Category Archives: Personal History
Hamra’s Department Store
The photos below were taken by Johnny “Mack” Reeder, probably in the early 50’s but perhaps as early as 1948 or 1949 (maybe a vintage car buff can help me narrow that down). This just off the “courthouse square” in Kennett, MO. The first photo is facing West.
I remember Hamra’s from my youth (born in 1948) but I’m hard-pressed to tell you exactly what they sold. Clothing and fabrics, obviously, and I recall a shoe store next to the main store shown in these photos. There were several stores like this in “downtown” Kennett. Graber’s, James Kahn’s, Penney’s and some I can’t remember.
I don’t think this was a “grand opening” so I’m guessing this was some sort of special sale. The photographer was one of the original employees of KBOA (the local radio station) and might have been recording the big crowd that resulted from advertising.
The third photo speaks to the rural flavor of our small town. Lots of bib overalls. I remember hearing stories about hundreds of people flooding into town on a Saturday to purchase supplies for the farms that made up the local economy in those days.
AirPods
I spent some money on headphones back in the 70s. When I started at KBOA in ’72 all they had were these WWII-era Bakelite hockey pucks with a piece of vibrating tin inside.
When I saw my first pair of Sennheiser open-air headphones (in a magazine) I ordered a pair and paid for them myself. And, yes, I took them into the studio for my shift and took them with me when done. They were pretty expensive (for the time) and a bit fragile. But I sounded soooo good in those headphones. More accurately, I could hear what I really sounded like and that was important.
Fast forward several light years to the first iPods and the famous white earbuds that all serious music buffs hated. I loved them. They sounded fine to me and they fit my ears just fine. I’ve been using them ever since, pretty much every day.
In a few weeks Apple will start selling AirPods ($150) and I’ll buy a pair on Day One. And I might not be the only one. From Business Insider:
12% of U.S. consumers surveyed by Bank of America Merrill Lynch say they intend to purchase AirPods, apparently on the strength of Apple’s marketing, given that few people have actually seen and tried them out. This is a very bullish sign for Apple, says BAML. “12% of the US installed base could lead to up to an incremental $3bn in revenue,” writes the analysts.
“Apple’s marketing” is one explanation. Another might be that people like me have been using Apple earbuds for fifteen years and like them.
Meditation: 271 Days
After 271 consecutive days of meditation practice, I missed on Saturday. I was attending my 50th high school class reunion and just spaced it off. My previous streak of 371 days (starting on December 4, 2014) ended during a bout with pneumonia (December 5, 2015). I don’t get hung up on the quality of my practice or the duration but I do try to be consistent in sitting every day, if only for 10 minutes. Which is the only reason I keep track of my sessions. As I’ve noted previously, missing once a year might not be a bad thing if it keeps me from focusing on the string instead of today’s session. So today is two in a row!
50th High School Class Reunion
30 or 40 eighteen-year-old ghosts trapped in ravaged, aging bodies shuffling around the room desperately trying to recognize people you knew half a century ago. The time-honored tradition of name tags featuring photos from the high school yearbook was honored. So we smiled and shook hands and looked down at the kids we once were, unable to conceal the “what the fuck happened to you” horror.
We only lost 30 or so classmates (from a class of about 150) which is sort of amazing given that we all grew up eating nothing but fried food and breathing crop dusting chemicals and the toxic plume that was sprayed every summer night to battle the clouds of mosquitos.
I went with some trepidation (I went to the 10 year reunion but none after) but wound up enjoying myself. I can’t speak for others but the person looking out of my eyes was/is that 18 year old who went to school with all of the old people in the room, with their titanium knees and heart stints. I couldn’t see the old me they were seeing. I hope and assume it was the same for everyone.
No, what I thought would be a depressing shuffle down memory lane turned out okay. Maybe a little “survivor high” if there is such a thing. We made it! We’re still here! “Fuckin A!” as we said in 1966.
50th high school class reunion
In a few weeks I’ll make the five hour drive to the little town where I grew up for the 50 year reunion of the Kennett High School Class of 1966. I attended the 10 year reunion and vowed I’d never go to another. And didn’t. But there’s a strange (morbid?) appeal to the 50th. Like stumbling across the finish line of a marathon, throwing up and crapping your pants, yet elated to have completed the race.
I suppose this qualifies as a “right of passage,” and there won’t be that many more. Of the approximately 150 people in our class, 33 (22%) have been called to the office of The Great Principal’s Office in the Sky.
I’ve been fantasizing ways to make this event more fun: A prize for the most marriages/divorces? A little trophy for most number of times arrested/years served? Or a plaque for Best (and Worst) Cosmetic Surgery?
I’m not on Facebook so I have not kept up with most of my classmates. I don’t remember much about the 10 year reunion. I think that is the one where you show off your second/trophy wife and hand out business cards with titles of success. Those vanities will, I’m sure, have faded. Replaced by… what? The unspoken reality that this is the last time we’ll see most of these people. A bon voyage party for the Great Beyond.
Paying for news
Yesterday I subscribed to the digital edition of the New York Times. I think this is the first time I have paid for news online. I’ll pay $3.75 per week, less than the cost of a double-espresso at The Coffee Zone.
500 Days (minus 1)
I try to avoid talking about meditation. (Those who know don’t talk. Those who talk don’t know.) I’ve been meditating for years. I started listening to guided meditations but for several years now simply sit (30-45 minutes) each day, “following the breath.” Had something of a streak (371 days) going last year when a bout with pneumonia caused me to miss a day. But that’s okay, the only day that counts is today. Today is 500 consecutive (almost) days on the cushion.
I bring this up for those who might have thought about this practice. It’s the best half hour of my day. Here are a few books (and some quotes) I’ve found helpful.
Books on Meditation
- Living As a River: Finding Fearlessness in the Face of Change – Bodhipaksa
- Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind – Shunryu Suzuki
- Opening the Hand of Thought: Foundations of Zen Buddhist Practice – Kosho Uchiyama Roshi
- Meditation Now or Never – Steve Hagen
- Still the Mind: An Introduction to Meditation – Alan Watts
Quotes
- Meditation is the only intentional, systematic human activity which at the bottom is about _not_ trying to improve yourself or get anywhere else, but simply to realize where you already are.
- (We meditate to realize) “…that things are already perfect.”
- Meditation is about deeply seeing what’s going on within your own mind.
- At the heart of meditation is the intention to be awake. (To experience) Reality as it is,before goals, ideas, or desires sprout. … Meditation is never a means to an end.
- Meditation is a matter of zero or 100 percent. Either you’re present or you’re not. There are no in-betweens.
- Meditation is awareness.
- The desire of one who is awake is simply to be awake.
- Meditate just to meditate.
- Most people who believe they are meditating are merely thinking with their eyes closed. Meditation is a technique for waking up.
Early Elvis contract
In 1955 Elvis Presley appeared at a little honky tonk called the B & B Club, in Gobler, MO. Not far from my hometown of Kennett, MO. More information here, including an audio clip with my father who was working at the local radio station. The contract above is between Elvis and Jimmy Haggett, who also worked at KBOA and booked entertainers on the side. If you look closely you’ll see Elvis was to receive 75% of the gate to be paid “after dance.”
When time stands still
In late summer of 1972 I had been “promoted” from baby-sitting the automation that ran our FM radio station to a live shift (3-7 p.m.) on the AM station. I had recorded weather reports for the FM station but being on the air live was intimidating.
Our stations had no affiliation with national news networks so our only source was the Associated Press wire. Every hour the AP teletype would spit out a national news summary, timed to run about five minutes for a typical reader. At our little stations, the announcer on duty did everything, including reading the news at the top of the hour.
At precisely the top of the hour, the FM automation stopped cold for exactly five minutes. The person “running the board” on the AM would throw a switch that “simulcast” the two stations for those five minutes so the same live newscast could go out on both the AM and the FM. At precisely five minutes past the top of the hour, you throw the switch back as the FM automation takes over again.
I found this procedure challenging. More accurately, I found the last 30 seconds challenging. If you were in the middle of longer story you had to find a place to break in order to “make the join.”
After a week or two I started getting comfortable with this operation and then one day I finished reading the news — every story — and looked up at the clock and saw that I was a minute early. I couldn’t flip the switch to send the FM back to automation because it would result in a minute of dead air. The Ultimate Sin for new radio guys.
I don’t remember how I filled that minute. Probably with weather, maybe a couple of “community highlights.” All I really remember was the knot in my stomach and the sense of time dilation.
It’s unlikely that I’ll ever be in a situation where I have to “fill” for a minute. But if I am, I’m going to tell this story.