Category Archives: Personal History

Don’t ask why we blog

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Within the past week, two more of my co-workers (that I know about) started blogging. We’ll give them a chance to get their sea legs before we link them here. And two other friends emailed asking how to get started. What is the attraction? Is it just wanting to be involved in the latest “thing?” Why would some twenty-somthing feel the pull to start an online journal?

I suspect most of us have something to say but never had an easy way to express ourselves or a place to do so. Non-bloggers are quick to dismiss the entire idea. “Why would I want to read about somebody’s cat?” Or, “I’ve got better things to do with my life.”

It still amazes me how many bloggers share more of themselves in their online journals than in the course of their jobs and lives. Ben wrote that he leaned things about his father from reading his dad’s new blog. And some bloggers, like Dave, have a real gift for sharing thoughts and feelings.

Most bloggers would struggle to explain why they do it, but readily understand why others do.

Delta Fair and Livestock Show

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They dropped the livestock reference many years ago after a fire broke out and cooked up a lot of beef and pork. But “the fair” is a Kennett tradition and OMIK (Our Man in Kennett), Charles Jolliff, shares his excellent flickr set. These bring back memories of Minnie the Mermaid and riding the Scrambler with Melanie Price, high school hot in her Girl Scout uniform, her chest encrusted with merit badges. Sigh. Where was I? Oh yes, Charles’ photos.

Brushes with Near Greatness: Captain Kangaroo

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We’ve all experienced brushes with near greatness. These pulse-pounding moments can range from a drunken limo ride with Courtney Love to an elevator ride with someone you’re pretty sure plays for the Cubs. A brush with near greatness does not require that you actually speak to or with the great one, or that they even know you’re in the room.

Today we debut what we hope will be a sustaining feature at smays.com. David –a friend and co-worker– has had not one, but two brushes with near greatness and he was kind enough to share them here. You can download the MP3 file for now and we’ll podcast as soon as I can figure out how to do that.

 

Displaced

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They’re painting all of the offices along our hallway so I’m homeless for a couple of days and the webcam is offline. The office make-over is taking forever and god only knows the price-tag when it’s over but Learfield will be one very nice place to work when everything is complete. I can’t imagine working in nicer surroundings. And today the company had a cookout, just for the hell of it. Someone invited the the guys doing the work on our building so we were all sitting around drinking beer and eating ice cream and feeling fortunate.

Cliff Birklund

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I’ve been thinking a lot about advertising these days. Radio advertising in particular. I have met hundreds of radio sales people during the past 30+ years. My father sold for many years.

Cliff Birklund (I don’t remember how Cliff spelled his name) was hired to do news at KBOA but eventually moved into sales. In a previous life, he was a commercial artist and I’ll never forgive myself for not saving more of his doodles. This one is a classic (have I posted this before?) but I’ve always liked this self-portrait.

Update: Bob Heater asks how Cliff could have –in 1978– doodled something on a 1989 calendar page. I left KBOA in 1984 so I must have salvaged the drawing on a later visit to Kennett.

Smoker’s Math

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While I’m on the subject. One of my co-workers is trying to quit smoking. She proudly reported that she’s down from a pack-a-day, to just five cigarettes. She seems to really want to stop and I hope she makes it. But the math kept nagging at me.

Let’s say she starts smoking when she gets up at 7:00 a.m and has her last one before retiring at, say, 11:00 p.m. So she consumes 20 smokes over a 16 hour day. On average, that works out to a cigarette every 48 minutes. And if it takes 5 minutes to smoke one, every 40 minutes she’s reaching for the Virginia Slims. That can’t be right, how would she ever get anything done? So I went back and asked.

“Well, I usually had about three cigarettes before I came to work. Maybe three or four during lunch. And the rest after work. Oh, and we usually take a couple of breaks during the day but only long enough to smoke one.” Okay, let’s re-run the numbers:

07:00 – 08:00 — 3
08:00 – 12:00 — 1
12:00 – 01:00 — 4
01:00 – 05:00 — 1
05:00 – 11:00 — 11

That only leaves 6 hours to smoke 11 cigarettes. One every half-hour until bedtime. My mom smoked two packs a day, every day. If she was awake, she had a Winston in her hand or in the nearby ash try. It was hard but satisfying work and she loved it.

Remembering The Bomb

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The Sundance Channel will air a documentary film tonight (7pm) titled Original Child Bomb that features portions of footage shot by U.S. military crews and Japanese newsreel teams, in the weeks following the atomic attacks on Japan almost 60 years ago. The public did not see any of the newsreel footage for 25 years, and the U.S. military film remained hidden for nearly four decades. I’ve got the Tivo set to record.

Anyone who grew up in Kennett, Missouri, in the 50’s has memories of B-52 bombers roaring overhead on their landing approach to the Strategic Air Command (SAC) base at Blytheville, Arkansas (about 30 miles away?). They were undoubtedly hundreds of feet up but it felt like you could throw a rock and hit them. Even as children, we knew they carried The Bomb. As we got a little older, we came to understand that a Russian ICBM was almost certainly targeted for our little corner of the world. But we certainly had no understanding of what it would mean to get “nuked.”

The atomic bombing of Japan probably avoided an invasion that would have cost countless lives. I seem to recall my dad (in the Navy, in the Pacific Theater) telling me he might have been part of that. So, I’m glad we ended it when we did, the way we did. Shit, I might never have been born if pop had bought the farm invading Japan.

But that was then and this is now. And George Bush has his finger on The Button. Is there anyone I trust less? Maybe.

Family

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I spent a few days with my brother and his family last week. They’re home for a six month furlough and it’s been more than two years since I saw them. We assembled a basketball goal and caught up on (too many) missed birthdays. Basketball (my eyes tell the story) has become a traditional part of each visit and I fear the next time we play, Blane (47) and I (57) will no longer prevail over Ryan (15) and Spencer (13). More to come on the visit.

“Dead Celebrity” party

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“My name is Joy and we are having a “dead” celebrity Halloween party and I stumbled upon your invitation (of) the death certificate. It is fantastic! Do you know where I can find a copy of a blank death certificate to make our invitations with? I thought you might be of some help since you have done this before. Your help would be much appreciated. Hope to hear back from you soon!”

I love that she is having a “dead celebrity” party and using fake death certificates for the invitations. I love that she somehow found her way to The Basement Diaries. And I love that her name is Joy.