Sol Astrachan 1929-2022

Sol Astrachan, long time business owner and resident of Kennett, Missouri, passed away this morning at his home in Kennett. Sol Astrachan was born in Poland in 1929, and later moved with his family to Russia. When he was nine his family immigrated to the United States. After a short stay in St. Louis, Mr. Astrachan went to Kennett, Missouri, where he has lived ever since. Mr. Astrachan served a term on the Kennett city council (1961-1963) and two terms as mayor (1963-1971) of Kennett. (Obituary)

Sol was a good friend to my father and a good (and courageous) mayor. Sol graduated from Kennett High School in 1947. Photo below of senior class. Sol was interviewed by Will Sarvis for the Missouri State Historical Society on October 28, 1998 at his home in Kennett.

 

Broseley, Missouri High School Senior Class (1943)


Broseley, Missouri High School Senior Class of 1943. My mom (not in this photo) would have been 18 in 1945. She had a sweater like the one the young man on the left is wearing. I had (and wore) it for a while. Major news events of 1943:

  • Allied forces take back North Africa
  • Italy Surrenders to Allied Forces
  • Dambuster Raids on German dams
  • Warsaw Jewish Ghetto Uprising
  • Due to shortages America sees it’s first rationing
  • The Glenn Miller Orchestra provided the most popular music of the time.
  • The Pentagon, considered to be the world’s largest office building is completed

74

Today is my 74th birthday. I’ve never been one for big celebrations. I struggle to see anything special about the day. A cultural thing, perhaps… like Valentine’s Day or Memorial Day. I thought I’d be wiser by this time, depending on how one defines wisdom.

When I think about the future these days, it tends to be in years rather than decades. Mortality and death are no longer abstractions. For the last dozen years I’ve viewed god and the universe through the lens of Buddhism and zen. I’ve concluded the self and free will are illusions. In short, this is It. William Gibson said it nicely in All Tomorrow’s Parties:

“He, like everyone else, is exactly where, exactly what, exactly when he is meant to be. It is the Tao.

PS: The clip below was floating around, unattached, in the media library and this seemed like a good place to park it.

The best neighbor… is no neighbor

We’ve been living in our home for 35 years. We built it in 1986 on about 3.5 acres of wooded land (A). In January of 2020 we purchased an additional 3 acres (B) when the lady who owned it died. Our closest neighbors (a woman and her adult daughter) have been talking about selling their home (C) for a couple of years but never seemed serious, until this year when they bought a house in “in town,” as we used to say.

One day a couple of months ago she told us she was going to put her home on the market. When she told me the asking price, I said we’d buy it. No inspection, no appraisal, no haggling. We closed on the sale yesterday at noon. We haven’t told many about the purchase because it happened pretty fast. But the first question is always, “So, what are you going to do with the property? Sell it? Rent it?” The answer is, nothing. The woman and her daughter are — in all likelihood — the last people who will ever live in that house. Why, you might ask?

Have you ever lived next to a really bad neighbor? It can make every day a living hell. But you could sell the place to some nice folks, you say. But you can’t control to whom they sell it, I reply. No, the best neighbor is no neighbor. And we didn’t buy the property for the house. We bought it for the towering, hundred-year-old oak trees. I think of it as a tiny nature preserve. The thought of someone cutting down those trees so their whiny little brats can have a swimming pool was… unthinkable. Or coming home to that TRUMP 2024 sign every day. Or their pit bull terrorizing our dog. No way, Jose.

To my way of thinking, we don’t really own the land. We own the privilege of living on it. Or saying who does or does not live on it. But we are nothing more than temporary stewards. And as we enter our Golden Years, Barb and I place great value on privacy. How does one put a price on something so precious? Oh yeah, did I mention the quiet? You can hear your heart beat. And at night the only light you can see is a yard light a mile or so away.

So we called the propane people to come get their tank. A plumber will winterize the house. The phone and electric are disconnected. And we’ll start giving away the appliances. What remains will be a big old storage building I’ve been calling The Annex.

This chapter is just beginning so watch this space for updates.

Truck full of junk

I drive by this house two or three times a day. Yesterday I spotted this truck and the image has haunted me. A dozen question immediately popped into my head (in no particular order):

  • Where did all of this stuff come from? This house or was it brought from somewhere? And why bring it here?
  • When did the tire go flat? On the way to this house (unlikely) or after it got here?
  • Did someone really drive down the highway like this?
  • Is the thin strap really the only thing holding the riding mower to the tail-gate?

I drove by the house later in the day and the truck was parked in the same spot but with all four tires… and the bed was empty.

  • Where did they take it? The dump? Someone else’s home?
  • Were they really able to jack the truck up and change the tire without unloading all the shit?
  • Not truck related, but what about that mailbox? It has been that way for years and I can’t believe the mail carrier hasn’t insisted they fix it so he/she doesn’t have to fall out the truck to put mail in.

Raccoons-1, Humans-0


My friend George kept his cat food in a metal cabinet to keep it from the raccoons. The figured out how to work the latch and open the doors. So he started locking the doors. They found the key (hanging on a hook nearby) and stole it. He had to break the latch to open the doors. Problem solved.

Hunkered Down

UPDATE: This is definitely a work in progress. My uke guru is suggested some changes. Thinking it might be fun to add one new verse a week for as long as COVID-19 hangs around. We’re talking epic. (Put this on YouTube for anyone having trouble streaming here.)

UPDATE: I’m going to record this again and change “Chinese Virus” to “Donald Trump’s Virus”

Advertising

“With advertising revenue being the significant contributor to Facebook’s success, the risk for Facebook lies in the possibility that users will get bored of its properties – or of its ads,” Littleton said.

Advertising has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My dad was in radio for 30+ years and I was in or around it for 40. And advertising paid the bills. In 1971 I was road-tripping across the country with a friend when the radio station we were listening to broke for a commercial. I remember thinking, “I could write a radio commercial.” A year later I started working at a small town station and —over the next dozen years— wrote and produced a shit load of commercials. In the 70s, in our little town, you could advertise in the daily newspaper, on the radio, or you could rent a billboard.

In the late 40’s and 50’s, small town radio was such a new thing that listeners were happy to listen to anything on the radio. Music, news, commercials… how cool is that?! Joe Bankhead tells this story well.

Did any/all of those ads “work?” Were they effective? Not sure I thought about it at the time. If we wanted to keep the station on the air, we had to sell ads. I’ve thought about advertising a lot in the ensuing years. We pointed out to advertisers that our ads were “intrusive.” A good thing. Before they could hear the next song or the rest of the newscast, they had to listen to the commercial(s).

Somewhere along the way music radio stations came up with the idea of “stop sets.” Instead of mixing “spots” in with the songs, they’d stop twice an hour and play as many as eight commercials in a row. Advertisers would pay a premium to be the first, or the last, in the set.

In those days a radio spot was either “price and item” or “image.” Those of us who wrote and produced the spots liked to do image ads because it gave us creative freedom. Small market radio guru Jerrell Shepherd insisted all spots on his stations be price-and-item because it was the only way the advertiser could know his ads were working. Someone would come in and ask about the lawnmower sale he heard on the radio.

Any time an advertiser would question whether or not the ads were working, we’d explain they were “branding” his business in the (subconscious) minds of listeners.

In traditional media (radio, TV, print) it was pretty easy to tell what was a commercial and what was programming/content. When the internet came along someone figured out it might be useful to make a paid commercial message look like the content on the page. Finally we knew for certain: people hated ads. They installed software to block them. They used their DVR’s to skip them.

Today, the best advertising doesn’t really look like advertising. I think Amazon has probably perfected the art. An Amazon product page includes images of the product; reviews; and recommendations of similar products in which you might be interested. And if you don’t like something you bought, no problem. Easy returns.

I’ll admit to being a little amazed anyone keeps buying ads. They must believe they work. And it’s difficult to imagine our “consumer economy” working without advertising. Despite my life-long dependence, I am advertising averse. It’s like your next door neighbors inviting you over for drinks only to spring an Amway pitch on you. Or that Jehovah’s Witness who interrupts your nap with a fistful of Watchtowers.