In June of 1944, my maternal grandfather, George F. Sicks drove from his home in Los Angeles to Iola, Kansas to visit his dad and his siblings. After the visit to the family farm, he drove to Augusta, Kansas to see my mom and the rest of us. The plan was for him to drive my mom, Dad, sister Sylvia, and me to Los Angeles for a vacation. Dad had a two-week vacation coming, and the rest of us would spend a month in L.A. with him.

Thinking about it now, I’m not sure how Grandpa made that trip. The car was fine. It was a 4 door 1942 Pontiac. The 1942 cars came out in September of 1941, and were the last cars produced after World War II started in December of 1941 until production until production started up again in 1946. The thing that bothers me is that gasoline was rationed, rubber tires were rationed, and so was just about everything else.

My Dad was working at the Socony Mobil Refinery in Augusta. The refinery was classified as being crucial to the war effort, and that’s why my dad wasn’t in the service. He was given a draft classification that kept him from enlisting. Dad tried twice to enlist, but the job and the fact that he had two kids and a heart murmur didn’t help.

At the time of the trip, I was seven years old, and would be eight two months later in August. My sister, Sylvia, was a year younger than I.

When we got to L.A., Granddad turned out to be a fantastic tour guide. He took us to see all the things we had heard of and many we hadn’t. For instance, we saw Hollywood, Venice, Santa Monica, the corner of Hollywood and Vine, the Hollywood Canteen, the Hollywood Bowl, the La Brea Tar Pits, the Coliseum Museum, Knott’s Berry Farm where Grandpa knew Walter Knott, the Brown Derby Restaurant, the Griffith Observatory, Olvera Street, and much more.

When vacation days ran out, Dad caught a bus home. The rest of us were lucky in that we had two more weeks, and Grandpa had more sightseeing planned for us.

One day, Grandpa told us to gather up all the pennies we could find because he was taking us to the Santa Anita Racetrack, and he was going to teach us how to bet on the horses and bet them to win, place, or show. There wasn’t much of a crowd that day, but we did see the actor, Pat O’Brien when we came in. Grandpa said that, according to the newspaper, Pat O’Brien was a regular there.

We were busy with our handicapping when some people came down the aisle to the left of us. They were talking and laughing pretty loudly, so naturally we looked to see what was going on. There were two men, three women, and a baby. My Mom turned to us and said, “That woman carrying the baby is Betty Grable.”

Everyone knew who Betty Grable was, even little kids. She was the most famous pinup girl of World War II. Everyone had seen her picture and most of the servicemen had that picture in their locker or footlocker. Also, the whole world knew the story of her legs being insured for a million bucks.

We all took a good look at her as she was only about 15 feet from us, and then Sylvia and I went back to studying the horses. After a few minutes, Mom said, “Don’t listen to her, Kids. She’s cussing like a trooper.” We didn’t pay any attention to her as we were busy with the horses.

It was a big day for us, seeing a big-time movie star and watching horse races. I think Sylvia won all the money. She was always better at gambling than I was. Though the races were fun, there was so much boring time between races I vowed to never go again, and I haven’t.

Dave Thomas 10/12/2023

I was born and raised in a small town in Kansas that had a population of about 5,000. We didn’t have the ethnic groups like you find in the big cities in the East. There were no Irish neighborhoods, Italian neighborhoods, black neighborhoods, barrios, or Jewish communities. We did have a half dozen Mexican families, a couple of Jewish families, and a couple of Indian families (the Native American name wasn’t used when I was a kid.) These families were scattered throughout the town. People lived where they liked and where they could afford. The largest group of kids were the Mexican Americans. They were all smart, good-looking, and well-liked. I never heard of any racial strife, and hope my friends never had to put up with it.

I was in third grade when a boy named Jackie Glass joined the class. Jackie was the first Negro (they weren’t called African American then) I had ever met. I had seen Negro people when we went to Wichita. Discussing it with my parents afterword, they told me that black people were just like us and just wanted to work and raise their families and enjoy life. That was good enough for me.

Jackie and I liked each other immediately and hung out together at morning and afternoon recess and lunch times. We didn’t become full-time buddies because we lived on opposite sides of town, and being only eight years old, neither of us was permitted to range that far.

One Saturday morning, my mom, Dad, sister, and I were downtown and bumped into Jackie and his parents in front of Cooper’s Rexall Drugs. The adults introduced themselves and visited for a couple of minutes while we kids talked. That was the only time I saw Jackie outside of school.

As the weather got cooler, we all started wearing our coats and hats. Most of the guys wore stocking caps, but Jackie and I were different. He had a cap that I thought was really cool. It was small, knitted, and flat and had a small bill. This was during World War II, and I had an aviator’s helmet that was made of leather, fleece-lined and with ear straps. Jackie liked my head gear as much as I liked his, so we traded at recess and lunch. We knew our folks wouldn’t let us trade permanently, so we just enjoyed the time at school.

About this time, I was introduced to racism and ignorance. One of my classmates pulled me aside and said that his mother told him I shouldn’t wear that boy’s hat because I might catch something. Even at eight years old, I knew that was a stupid thing to believe.

As I said, Jackie and I were friends in 3^rd grade. I’m not sure when he and his folks moved on. It must have been tough to not have another kid in town that looked like yourself.

Looking back, I can see that this time with Jackie made an important contribution to my education as a real person. That’s why I remember him.

Dave Thomas

10/5/2023

It was 1968 or 1969.  Pat and I and the kids, Russ, Doug, and Terri, had driven back to Kansas to visit Pat’s mom, Melba, and her step-dad, Eddie. That first day they all had some kid stuff they wanted to do, and I just wasn’t interested. Melba told me that there was a film crew in town shooting a picture called “Gypsy Moth” starring Burt Lancaster, Debra Kerr, and Gene Hackman. It was an airplane story. Melba told me where they were shooting that day, so I thought it would be fun to have a look. When I got to the address, there were cars lining both sides of the street, and I ended up parking a block from the location. The house was white and two stories, with a big front porch, and, if I remember correctly, there were columns.  Anyhow, it was pretty impressive looking. There were big lights shining on the front door and boom microphones above.

There was a crowd six or seven people deep, but loosely packed. As I walked up, a lady said, “I see you are wearing boots and jeans. If you had been here an hour ago, they would have hired you as an extra. They were looking for locals to use in the next shot.” I just said “Shucks,” and moved into the crowd. I moved up as close to the front as I could and heard another lady say that they were getting ready for Deborah Kerr to come out the front door. There was a big guy standing in front of me, and I moved so I could see over his shoulder. That’s when I realized the big dude was Burt Lancaster. He looked even bigger and tougher in person than he did in the movies. Burt had his eyes glued to that front door like he was really concentrating, and also to let us local folks know he didn’t want to be bothered. It was an interesting experience. I enjoyed watching the movie shot and seeing Burt Lancaster and Debra Kerr.

Dave Thomas

9/28/2023

It was a pleasant Sunday morning. The front door was open, and a nice breeze was coming through the screen door. It was 7:00 A.M. and we’d had breakfast and were drinking coffee and watching CBS Sunday Morning. Suddenly we heard the boss crow yelling for Pat.   She looked out and saw the boss crow on our driveway and his four companions in the tree across the street. She got some bread and scattered it on the driveway. As Pat came back in the house, the four crows left the tree and joined the boss for breakfast.

After a few minutes, we heard all the crows squawking and raising the devil. Pat jumped up to see what was going on. The boss was up on our roof, and the other 4 guys were back in their tree across the street. A coyote had frightened them away and was busily eating their breakfast. Pat picked up her cell phone and headed for the door to take a picture. Apparently, the coyote saw her moving around, got scared, and was running away. Pat barely got a picture before the coyote was out of sight. The coyote had eaten all the bread. Pat got more bread and put it out for the crows. They came back down, finished eating, and took off. Normalcy was restored.

Dave Thomas

9/17/23

It was the summer of 1991. My wife, Pat, and our son, Doug, and his friend, Penny, had driven up to Santa Monica to attend the Golden Boot Awards Dinner. That is an awards ceremony honoring the folks who made those movies we enjoyed so much. It was our second time attending. There was a dinner and a ceremony that honored several of the movie stars each year. Anyone can attend, and during the meet and greet session can introduce themselves to the movie stars and visit with them. The dinner cost $150 per plate, but we didn’t spend much on movies or concerts. We felt it was a good entertainment expense.

This event was a big deal, and had been created several years before by Pat Buttram, the old Gene Autry sidekick. Proceeds from the dinner went to the Old Actor’s Home. A few of the attendees were Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Gene Autry, George Kennedy, Sam Elliott, Angie Dickinson, Denver Pyle, Dale Robertson, Marie Windsor, Maureen O’Hara, and many others.

The venue was a convention hall behind the Santa Monica Hotel. The mixer before dinner gave everyone plenty of time to navigate the room and visit with a lot of people. After dinner and the ceremony, there was still plenty of time to circulate. The big stars like Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Gene Autry, and Maureen O’Hara were always surrounded by a mob, so you couldn’t get near them. Ms. O’Hara, one of the evening’s honorees, was attending on her 70^th birthday.

From grade school on I enjoyed the Saturday matinees at the Isis Theater. You could see a western for 12 cents. Gene Autry was always one of my favorites. Being from Oklahoma made him a kind of neighbor to us Kansas kids. His beautiful horse, Champion, was special, too. Champion was all decked out in a silver mounted saddle and bridle, and the bit had shanks that had been cast as replicas of six guns.

At the proper time, we entered the convention hall and located the table with our names on place cards. Then we decided to split up and go searching for the celebrities we each wanted to meet. This was before cell phones were in use, and we only had one 35 mm camera with us, so we decided to take turns with it during the evening. We had a lot of fun with it as the other guests were good about using the camera and taking pictures of us. To mention a few of the pictures:  Pat had one taken with Burt Reynolds, Penny with Iron Eyes Cody, Doug with Denver Pyle, and me with Dale Robertson. That was really a lot of fun.

After a time, I headed for the men’s room. After doing my business and washing up, I headed for the door. Just as I got there, the door started to open, and I stepped to the side to avoid being hit. To my surprise, here comes Gene Autry with his bodyguard two steps behind. I said “hi” and Gene smiled and said “hi” and came on in. Figuring that nobody would want to shake hands with a guy just leaving the men’s room, I went on out and rejoined the party. After all these years, it was great to see a childhood hero in person.

Dave Thomas

09/14/2023

I was thinking about my grade school, Garfield Elementary. It was a happy place and a happy time. The school and playground took up about half a block. We walked to school and enjoyed everything we encountered. There were always stray dogs, bugs, butterflies, caterpillars, birds, and sometimes rain or snow. The school ground was well appointed with teeter-totters, a fantastic jungle gym, and monkey bars. Reading stories was exciting, and we looked forward to recess and the nutrition breaks with milk and graham crackers.

Our great grandkids are just starting school, and I wonder what kind of memories they and their peers will have. Many will be dropped off by their parents rather than enjoying the little things you would see on a walk to school. Rather than a wide open and welcoming school grounds, some will be greeted by a chain link fence with a locked gate and metal detector. They may also be greeted by a policeman or security guard. There probably won’t be any teeter-totters or jungle gyms as the schools must protect themselves from paranoid parents, liability, and lawsuits.

The changes will come about due to the world we now live in. Our kids are being murdered in their schools because their grandparents don’t have enough backbone to kiss the NRA goodbye. The money from the gun lobby is more important than the children. The litigious nature of our country has killed a lot of playground activities.

This is not our America. We don’t want our public schools to look like prisons, and we don’t want to see playgrounds that are as austere as concentration camps.

Dave Thomas

8/32/2023

Last year, I told you about some crows my wife, Pat, was feeding. It was an “on demand” kind of thing. They would squawk until she came out with some food. The way it worked was that the six crows would arrive, and five of them would settle in a tree across the street. The sixth one would land on the edge of our garage roof. Our attached garage forms a 90 degree angle with the rest of the house. The crow could perch on the edge of the garage roof and look across and into the picture window of the living room. When Pat heard the squawking, she would look out the window and make eye contact with the crow. When she opened the door and went out, the crow maintained eye contact at all times. It seemed to know that eye contact was an important part of getting your message across. Pat would put the food on the lawn or the driveway, and the boss bird and the other five would enjoy the feast. If they ate everything but were still hungry, the head crow would start squawking again and would keep it up until Pat brought more food.

Last week, after several quiet months with no crows, Pat thought she heard them out front. She went out, and sure enough, there were six crows on our driveway. Five of them were grouped at the foot of the drive, and a single one was closer to the house. The lone guy, the communicator, was yelling his fool head off. Pat said, “Okay, okay, I’ll get you some lunch,” and she turned and walked back toward the front door. The crow was following right behind her. Apparently, he didn’t want to lose sight of her. She went into the house and the quickest thing that came to mind was a handful of Cheerios. She took the Cheerios out and tossed them on the driveway. The six crows wasted not time in gobbling them up. After eating, they left, and we haven’t heard them around the neighborhood. I guess they were just passing through. I think that after all these months, it’s really strange that the crows knew which house to come back to for a handout.

P.S.- Here’s a little story Pat and I just heard today. Our grandson’s girlfriend, Meztli, says, “I just heard the strangest story. My grandmother feeds crows.” Our grandson, David, says, “There’s nothing strange about that- my grandma feeds crows, too!”

Dave Thomas

2/3/2022

Not long ago, I told you about Pat feeding the crows. The boss crow would land on our driveway and start squawking while his five or six buddies would settle in the tree across the street. When Pat came out with a slice of bread and a handful of Cheerios, the birds in the tree would join the Boss in the driveway, and they would all chow down. If Pat didn’t come out immediately, the Boss would fly to the roof of the garage and perch on the rain gutter. Our house and garage are in a 90 degree configuration. From the garage roof, the crow could see through the picture window into our living room and would watch for Pat while he kept yelling. He never gives up.

This has been the rainiest January we have had in years. This past Monday, the 30^th, it would rain and clear off and rain again. The wildlife like the crows and other critters couldn’t find anything to eat because their quarry was hiding from the rain. I figure that all of the local crows were complaining about being hungry, and the Boss crow said, “Let’s go see Pat!” The Boss landed on our driveway and started squawking. Pat took a slice of bread and some Cheerios out to him and tossed them on the driveway. Suddenly, there were crows everywhere. Pat said it was like that Hitchcock movie “The Birds.” There were crows on the driveway, on the lawn, in the street, and in the air. She had to bring out more food. When every scrap was eaten, the crows took off, and we won’t see them again until the next shortage of food.

Yes, I missed it. I was taking a nap.

Dave Thomas

2/1/2023

It’s always interesting to watch as fad words and phrases spread across the country. Often, they come from TV reporters who are trying to convince us that they are experts on whatever they are talking about.  For instance, when reporting on one of the Middle Eastern wars, it would be announced that we had “boots on the ground” in some location. That sounded knowledgeable and macho. It was modified a little for civilian use. For example, Correspondent Joe Blow, is “on the ground” in Paris to report on the protest.

I would like to spend more time writing about this, but I’ve got to go find my “wheelhouse.”                          

Dave Thomas

8/17/2023

My vision is gradually improving. I don’t know if there is one cause for this or if it is due to the sum total of all things tried.

Several years ago, I read that blueberries were good for the eyes. Every morning, I have a ½ cup of blueberries with my Cheerios. Pat makes sure our diet consists of plenty of fresh vegetables. The Eylea injections keep the eyes from bleeding, thus giving the retinas a chance to do their job. The Sifovre injections may improve vision, but I haven’t been taking them long enough to reap the benefits.  I use the computer and video magnifiers for several hours each day. I figure that the eye muscles need to be exercised as much as the other muscles in the body.

I’m grateful for the amount of vision I have today. Fortunately, it seems to get just a little better each month. I can function reasonably well within the confines of my home. It’s always dark, like twilight. One measure of progress is television. For months and months, all I could see was a black screen. Now, if I get 4 or 5 feet from the TV, I can see figures moving around. If there is a close-up shot, I can see the eyes, mouth, and nose of the face, but can’t see them well enough to identify the person. Also, it has been a black and white world. I was surprised the other day to see that a lady was wearing a red dress. Thank God for small favors.

One big problem is that of keeping your head on straight and not letting the negative stuff get you down. I don’t mean the “why me” or “woe is me” crap, but the real issues. If I can’t drive, can’t do yard work, can’t do my handyman stuff, then I’m a freeloader, a leach, a bum, and not worth much. I decided that the best antidote for this kind of thinking was to get busy and learn to do some tasks that would save time or steps for Pat and Terri.

I made lots of mistakes, but soon had a list of accomplishments to add to my resume. I can load the dishwasher, start the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, put away the dishes, make the beds, start the dryer, unload the dryer, fold and put away the clothes, feed, the cat, make coffee, make a sandwich warm a can of chili, and do several other jobs. Every little bit helps. I soon recognized a problem, though. As I became proficient at these little tasks, I also became possessive of them. If someone did one of my jobs, I perceived that it was detracting from my self-worth. This called for another little talk with myself. “Chill out, Dave! Help as much as you can and stop whining.” Now that we have got that straight, everything is going well. Be alert and don’t screw yourself up.

I know this has not been anything earthshaking. If you’ve got MD or know someone who has the problem, I wish you good luck and a good future. Stay positive. I can’t stand disabled persons who think they have a right to be a grouch and mistreat those around them.

Dave Thomas

8/10/2023