Back to Basics

It’s amazing and wonderful to live in this age of such great technical achievement. I can sit down at my computer and send messages to any place on Earth. If I so desire, I can board an airplane and actually go to those places. We cruise along, fat, dumb, and happy, until something jerks us back to basics and real life. Many Americans cannot put an egg on their breakfast plate this morning. Sunnyside up or scrambled, it ain’t gonna happen until this bird flu mess is cleaned up.

Dave Thomas

2/27/2025

Decision Time

Stand up for America and democracy! Don’t let them destroy us! This year is as important as 1776.

Dave Thomas

2/20/25

We may not see eye to eye this morning. I’ll eventually get the point but will provide some background first. The time period would have been between 1944 and 1946. I don’t remember exactly.

Intermediate School in Augusta, Kansas held the 3^rd, 4^th, and 5^th grades. It was a 3-story brick building that had been the high school until the early 1920’s when the new high school was built. The stairway from the first to the second floor was pretty steep and was 12 to 15 wooden steps. We were told constantly not to run on the stairs as too many people could be hurt if one happened to fall.

The Intermediate School occupied the west end of a city block. The Elementary School (Grades K, 1^st, and 2^nd) occupied the east end of the block. For some strange reason, there were three residential homes on the south side of the block. Two of them faced Columbia Street, and the third one was on the southwest corner facing State Street and Columbia. One of these homes, a 2 story, was owned by Mrs. Ana Wright, the mother of my great aunt, Rachel (Wright) Peebler. I always called Ana Wright “Grandma Wright.”

The principal of our school was Mr. Wilson. I knew Mr. Wilson pretty well as he roomed with Grandma Wright. To get to work, all he had to do was go out the back door, take a dozen steps and he was in the school yard.

On the day of our story, I made the dumb mistake of running up the stairs when returning from recess. Mr. Wilson was standing at the top of the stairs and stopped me and pulled me aside. He told me that when school was out to come straight to his office. I worried about that for the rest of the day. Foolishly, I hoped that since I knew Mr. Wilson so well that I wouldn’t be punished.

Now, we are getting to the point of the story where you may not agree with me. When I and 5 other “hoodlums” got to the office, we were told to line up single file. Mr. Wilson was sitting in a chair and holding a razor strop. For those of you not familiar with it, a razor strop was a piece of leather used to sharpen the old straight razors. It was approximately 4 inches wide, 18 inches long, and ¼ inch thick with one end trimmed to serve as a handle. Mr. Wilson informed us that our infractions had earned us a swat with the strop. We were to come to him one at a time and bend over, and he would issue the punishment. I marched up to him, bent over, and took my lickin’. The swat hurt for a few seconds. Then the pain went away, but the memory didn’t. I’ve always been a guy that followed the rules. Knowing that my parents would be disappointed and being disappointed in myself was humiliating. We didn’t have time-outs back then. I contend that a swat on the butt is just what a rambunctious boy needs. I don’t think that a time-out would be remembered, but the swat has been burned into memory.

Dave Thomas

2/13/2025

The news programs last week were telling about the painting of Mona Lisa by Da Vince being moved to a new location in the Louvre. The new location would make it possible for more people to see her and would also offer more protection from deterioration. We were fortunate to get to see her in the year 2000. Pat and I had planned a trip to Paris and London, and our grandson, Jeff, had just graduated from high school, so we took him along as a graduation present. The picture is interesting, and I am glad to have seen it.

Thinking of museums and art reminds me of two other former works that I was lucky enough to see. In June of 1944, when I was seven years old, we were on a vacation in Los Angeles. My granddad lived in L.A. and had gone back to Kansas to visit his Dad, his siblings, and us. When he returned home, he stopped in Augusta and picked us up. My dad, mom, and sister, Sylvia, and I were going to L.A. for a vacation. When we got there, Grandpa took us all over the city to see the sights. One day, we went a few miles to the city of San Marino to the Huntington Art Gallery. Besides the art, the garden behind it was also a famous attraction. Kids under 12 weren’t allowed in the gallery, so Sylvia and I were told to look around the garden while the grownups went inside. After a short time, Mom came out and took us into the gallery. There was no admission charge, but a uniformed guard stopped us and told us we were too young. Mom said she realized that, but she couldn’t bear the idea of us missing a chance to see “Blue Boy” and “Pinkie.”  After a little back and forth talk, the guard told mom we could only go for a quick peek. “Blue Boy,” painted in 1794 by Thomas Gainsborough, was the first we came to and I remember his blue clothing being very blue and very well done. We had to go around a corner to see “Pinkie” which was painted in 1770 by Thomas Lawrence.

We have visited many galleries and seen many beautiful paintings. I feel most comfortable with pictures of the southwest. The people, the desert, and the mountains all give a good feeling.

Dave Thomas

2/6/2025