Life

Cinco de Mayo (Repost)

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It’s almost May and Pat reminded me that we have a Cinco de Mayo story. This took place in the mid-1990’s. I’m a diabetic and sometime in 1993, I got a diabetic ulcer on the bottom of my right foot. My doctors fought it for a year and a half and couldn’t get it to heal. Finally, it was decided to amputate the right leg below the knee. This was done and I got a prosthesis and life got back to normal. The following spring, I wasn’t paying attention and the prosthesis rubbed against the side of my knee and caused a sore that immediately became infected. This had happened before and it meant anti-biotics, at least 2 doctor visits, and 6 weeks in the wheel chair without my leg.

So anyhow, I’m riding my wheel chair and here it is…Cinco de Mayo. Pat and I decided we should join in the festivities by having lunch at Casa de Pico, our favorite Mexican restaurant in Old Town San Diego. We got there and the place was as colorful and beautiful as always. We sat on the patio to take advantage of the warm, sunny day and to hear the music and listen to the chatter and the laughter of the other patrons. Pat ordered a blended margarita in the big glass with the salt on the rim and, being diabetic, I ordered coffee.

As we waited to be served, we talked and admired the holiday decorations. There were some miniature Mexican flags on the tables so Pat took a couple and attached them to the handlebars of my wheel chair. We enjoyed our meal and left the restaurant and then headed for the side gate to leave the area. Getting through the wrought iron gate we needed to go about 50 yards down the side street to the parking lot. Pat was pushing me in the wheel chair and I was teasing and smart-mouthing her about drinking the margarita and maybe being too tipsy to push me. She countered by pushing faster to show that she could handle the job. I was having a heck of a good time and started yelling “faster, faster”. Pat was up to the challenge and in a few seconds was up to full speed. We were flying down the street with Mexican flags flying and Pat sprinting for dear life. We were looking good until we hit the pot-hole. Wham! Pat ran into the back of the wheel chair and I was dumped into the street. Yow, this is gonna’ hurt! Maybe next time I’ll keep my mouth shut.

Dave Thomas
 April17, 2016

The Big Trip of 1944, Part 3 (Repost)

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One big thing that we all enjoyed was a parade that was part of a War Bond Rally and featured General George Patton and General Jimmy Doolittle. I believe the parade was on Wilshire Boulevard. I remember that Grandpa drove us over there and we sat on the curb and waited to see the war heroes. There were several cars in the parade and the two Generals were riding in the back seat of a convertible.

Grandpa had been telling us about Walter Knott and his berry farm and the delicious boysenberries he grew there. We went there one day and I remember it as being out in the middle of a large grove. We drove down a lane, through the trees until we got to a clearing where there were a few old buildings.

Knott's Jail 1940's

Knott’s Berry Farm Jail, 1940’s

We got out of the car and walked over to a building that looked like a jail. Inside, there was a dummy that looked like a real bad guy. It scared the devil out of us when he started talking! We talked to him for a while about his plight and his sorry history and then were completely amazed when he started talking about our trip and other personal things that we hadn’t mentioned. We kept up a conversation but kept wondering how this dummy knew so much about us. We soon heard Grandpa yelling for us from around the corner of the next building. We hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t still with us. We went around the corner of the building and found Grandpa and Walter Knott laughing like crazy. Mr. Knott held up a microphone and told how he and Grandpa had conspired and tricked us. We continued to have a great time and bought several jars of boysenberry jam before we left. Even today, we’ll be in a grocery store and I’ll see jars of jam with the distinctive Knott’s Berry Farm script and I’ll flash back on some of these memories.

Knott's 2

           It’s been 70 years but I still recognize this guy that talked to us from the jail.

I didn’t know where we were but one day we drove past an aircraft factory. I would guess now, that we must have been in the Santa Monica area. There were planes parked everywhere and the whole area was covered with camouflage netting. The top of the netting looked like grass, vegetation, and homes. Remember, at this time of the war, we didn’t know but what the Japanese would be attacking the west coast at any time. The way the netting covered the whole area, it made it look like homes and farms. I don’t remember now what types of planes we saw, but I recognized them at the time. Like most American kids, I had studied my “spotter” cards and recognized almost every plane I saw. For you young people who haven’t seen them, the “spotter” cards came in a deck and were the same size as regular playing cards. Each card was devoted to a different airplane and told what it was and what its identifying features were. Also, there were 3 or 4 different views of each plane so you could identify it when seen from any angle. Anyhow, the sight of all those planes and that camouflage brought the war a little closer to home.

Lockheed Plant-before

Lockheed Plant Before Camouflage

Lockheed Plant-after

Lockheed Plant After Camouflage

Mom and Dad wanted to visit Ruby Mae in San Diego. She actually lived in El Cajon, just east of San Diego. Grandpa loaned us his car and we headed south on Highway 101. Dad had promised that we could go swimming in the ocean and as soon as we began seeing it, we began begging to swim. We finally got to La Jolla and Dad stopped in a good area of the beach and we all put on our swim suits. It was a gloomy, overcast morning, and pretty cool. This was what we now know as “June Gloom” and we were miserable. My sister and I had run down to the surf and waded in but turned right around and got out. That water was freezing cold and we weren’t about to go in again. Dad said that we had been whining for 100 miles and we had better get in the water and enjoy it. He finally gave up on us and dived into the surf and pretended that he was having the time of his life. Mom had already changed back into her dress as she wasn’t getting into that water either. We got through that experience and made it to Ruby’s place in El Cajon.

Ruby lived in the first or second block of west El Cajon Boulevard, just as you come in to town. She owned or managed a pottery shop there. Her house or building where she lived was set back from the street and the whole front yard was full of pottery. I remember the impression of an organized place of business and I imagine that it was because Ruby Mae was a high energy type of person.

Ruby took us to Tijuana and I remember it as being very colorful. My sister and I had our pictures taken while seated on those donkeys that have the “zebra” stripes painted on them.

Mom and Dad were surprised to receive unusual gifts from Ruby. They were a pair of flesh-colored highball glasses shaped like women’s torsos. She said the originals were made for ventriloquist Edgar Bergen by the pottery factory that supplied her with product.

The biggest thrill for me came when we attended the Roy Rogers Rodeo at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. For quite some time I had been going to the cowboy movies on Saturday afternoons and to get to see Roy Rogers and Trigger in person was a fantastic experience.

Roy and Trigger

Dave Thomas
February 4, 1994; Revised and added pictures March 5, 2015.

Company for Breakfast

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Pat and I had gotten up just a few minutes before and were just sitting down at the

kitchen table with a cup of coffee. We heard a noise outside and Pat got up and opened

the curtains. There was a donkey with his lips almost against the window. He must have

been as startled as we because he cut loose with Hee-Haw, Hee-Haw and it was loud

enough to shake the house! We recognized the donkey as the pet of the Noble family

that lived several houses up the hill from us.

We had been visited by the donkey a couple of times before. We had a Shetland pony

for the kids that we kept in a corral next to our back fence. In the previous visits the

donkey had come down the back fence- line but for some reason this time he had come

down the street. I had my jeans on and was wearing flip-flops or thongs or shower shoes

or whatever you call them. I went out to the shed and got a lead rope and came back

and snapped it onto the halter the donkey was wearing. I headed for the street to take

him home and he was well-mannered and led on a slack rein, walking beside my

shoulder.

We got to the street and started up the hill but it was tough going for me. The asphalt

streets in our development had been sealed a couple of days before and then a fine

layer of sand had been spread on them. The footing wasn’t that good and I kept

scooping up sand with my flip-flops. I was relieved when we got up the hill to the

Noble’s house. However, about this time, the donkey must have realized he was almost

home and he snorted and whirled around and started running back down the hill. I dug

in my heels and yelled “Whoa” as I held onto the end of the lead rope. It was a wasted

effort! That donkey was going downhill as fast as he could go and I was out on the end of

that rope with my heels dug in and looking like a water skier on a slalom course. Our

wild ride finally got us to the bottom of the hill and as we got to our house, I could see

Pat in her pajamas and housecoat out in the front yard pointing at us and laughing like a

crazy woman. The donkey stopped and I looked back up the hill and here comes Noble,

laughing. He was kind enough to say that he had seen the donkey escape but had to get

dressed before he could come out. As you have read, I got no respect at all. It may have

been caused by the donkey but I made a complete ass of myself.

Dave Thomas

7/13/2014 (Repost on 3/11/21)

Sgt. Gee and Patriot One

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Pat and I heard a very interesting and compelling story from our daughter-in-law, Cindy, regarding members of her side of the family. The story is of her cousin, Ed Langerveld and her brother, Bob Langerveld  and a good deed they both had a part in. Ed Langerveld is the owner, President, and CEO of Century Aviation, of Klamath Falls, Oregon. A pilot, Ed is qualified to fly many types of aircraft and has logged over 18,000 flight hours. Bob is a retired Air Traffic Flight Controller who worked O’Hare Airport in Chicago, one of the  country’s busiest sites.  

This past August 29th, a suicide bomber set off a blast at the Kabul Airport in Afghanistan killing 13 Americans and 170 Afghanistan citizens. One of the victims was Marine Sgt. Nicole Gee. Gee’s home town was Roseville, California where she graduated from Oakmont High School in 2016 and then enlisted in the Marine Corps. She worked hard, advanced quickly, and loved her job in the Corps. Her casket and remains were flown to Sacramento where she was honored with a procession from the airport and into the city. She was further honored and her life celebrated by a memorial service in Roseville.

Sgt. Gee’s remains were to be returned to Washington, D.C. for her scheduled burial at Arlington National Cemetery. Unfortunately, her family couldn’t afford the cost of a flight to the East Coast which would be tens of thousands of dollars. When Cindy’s cousin, Ed Langerveld, heard of the family’s plight, he volunteered to fly the casket back to D.C. on his jet at no cost to the family. To Ed, a former marine, it was a matter of Marine Corps tradition to take care of fallen comrades and their families.

Captain Ed’s mission on this flight was to pay homage to Sgt. Gee, and he wanted his plane to be referred to as something more special than just it’s call numbers. He proposed to call the flight “Patriot One.” There was only a week to get everything approved, and Ed wasn’t sure how to go about it. He called his cousin, Cindy’s brother, Bob Langerveld, and asked him what to do. Bob said he would make some calls and get back to him. One of the men Bob talked to said the change in call name would be acceptable if it were spelled out in the “notes” section of the aircraft’s flight plan. Easy enough.

The jet itself was dressed up for the occasion. A local Klamath Falls company designed a label with a Marine Corps motif. The decals were placed on either side of the fuselage, beneath the cockpit windows. The plane was also named for Sgt. Gee and her name was added just below the decals.

The flight made its way across the country. All radio calls were made to and from “Patriot One.” As each Air Traffic Controller dealt with the plane and handed it off to the next sector, it was “Patriot One” all the way.

As Americans, we can all be proud of the job that was done. And, thank you for your service, Sgt. Gee, and Ed, and Bob. Rest in peace, Nicole.

Dave Thomas

11/4/2021

Bond Meets Bond

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The latest James Bond movie is in theaters now and apparently is doing well. That reminds me that I have a short James Bond story.

This was probably about 2005, give or take a couple of years. Pat and I were living in Keller, Texas. I had a mole behind my right ear that was becoming a problem. Quite often when getting a haircut, the barber would nick the ear, causing it to bleed. Wanting to get it removed, I mentioned it to my primary physician, Dr. Phillips, and he referred me to Dr. James Bond  who had an office on the Baylor Hospital campus in Grapevine, Texas.                                                                                                                                              I made an appointment and went to Grapevine. While being examined, I asked the doctor if he got a lot of kidding about his name. All the time,” he replied, “and I’ve got a little story for you.”   He went on to tell me that while in medical school, one of his best friends was a girl from California. After graduation, the girl doctor returned to California, to the Santa Barbara area, I think he said, but they kept in touch. After some period of time, Dr. Bond received a wedding invitation from his friend.   He flew to California and attended the wedding. At the reception, to his great surprise, he was introduced to Pierce Brosnan, who was currently starring in the James Bond action films. Dr. Bond and Brosnan joked about the name then visited for a while. Dr. Bond said that Brosnan  was as pleasant a man as he appeared to be.

Dave Thomas

10/24/2021

They Can’t Help It

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Okay, Kids, this is about your Mom/Grandma/Great-Grandma, Patricia Ann Lee. It was during World War II, and Pat was living with her Grandma, Maude Lee, in the small town of Eureka, Kansas. Pat’s mom, Melba Lee, was living in Wichita and working at Beech Aircraft as a “Rosie the Riveter” and supervisor.

First grade had been a snap for Pat. She had read her books before school even started, and enjoyed all she learned during that first year.

Pat was really looking forward to second grade. Her school was near home, so on that first day, Grandma Lee walked to school with her and got her settled in. It was only a couple of days before things started going sideways. It turned out that little Miss Pat had become a talker. She talked incessantly from morning to night, and had the rest of the girls talking and giggling all day long. The teacher got tired of trying to shush her, and moved her to a desk that was surrounded by boys. “I’m not sitting with boys!” she yelled. “Boys are dirty, and they stink, and I hate them.”

For the next couple of days, Pat went to school then came home and complained about the dirty, stinking boys. Then, on the way to school, she had a brilliant idea. Between home and the school, there was a lush stand of bushes. Pat ducked into those bushes and found that there was plenty of room for her, and that she was well-hidden. She settled in to enjoy her first day as a truant. At noon, she could hear the kids get out of school, so she, too, went home for lunch.

That first day went well, but was dreadfully boring. Pat took care of this problem the next day by taking books and coloring books to her hideout. Pat enjoyed this subterfuge for a couple of days, but then her teacher walked over from school and knocked on Grandma Lee’s door. After greetings were exchanged, the teacher said, “Pat hasn’t been to school for a couple of days. Is she sick?” That opened the ball, and the two women quickly figured out what was going on. “I’ll take care of it,” said Grandma Lee. “Well, what if she does it again?” asked the teacher. “Don’t worry,” said Grandma Lee. “I’ll take care of it,” she repeated. The teacher left, and Grandma Lee grabbed her yardstick, and went looking for Pat. After a few whacks, Pat decided that attending second grade might be a good idea.

I felt that it was my duty to pass this story along so you would have it for reference. If one of your kids is acting up , and your mind is filled with words like “stubborn,” “bull-headed,” “willful,” and “obstinate,” maintain your calm. You should cut them some slack. It’s in their DNA.

Dave Thomas

9/9/2021

1940 Chevrolet

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The 1940 Chevrolet was a car with a much more stylish look. The 1939 models still had the roundish look that was so common in the 1930’s. The new look had some style. The running boards had disappeared, and the body had a more sleek and aerodynamic look.

On the inside, the most exciting change was that the shift lever had been moved from the floor to the steering column. You still had 3 forward gears and reverse, and it was a lot handier.

The shifting mechanism turned out to be the thing that gave the car a black eye. The engineers thought that shifting gears might be a problem, so they incorporated a vacuum assist. When the car was new, the shifter worked great. But, over time, it failed and you could hear the driver grinding gears from a block away.

In 1950, my Dad bought a 1940 model. It was in perfect condition, silver gray, and not a mark on it. By 1950, the vacuum assist for the transmission was going out. Dad could usually shift gears without making a noise, but it took all the finesse he could muster. Dad was an excellent driver and prided himself on his skill. He had driven a truck for a couple of years, hauling sand and gravel, so had a lot of miles under his belt. The shifting kept getting worse, and Dad, who hated working on cars, finally said “to hell with it,” and parked the thing in the back yard.

Meanwhile, I was working after school at Howard Motors, the local Chevrolet/Buick dealer. The head mechanic was Kenny Dickenson, who had a 1940 Chevrolet, just like Dad’s, that he drove to work. I talked to Kenny about Dad’s car, and he said he would show me how to fix it just like new. The shop closed at 1:00pm on Saturday’s, so Kenny told me to get the car down there that weekend. I went home that night and asked my Dad if I could have the car if I fixed it. He agreed and gave me the keys.

Saturday morning, I drove the car to work, grinding the gears after every stop. Right after 1:00 P.M., I drove it into the garage and parked in Kenny’s stall. We jacked up the car and Kenny showed me how to remove the vacuum booster unit from the transmission. We cleaned the unit thoroughly and used the parts from a kit to re-build it. I forget what was in the kit. It was probably a gasket and a couple of “O” rings. After re-installing the unit and adjusting the mechanical shifting mechanism, we went for a test drive. The thing shifted like a new car. It was smooth as silk. Kenny Dickenson had made my day.

The car was working so well, I was afraid my Dad might want it back. However, he found a perfect 1942 Chevy, the last model produced after WWII started.

I enjoyed driving the car for a year of so and then traded it for a 1950 Ford.

Dave Thomas

7/8/2021

Land of Enchantment

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We lived in Augusta, Butler County, Kansas. During World War II, Mom and Dad worked at the White Eagle (later, Mobil) Refinery. Mom was hired in 1942. She was hired as a replacement for one of the men who had been drafted. She was placed in the chemical lab, a job previously held only by men. Dad had started at the refinery prior to the beginning of the war. Jobs at the refinery were considered to be vital to the war effort so that and the fact that he was married and had two kids caused him to be deferred from the draft. He tried to enlist, but for the reasons given and the fact that he had rheumatic fever as a youth, he wasn’t allowed.

When our folks left for work in the morning, my sister, Sylvia, and I had to leave, too. We walked the block to the high school and then crossed the school grounds to State Street where we waited under the one street lamp to be picked up.  Those winter mornings were pitch black and sometimes there was a heavy fog that made it seem even more frightening. I was only six, and Sylvia was five, so we were easily spooked.

We would stand under the street lamp and wait. Cars would be coming down State Street on the way to the refinery. Sometimes a car would stop, and we would be offered a ride. I would say “thank you” and explain that Uncle Dave and Aunt Rachel would be picking us up in a few minutes. Pretty soon, that big green Packard with Uncle Dave driving would stop for us. Then, Uncle Dave would drive to the refinery where he would stop and get out. Aunt Rachel would slide across to the driver’s seat, and take us to her home.

Their home was at 124 High Street, and they had it build in 1923. It was across from Garfield Elementary and Intermediate School which made it perfect for Aunt Rachel to babysit us before and after school.

You may be wondering why they didn’t pick us up at home. I’m wondering the same thing. It may have been that Cliff Drive was a narrow street ending in a cul-de-sac that was hard to turn around in. Or, it may have been that our folks wanted us to meet them in an easy pick-up spot and save them some effort. Aunt Rachel was probably baby-sitting for free anyhow.

Rachel Ana Wright married my great uncle, David S. Peebler, and they have been our closest relatives both by relationship and geographical proximity.

Aunt Rachel loved the Southwest, particularly New Mexico, “The Land of Enchantment,” and she and her good friend, Eunice Cooper, took a number of trips to that area from the 1930’s to the start of WWII. They visited the pueblos in the south, Taos, Santa Fe, and everything clear up to Gallup.

Eunice was married to John Cooper, owner of Cooper Drugs. For the life of  me, I couldn’t remember where the Coopers lived as I prepared to write this story. I could see that 2-story purple brick house in my mind’s eye, but didn’t know where it was. I finally asked Keith Scholfield, and he reminded me that they lived on Santa Fe Street, next to the old hospital. Santa Fe Street! What could be more fitting?

Aunt Rachel and Eunice Cooper were forward-thinking ladies and ahead of their time. At a time when you didn’t see that many women driving or gallivanting around the country, they were doing a serious job of exploring the southwest. 

Eunice was a serious collector. She displayed her beautiful collection of Native American art in an alcove, located off the living room of her home on Santa Fe Street. The space looked like the area of a trading post used for the display of “old pawn.” There were squash blossom necklaces, concho belts, silver bracelets, Navajo rugs, pottery, and probably a lot of things I have forgotten. I was completely awe-struck when viewing all of it.

Aunt Rachel was a lot more conservative. She had some Navajo rugs, a Navajo saddle blanket, some baskets, and some pottery. Her favorite possessions, though, were the beautiful black pieces of pottery made by Maria Martinez. In the early 1900’s, Maria had figured out how her ancestors had made the black pottery and had perfected the technique.

When Aunt Rachel was baby-sitting us, she made sure we were entertained. We played Chinese checkers, Old Maid, and other games. The best times, though, were when she told about her travels. She would unfold the Navajo rugs and tell us where she got them and how they were made. She had a small tom-tom made from a hallowed out cottonwood branch with a skin stretched over it that she would demonstrate and then hand over to one of us. She told about the pueblos and how the people lived.

The best part was when she told about Maria and the making of the black pottery. She would pick up one of the bowls and as he told us how it was made, she would be rubbing her hands over that slick glaze almost as if she were caressing it. Then, she would hand it to one of us to enjoy while she picked up another. I think I learned to love and appreciate that black pottery as much as she did.

Of course, the beautiful vases and bowls that are now considered as Native American art were originally produced as common kitchenware utility items. Though Aunt Rachel love the black pottery, she felt that the items should be seen, used, and enjoyed around the house. She had a beautiful black wedding vase, unsigned, but purported to have been made by Maria, that she used as a door stop. Some bowls were used to store paper clips or candy or whatever else needed to be contained. Chips and scratches appeared on some items, but that was okay because they were doing a job while providing beauty and interest to the household.

My time in the Navy was mostly spent in San Diego, but Pat and the kids and I made regular trips back to Augusta to visit relatives and friends.  When visiting Aunt Rachel, we always talked about her New Mexico trips and the treasures she brought home.

Aunt Rachel passed away in the late 1980’s, but left a lot of vivid memories. A few months after her passing, her daughter, Maxine (Peebler) Fisher, and her husband, Woody, came to California from their home in Denver. It turned out that their motive was more than just a vacation. Maxine surprised me with a box containing all of that beautiful black pottery.

Dave Thomas

6/17/2021

From the Older Guy

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Labels are getting to be too important, and they are getting out of whack. The first and foremost label you should apply to yourself is “American.” The next level would be a party affiliation such as Democrat, Republican, or whatever. If you need to go further in defining yourself, you can use liberal, conservative, or whatever feels good.

The problem, right now, is that the sub-classifications are taking priority. When considering a vote, instead of asking if this person or bill is good for America, we are asking if it is good for conservative Republicans or liberal Democrats.

What it boils down to is that we are wasting our time, energy, and resources on items that do not contribute to the common good. Let’s broaden our thinking.

Spell Check

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Trump says he wants to make America great again. He probably means “grate,” as in the cover of a sewer pipe. This would be apropos of his plan to take us back to the dark ages by rolling back the rules and regulations that protect our health and well-being. Who needs clean water, clean air, the FDA, the CDC, the FAA, or OSHA?

Dave Thomas

05/20/2021