Category Archives: Personal History

500 Walter Street

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I sold the family home this week. Not really a home for the last few years, but the place my brother and I grew up. I actually remember some of the places we lived before Evelyn persuaded John it made more sense to own than rent. I think they paid about $5,000 for the house back in the early 50’s. Probably paid $50 a month for 30 years. Evelyn had our trash guy plant a couple of little sycamore trees and they grew to 70 foot monsters before John had cut down because he got tired of “having leaves all over the yard.” Evelyn was gone by then.

50 years at 500 Walter Street boiled down to set of mis-matched golf clubs; a box of trophies (Blane’s); some really heavy high school year books; a set of 78 RPM records from the 40’s; a couple of pounds of mold and mildew; and a lifetime of memories. Everyone kept asking me if it was difficult to sell the house in which our family had lived all those years. I said no and that was more true than not. But for two days I kept hearing Peter, Paul and Mary singing The House Song.

This room here once had childish laughter
And I come back to hear it now and again
I can’t say that I’m certain what you’re after
But in this room, a part of you will remain.

The Life Expectancy Calculator

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Have we talked about Carol yet? Some years ago Carol started greeting friends she had not seen in a while with the number of months (actuarially speaking) they could expect to live. “Steve, how have you been? You’ve got more than 300 months left, that’s great!” According to the IRS Life Expectancy Table , I have 29.5 years left but that sounds much longer than 360 months. You’d think Carol would have few visitors but she shares her macabre calculations with such warmth and enthusiasm, it’s not as depressing as you’d think. I think it’s because she never expected any of us to get this far.

If you’d rather not travel to Kennett, Missouri, to find out how much time you have left, you can find what you need online. The Life Expectancy Calculator will “calculate your future life expectancy based on a mortality table for retired individuals.” Less, I would think. The Living to 100 Life Expectancy Calculator was designed to “translate what we have learned from studies of centenarians and other longevity research into a practical and empowering tool for individuals to estimate their longevity potential.” Roy said it best in Blade Runner. I need more.

Blogging life.

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If I were 22 years old and making regular blog entries, what would it look like thirty or forty years later. Almost 11,000 entries. Your life online. True, a lot of the shit we put in our blogs hardly seems worth the keystrokes. But the idea intrigues me.

I think my mom would have been up for a blog. She kept journals during the latter years of her life. I can see her sitting at the kitchen table, writing in her tiny, perfect longhand. When we asked what she was writing she’d say, “Oh, things that happened yesterday… things I’m thinking about.”

One more scary thing for today’s teenagers to deal with. Mom blogging away the intimate details of her 13 year old daughter’s life. “Hey, Amber. Did you see your mom’s blog today? She said she thought you were getting your first period.” Not good. As George Costanza told his mom, “You can’t be out there. I’m out there, so you can’t be out there.”

Captain Banana

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I loved that Peter Parker sort of threw together his first Spider-Man costume and it looked like it. And it would be silly to waste precious screen minutes establishing where he got his official outfit. But didn’t you wonder? We have to assume it didn’t come off the rack, so it was custom made. Maybe by the same tailor that makes all the WWF costumes.

While Superman’s costume was indestructible, we saw –in the final battle with the Green Goblin– that Spider-Man’s is not. So, did he have a few extra made? And what happens when they get dirty and pitted out. Wash or dry clean? Hangers or folded?

capt_bananaDDD2

I’ve had some experience in this area. For several years I lived a double life, too. Captain Banana was one of my alter egos during my radio days. My mom made my costume for me. Thermal underwear, Day-Glo cowboy boots and a plastic motorcycle helmet. It was one hot mother. I wore it for a charity Bike-a-thon and nearly died.

I really liked the movie. I’m not sure how special effects can get much better than the final 40 seconds of Spider-Man. If there was a weak spot it was probably Willem Defoe as the Green Goblin. But I respect the guy for taking the part. I mean, he played Jesus for Christ’s sake.

TV audition tape

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July (2002) will mark my 30th year in broadcasting. Sort of. I spent half of that time doing affiliate relations for a statewide news network. But I’ve been around radio for all of that time. Longer, really, since my father was a “radio announcer” (I like that so much better than “broadcaster” or “DJ”). I’ve now reached the point, however, that all those years are a liability rather than an asset. It dawned on me as I was filling out a profile of my experience. Ten or fifteen years is “experienced.” Thirty years is…too much experience. So I lied and put down fifteen years.

There was a time I thought I might try my hand at TV. I mean, it’s just radio with pictures, right. I rented a little studio time at a local station to make an audition tape  They pulled some stories from that day’s news and threw them up on the tele-prompter. The stories were: Rape and Carnal Abuse; 70-year-old Man Beaten and Robbed of Life Savings; Elderly Woman Dies in Head-on with Tractor Trailer Rig; Another Fatal Traffic Accident. I sent that tape to a few friends in the TV business and can onlly guess at the hours of laughter it must have produced. “More news after this…” Uh, no thanks.

Do you know where your high school senior ring is?

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I have no idea where mine is but I do remember the last time I saw it. It was the summer of 1967 and I was playing the part of Og the Leprechaun in a community theater production of Finian’s Rainbow (Francis Ford Coppola directed a film version starring Fred Astair and Petula Clark the following year). I had a little thing for Shannon Murphy –who played the part of Susan the Silent– and my long-time girl friend caught us rehearsing lines during a break.

The confrontation was short but intense and punctuated by my (now ex-) girl friend throwing my senior ring back to (at?) me. The light outside the theater was poor and the ring struck me in the forehead, just above the eyes. Through the pain, I recall the sound of the ring ricocheting off into the night. I didn’t bother to look for it. Ten or twelve years later, I received a call from someone at my old high school, informing me that someone in New Orleans had found the ring and called the school in an attempt to locate the owner. I never followed up to retrieve the ring (I still had the scar), but I always wondered what happened to it between the time it bounced off my head and showed up in The Big Easy. I’ve often thought it might make a decent plot device.

This was my best and only senior ring story for many years and I think I tell it with some humor. But I recently heard a better one. Like mine, it starts in Kennett, Missouri, which is the home of Ford’s Hot Tamales. Kennett alums of a certain age will remember street venders selling Ford’s Hot Tamales from a steaming pot on the corner across from the Palace Theater. The tamales –and related products– were prepared from scratch at the family business there in Kennett. Family member and chili chef, Kenneth Ford, lost his KHS senior ring while whipping up a batch of Ford’s Chili. Like mine, his showed up years later… in a block of frozen chili (in Texas?).

Okay, so it’s not a great story. But there must be hundreds of stories like these. Wouldn’t this make a decent website? If such site exists, I haven’t found it yet. If you have, please let me know.

The Biology of Typing

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I didn’t take biology in high school. My mom called the school and told them she didn’t think I needed to take the course. Turns out she was right. But she insisted I take typing. We used real typewriters. Manuals. There were a few electic typewriters in the back of the room but they seemed too exotic and high-tech to use. Every week or so we had these “timed typing” tests to see how many words-per-minute we could type. There some kind of formula…total words minus number of errors, something like that. I quickly figured out that my best shot was to go wide open, with no regard to errors. I frequently had the best score for a document nobody could read. This was 1964 and computers and word processors were years in the future.

Twenty years later I started working with a guy named Bob Priddy. Bob was (is) a broadcast journalist, author and –in 1984– power typist. His “office” was a cramped, dusty corner of an attic in Jefferson City, Missouri. The digital newsroom was still a few years off and Bob hammered out his news stories on a battered old Royal typewriter. The floor and walls shook when Bob was on deadline. No IBM Selectric for Bob, he was a manual guy all the way. Bob “keyboards” these days. And if he doesn’t pound the keys as he did back then, it’s only because they couldn’t take the punishment.

I recently came across an article by Roger Ebert (In Cyberspace, Writing Is A Performance) that reminded me of Bob and his battered Royal.

“A few moments ago I took the L.C. Smith down from the shelf and tried to type on it, and found that I could not. It’s just so klutzy. My fingers have to travel so far and work so hard to depress a key. You have to manually return the carriage at the end of every line. You have to hit the Tab key to indent. My fingers are no longer trained to hold down the Shift key.”

I love email. I’m trying to get comfortable with Instant Messaging but it’s a struggle. Knowing the other person is sitting there (“Mays is typing you a message”), waiting for me to respond. I find myself drifting back to typing class (“Fuck the typos, I’m going for speed!”).

I don’t think they make manual typewriters any more. Seems like I read that some place. I’m tempted to add, “too bad” but I can’t say why. Sort of like me and biology.