method of keeping limbs supple with massage and hot compresses which eventually restored the boy to full mobility and a good athlete in his own right. 

            Another calling for Carl was that of a dance band leader who played for local dances for years and also at the old Blue Ribbon Café and Bar. At one Saturday night dance at the Women’s Club House on Rio, a former student of Carl’s showed up at the bandstand drunk and proceeded to make a nuisance of himself. After giving the kid repeated warnings to go home and sober up, Carl stood up from the piano, grabbed the young hood by his lapels, kicked his feet out from under him, and then dragged him by one foot the length of the dance floor to the front door.

             Uncle Carl formed the first (and probably the only) boys glee club at RBUHS, which included, among 10 or 12 others, G. Froome and myself. We were attired in white shirts with bow ties and dark pants. We sang numbers like “Stout Hearted  Men” with a straight face…and were a hit with non- paying unsophisticated audiences everywhere.

            There is not enough space today to tell more of the many tales about Uncle Carl. Perhaps another day we will print a Part Two…but for now, it should suffice to say,  Carl Coleman was certainly one of a kind.

            Those who know me well, agree that I seldom lose my temper or display anything but a benign composure.  But a guy got me upset last Wednesday, and I would like to tell you why.

            I was at work in our real estate office when in walked this guy in a beard wearing his collar backward. I knew who he was. I had read his name in the DN and observed him walking about town…sometimes in a sweatshirt and knit cap…sometimes in a black robe accompanied by a great clanking of chains and metal necklaces, crosses and the like. He does not go by the name of “reverend”. He prefers “the very reverend”. It is the “very” that gives you some idea of his sense of importance.

            Anyway, I had him figured out, and because, at this stage of his life, he was somewhat alone, and evidently without funds, I thought he might hit me up for a loan. But lo, he was not looking for a handout, but rather for a place to rent where he could  “open up a food store.”

            I told him of a place that might work, and we discussed price and terms. Then he asked, “Who owns the building?”

            I told him the name and he inquired further about the background of the man. I saw no harm in mentioning the fact that because the landlord, being Asian, spoke little English, that I was not certain the building was available until I talked to a lady who served as his interpreter. Hearing this, the “very reverend” went ape, and started raving about how he “could not rent a building from a Buddhist!” Can you believe it?

            I was flabbergasted, and when it became apparent the would- be renter was doing a prejudice number on me, I had to curtly inform him that in view of what had just transpired, the landlord would not want to rent to a “very reverend” either! And so he left. As he departed, we exchanged blessings of sorts. I tell you, there is no hypocrite like an avowed tolerant religious person. The idea…the very idea that there is just one way to live our lives is not only absurd, it is stupid.                                                            Robert Minch

            Once upon a time, in a land far away, an operetta was staged in a small school. The musical was titled “The Burgermeister and His Cat”.  The land was Red Bluff, California, and the school was the Lincoln Street Elementary. I had the role as the cat, but my dialogue was mostly “Meow, meow”. That was approximately 70 years ago…and the production never made it to Broadway.

            Now, segue to 2009 and our grandson, Cole Dooley, has the lead role of the Beast in the Woodside School production of “Disney’s Beauty and the Beast”. This time around, the production was a little more professional. The 8^th graders rehearsed for months, the school rented costumes and sets…and the cast even wore head mikes! It was a first class show that was captured on a DVD that the missus and I play whenever we need a reminder that there are talented kids out there who do not make headlines by shooting one another or having children out of wedlock.

            For that very amateurish production at Lincoln Street Elementary long ago, my mother made a cat costume of grey flannel that covered me from head to foot, complete with tail. After the operetta had its one night run, I took the costume home, and could be found, on hot summer nights, running around the roof tops on Rio Street in same. I thought it very cool and mysterious.

            Although playing in several high school productions later on, I was never able to parlay my talents to the professional stage. But seeing our grandson doing such a terrific job in “Beauty and The Beast” there is hope for our genes to yet make it big. It will be a vicarious experience, to be sure.                                                   * * * **

            We lost a little mare this week. Completely unexpected. The horses were grazing in the pasture and daughters Melody and Maralyn were doing some mowing with the garden tractor, when suddenly they heard a loud crack. They thought perhaps a limb had fallen from an oak tree, which caused the horses to scatter until they saw the mare standing and shaking, with her right rear leg dangling off the ground.  They were able to get a halter on her and slowly navigate her to some shade while awaiting the veterinarian, Dr.  Art Sutfin to arrive. When he did a short time later, our worst suspicions were confirmed…the leg was broken at a place where repair was not possible, so she was put down on the spot. An hour and a half later, and she was at rest in the grove thanks to a rapid backhoe response from Brendon Flynn of Pacific Farms.

            This then, is the other side of the coin when having a wonderful relationship with an animal . Odds are you will outlive them…and loss, as a result of their demise, is as hard to bear as any loss you might endure as you trudge down the road of life. It is the price you pay for their companionship.

* * **  * *

            Last week’s quiz had no complete winner because of the third question being rather obscure. Locals knew that Arthur Fickert doubled as a furniture store proprietor and mortician in the old days…and that the Stoll brothers, Walter and            Ernest advanced from the horse and buggy supply business to the auto parts age, but none knew that artist Babette Fickert Dowell had produced the large painting in the Hoyt-Cole Chapel of The flowers.

            This week’s quiz: What was the problem with the discovery in England of the “Piltdown  Man” in 1911, what was the name of the Arkansas town in which old time radio’s “Lum and Abner” lived….and would you possibly know who was issued the first airplane pilots license?

* * * * *

           A little boy needed $100.00 to buy his mother a present. His father suggested he pray for it. Instead, he wrote God a letter, it was forwarded to Washington, and President Obama sent the boy $5.00. The kid wrote back, “Thank you God for sending me money, but I notice you sent it through Washington…and those thieving bastards deducted $95.00!”

(To respond: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)

            Oscar Metcalf  (1934-2009) went to his reward last week and several hundred friends gathered at the Elks to honor the fine fellow. A memorial service is an occasion to meet old acquaintances…and quite a few attendees were former employees of our old meat plant. I therefore found it odd that his obituary mentioned all the retail stores where Oscar worked as a meat cutter, but omitted the many years he put in at our wholesale meat plant 2 miles west of town.

            Oscar is not a common first name, and as far as I recall, we had only two such named at the plant: Oscar Snell…and Oscar Metcalf. Both were interesting people and always had a lot to say on a variety of subjects.

            Oscar Metcalf worked as a butcher on the kill floor and a meat cutter in the boning room. I would often see him early in the morning on the loading dock where he would be sharpening his knife, and we would chat a bit about the world in general and Red Bluff in particular. At the time, I had developed a habit of taking a couple of Anacin when I got to the plant, and, as I didn’t drink coffee, the caffeine in the pills gave me an early morning lift. Oscar soon picked up on my habit, and watching me throw back my head to down the pills, exclaimed, “You know…you drink water like a duck!” That was nearly 40 years ago and yet the remark remains fresh in my mind.

            Oscar was a handsome muscular fellow whose only fault, I believe, was that he was fearless to the extent he engaged in the dangerous sport of bull riding…and therefore it was ironic that, long after his riding days, he would find himself in a corral on foot with an enraged bull that would trample him and paralyze him for the rest of his abbreviated life.

            Rest in peace, Oscar. You deserved a better ending

 (A twice told tale)

            ” I was born in 1887, married in 1917, widowed in 1947…and I will be 90 tomorrow. Do you know what that means?”

            “Were you talking to me?” I asked. The old woman had caught me by surprise. We were both seated at a bus stop, total strangers, and I had been lost in my own thoughts.

            “It means,” she said, ignoring my question, “that something interesting happens to me every 30 years…right on the button.”

            “O, yes…I see what you mean. Every 30 years. Gosh, that’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

            “Not that at all”, she sniffed. “It’s not a coincidence when things happen like that…right on the button. It’s divine providence. The will of God, you know.”

            Not wanting to get caught up in a theological discussion with a stranger, I just nodded in agreement…and then starred off into space as though lost in thought. The old woman immediately started rummaging in a large paper bag on her lap, and finally withdrew a desk size photo of a man in uniform. “This,” she proclaimed with obvious pride, “is Henry. He was in the Infantry in the first World War. If he hadn’t been wounded and sent home, we wouldn’t have met, and I wouldn’t be a near 90 year old widow sitting here today. That’s the way things work. You got to be in the right place at the right time, or life just passes you over.”

            “Well.” I said, reluctantly drawn into the discussion, “you probably would have married someone else, then. You were…you are an attractive woman, and obviously…”

            “No, no, no!” she exclaimed with surprising vigor. “You just don’t get the picture do you ? The point is, I was put on this green earth to be the wife of Henry Grant. And if that didn’t happen, then I was destined to be Myrtle May Myers the rest of my born days. That’s the way it works. Get it now?”

            “Yes, of course,” I said, not getting it at all.”What will be, will be, right?”

            “Well, that’s one way of putting it. Some call it destiny, but I call it…well, you know what I call it because I already told you.”

            As abruptly as she began, she stopped talking and appeared to nod off, still sitting upright and clutching the paper bag to her chest.

            It grew late and my bus had not yet arrived. It was past twelve when the old woman stirred, struggled wearily to her feet, and shuffled off towards the restrooms. As she raised her hand to push open the door, she looked back. I smiled…and I think she smiled in return, but it was hard to tell. Her face was so small and worn.

            A short time later, I looked up from a crossword puzzle, and noticed a small crowd of people had formed at the entrance to the restroom. I pushed my way through the group and asked a porter what had happened. “Just an ol’ lady, suh,” he said. “She jus die. This lady here found her down on the floor in there and tried to help her, but she jus die.”

            The porter pointed to a young woman near the door who said, “Yep. I’m the one who found her. She was just sitting there on the floor against the wall where she had slumped…but she didn’t look like she was in any pain or nothing. Just sitting there.”

            “Did she say anything?” I asked.

            “Yeah…she did. She said…ah…she said something about ‘button’. That’s it…she said, ‘Right on the button.’”

Robert Minch

            R. Ramsey is of a notion to share his home grown poetry with you:

“I’m told; in sporting circles, the Mohawk hair style is the current rage.

Without need of a stylist, I’m sporting a reverse Mohawk,

Which comes naturally…with age.”

            That said, perhaps in a more enduring  vein:

“By the rude bridge that ached the flood,

Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,

Here once the embattled farmers stood,

And fired a shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

Alike the conquer silent sleeps;

And time the ruined bridge has swept

Down the dark stream that seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

We set today a votive stone;

That memory may their deed redeem,

When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare

To die, and leave their children free,

Bid Time and Nature gently spare

The shaft we raise to them and thee.”  Ralph Waldo Emerson

            John Adams was a long haul driver at our old meat plant years ago. By long haul, I mean he drove our tractor trailers loaded with meat products up and down the coast…this as opposed to short hauls where the driver delivered in northern California and was home for dinner most nights.

            The long haul driver had to be dependable for, in order to make deliveries pay, we had to keep the trucks on the road in an endless cycle. For example, we would load out at 6pm and the driver would be on the road by 9, drive all night, unload in San Francisco early in the morning…sometimes one stop, sometimes several, and then had to high tail it for home so we could get the trailer washed out and loaded up for another all night run. If the run was to L.A. or Portland or Seattle, the driver of course would be gone for several days at a time.

            I write of John because he was a memorable employee who was dependable, had a good sense of humor…and was very strong for his size, which I imagine was about 5′7″ or so. And by that fact, hangs a tale.

            I had a gym at the meat plant. I built it under the elevated hog kill platform in the rear of the plant. No one else used it because working at the plant was generally exercise enough for the employees. But I had a white collar job, and felt I had to keep in shape in case I ever had to sub for someone and actually pack beef quarters or unload 125lbs sacks of rock salt in the hide cellar. Anyhow, everyone at the plant knew of my workout fetish, if you will, and occasionally would drop by my gym after work to shoot the breeze or see how much I could lift.

            John was aware of my routine and thought it might prove fun to challenge me in a strong man contest. He knew he could not best me handling  barbells because I had been at it most of my life and it took a lot of repetitions to handle heavy weights in various lifts. So, he came by the gym one day and showed me a spike. It was an oversized nail about 6 inches long and maybe a quarter inch to 3/8^th in diameter. Some might describe it as a 60 or 80 penny nail. Anyhow, John wrapped a cloth around either end to protect his hands…and proceeded to bend that sucker over his leg! When he had worked it into a horseshoe shape, he whipped out another and handed it to me. “Your turn”, he said with a smile. I thought it would be a piece of cake…but I struggled, grunted and cursed…and yet could not get it to bend. John walked away with a smirk.

            I bought several of the spikes, finally learned the technique, and managed to bend a spike  few weeks later in his presence. He said he was impressed, but I suspect he felt he had proved, that despite my weight and size advantage, he was every bit  as strong. I’m glad we did not have to prove it in some other manner. 

            By the end of 1975, the plant had closed and John was driving somewhere else. However, about 10 years later, he contracted cancer and died way too young at 52 in 1987. But big men like John Adams live on in our memories.

            Several of the Daily News columnist, no longer being paid for their efforts, and living on love I guess, give life style advice which usually falls in one of several categories:  proper  nutrition, exercise tips, female martial arts results, and, if an educator,  how to make your students love you after graduation, if not prior to. So it is time for me, writing without editorial restraint, to advise readers how to live long and live well. Of course, having your parents live into their 90’s, helps.

Do not smoke. If you know the perils of nicotine, and are stupid enough or addicted enough to continue to smoke, then God bless you and the horse you rode in on. You are going to die young. If you luck out and live longer, your life will be long cough.

            The only nutritional advice I can give you is don’t consume more calories than you can burn. Weigh yourself daily.  Move about after your evening meal. Eat at regular times and three times a day. If you must have a beer while watching television, make it diet root beer. It taste good and is just basically colored water.

            Don’t bother searching for organic foods…it is a waste of time and money. It is o.k. to buy bottled water as long as, when empty, you fill the container  with tap water. 

            Do everything in moderation. Do not live by impulse alone. Don’t rush out to buy Michael Jackson records. While watching T.V., make judicious use of the mute button on your remote and enjoy the ensuing silence. Pre-record as much as you can so you can go warp speed through commercials. I know they pay for the programs you watch, but they are generally moronic and are re-run ad nauseum.  There should be expiration dates for commercials like on egg cartons.

If possible, get married, and if you have children, offer them two parents instead of one. In May of this year, sources say 39% of children were born out of wedlock. Now, that’s giving the child a head start!

            Had enough sage advice for one day?  You do want to have a long, happy and healthy life don’t you? And you don’t want to die alone, do you?  It is never too late to change your ways. Well, yes, in many cases it is, but you can try. Even a steer can try.

* * * **  * *

If anyone were to ask you, I have exceptionally fine hair. My mother and my grandmother also had fine hair. I think it is hereditary. I will have to ask my sister if she has fine hair. My hair is thinning…but it is fine. If there were awards for having fine hair at the Tehama county Fair, I would enter a sample.

* * * * * *

            Good news for the over 50 set. You can now purchase a non-prescription product called “Wrecking Balm”, that is guaranteed to remove your tattoos with 3 easy applications. In the nick of time, right? Now you won’t have to be buried in a long sleeved shirt.

* * * * * *

            Last week’s quiz was again first answered by L.Brown who apparently has time on his hands. He knew that Dr. Doolittle’s parrot was named “Polynesia”, and that the butler in the story Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was named “Poole”.

            This week’s quiz will be a local setting of yesteryear: Name the prominent Red Bluff mortician/furniture store owner,  name the brothers who went from the horse and buggy harness business to an automotive parts house…and who composed the stain glass window in the Hoyt-Cole chapel of the flowers?

* * * * *

            “I had my credit card stolen, but I didn’t report it because the thief was spending less than my wife did.” Henny Youngman

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