Gone But Not forgotten

My column last week, “I’ve Got a Secret…” spurred a wave of responses greater than any I had ever seen in ten years of writing My Weekly Wisdom Column. I was truly touched by the expressions of sympathy all of you sent. And I wanted to thank all of you in some meaningful way.

I can think of no better means of saying “Thank you” than to tell you something about my brother. First of all, I don’t mourn for Don. He will surely be missed, but he didn’t want a lot of moping and sadness. Instead, he wanted those who knew him to celebrate his life. We did that last Friday with a Champaign toast and a lot of remembrances.

Since most of you never knew my brother, I will give you a brief biography.

Our family consisted of Mom and Dad, three boys and two girls, seven of us in all. Don was the second oldest of the children, but he was also the creative genius among us. He never failed at anything he tried, and he tried many different things. At various times during his life he was an accomplished musician, an actor, a director, a screenwriter, a builder, a furniture designer and maker, and the list goes on.

One of the talents I envied in Don was that he could do something naturally without any formal training. For instance, our father was a concert pianist, a graduate of Eastman School of Music. He used to play classical music on our upright piano almost every Sunday afternoon. One Sunday, after Dad had finished playing one of the classics, Don sat at the piano and played the same piece. He had never taken a single lesson on piano, yet he was able to play a very difficult song without any mistakes. That was just the way Don was. If he thought he could do something, most likely he could do it, and with little or no learning curve.

Part of Don’s life was a mystery to me. He married while I was away in the Air Force, and I never really got to know his wife, Katie, that well. They had two daughters, Gwen and Kelly, but the marriage eventually ended in divorce. He was geographically separated from the girls after the divorce. However, he later brought them back into his life, and spent a lot of time with his children and grandchildren, sometimes traveling cross-country from California to North Carolina to be with them.

Don liked to ski, so he left a promising career in television and lived for about three years in Vail, Colorado so that he could indulge his love of skiing. In order to support himself, he went to work helping to build some of those magnificent chalets that grace the hillsides of Vail. But he wasn’t building walls and ceilings and such. No, Don was a finish-carpenter, doing all the fine touches on the interiors.

When Don decided to get back into television and movies, he left Vail for Los Angeles, where he was a news director for one of the network affiliates. About that time, the TV spoof on soap operas, “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” was running on his channel. Don took the theme from that show and applied it to his venue. He created, produced and directed a local show called “Metro News, Metro News.” It ran after the nightly news, and was an impromptu parody of all the stories reported that evening.

“Metro News, Metro News” was very popular with the LA audience, and it earned Don a very important life-changing event. He met his future wife, Penny, whom he married in 1986. That is a story in itself, and I won’t tell it here except to say it was one of those instances of simultaneous love at first sight.

Don always worked behind the scenes in Hollywood, so you probably never saw his name unless you read the credits, but he was there. One of his accomplishments was the production of what he called, “newswraps,” short films that promoted movies and were shown on TV stations. One that I recall vividly was a short half-hour film about the making of “The Cannonball Run.” It was almost as funny as the movie that starred Burt Reynolds, Roger Moore, Farrah Fawcett and many others.

The newswraps included outtakes and bloopers, and a lot of film that would have wound up on the cutting room floor. They probably helped spawn the “TV Bloopers & Practical Jokes” shows that Dick Clark and Ed McMahon hosted, since they were very similar in content and predated the bloopers show.

Several years ago, after attending one of our biennial family reunions, this one held in Winston-Salem, Don and Penny decided to move from Los Angeles to North Carolina. Don made yet another career change, and after a yearlong apprenticeship, became a designer and builder of furniture. Once again, he was successful, and many of his friends and clients have treasured pieces in their homes.

One day last year Don was doing some yard work and walked into a partially closed garage door, hitting his head and knocking himself flat on his back. The next day he was suffering from some neck pains and went to a chiropractor. During the preliminary exam, the X-rays showed some anomalies, and the chiropractor suggested that Don see his family doctor. Further examination revealed that there were tumors in Don’s lungs. He had smoked earlier in life, but quit back in 1981. The doctors thought that the cancer was in the early stages, and could be successfully treated.

What began as another obstacle to be overcome soon became the supreme battle. Though Don and Penny remained optimistic throughout the treatment, Don lost the battle. I had the good fortune to visit with him twice in the last few months, and he was as cheerful, funny and positive as ever.

I lost four people at once: brother, friend, mentor and co-conspirator. I would be remiss if I closed without relating a funny story involving Don and me.

My father once got angry with me and banished me from his house, probably deservedly so, but he also kept most of my clothes. Don learned of the incident and volunteered to help me regain my belongings. While I waited a few houses down the street, Don took his new car over to show to Dad and offered to have him test drive it with him.

The two of them drove off on their short test hop, while I stole into the house and recovered my clothing, which had been not only stored there, but also dry-cleaned and bagged in garment bags. I got them back in better condition than I had left them, and Dad didn’t discover the “theft” for a while, so Don didn’t even get into trouble over it. We eventually told him how I got my property back, and I think he was actually amused by the tale.

So thank you for the condolences, but I have many fond memories of Don that make it a lot easier to say goodbye to him. So, “Farewell, brother! You’re still my hero.”

I've Got a Secret

I’ve got to tell you a secret...

When I left on June 17 for my great adventure in the Northwest Territories, I was convinced that it would probably be my last road trip.

I had a doctor appointment set for a few days after I returned, and I was certain that the doctor was going to find some incurable fatal disease that was hiding in my body.

Partly for that reason, I really went all out to see and do everything I could on the long journey. Of course, there were some constraints, like money, time and physical ability.

The reason I took that long and strenuous hike up the bluffs above the Columbia River to see those wonderful waterfalls, was that I figured it would probably be a good way to go if I wasn’t up to it.

Now, isn’t that poetic?

The trip up Mount Evans to over 14,000 feet altitude was another trek that I probably shouldn’t have taken. I know that I was really dizzy and out of breath when I walked around in that upper parking lot at the summit.

I took it easy and made several stops on the way back down the mountain to take my pictures, so it wasn’t as bad as I pictured it up there in the clouds.

Actually, I had experienced some internal aches and pains of undetermined nature prior to taking the trip, and that only made me more certain that there was something serious going on inside.

I was determined to do this one last thing, my “bucket list’ as it were, before I checked out.

When I realized, about halfway up the bluffs in Oregon, that my back and shoulders were no longer aching, I began to wonder if I was imagining the seriousness of the symptoms. There were other indications that my problems were not as bad as I had at first thought.

I completed my trip (alive, by golly) and kept my appointment with my doctor. I was completely honest and thorough with him about my symptoms.

The doctor, in turn, was unimpressed with most of what I told him, and suggested a few over-the-counter remedies to relieve the aches and pains. Things like vitamins, calcium and such were “prescribed” and I was sent on my way with no expensive tests, drugs or (God forbid) procedures.

So, here I am, four months past my “final sprint” to the finish line of life, with another two driving trips to Buffalo and Winston-Salem, and feeling pretty darned good for an old man of 70.

Heck, I already have plans to do another solo venture next summer, though it won’t be a far or as long as my “Don’t Fence Me In” sojourn. I don’t plan to climb any mountains in Michigan or Wisconsin, but I might climb some lighthouses, on the inside, of course.

There is a sad ending to my tale, however. My brother, Don, has been battling lung cancer for the past year. I received a phone call last Monday that he died peacefully in his sleep Sunday night.

Perhaps my premonition was not about me, but rather about my brother. It was fortunate that I was able to visit him twice in the past few months to say goodbye, but I will miss him terribly.

Superman in Metropolis

I believe you’ve all seen my photo journal of my recent trip through the Northwest. However, there were other photos and stories that I left for future columns. This is one of those columns.

On my way up to my starting point for my trip, I passed several places that I had seen before, and so I didn’t bother to stop and take pictures. There was one town that I had passed many times without getting off the interstate and going to see the main attraction there.

On my way home, I again passed the little town in southern Illinois named Metropolis. Now, any town with that name brings an image to most of us of the fictional character, Superman, who lived and worked in the equally fictitious city of Metropolis.

Who among us can forget how we watched and worshipped Superman in our youth? I will admit that I even tried to emulate the Man of Steel in my youth by becoming “Ken Kenmore” (the town I grew up in) and saving numerous damsels in distress in my imagination. I know, I was weird!

There is a water tower next to I-24 outside of Metropolis, IL, that promotes the Superman mystique by showing a huge painting of the hero and letting travelers know that his likeness is preserved in the form of a statue in the town square.

I took the bait and left I-24 for the center of Metropolis to see Superman. I wasn’t the only one to do so, either. There were several visitors in the square to see him.

Okay, I won’t keep you in suspense... Here is the Superman statue in his classic pose, with the inscription on the base, “Truth, Justice, The American Way.”
You can see the size of this statue by measuring it against the woman in the background. Also, notice the floodlights that illuminate Superman at night like a national shrine.

Across the street there is also some glitzy tourist stuff in and on what probably used to be a drug store, complete with a sidewalk photo stand with the bodies of Superman and Superwoman and appropriate notches where you can rest your chin to have your head superimposed on the torso for a photo op. In the center left of the picture you can see, painted on the brick wall, the famous phone booth, Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

If you’re ever in the vicinity of Paducah, Kentucky—the closest city of any size near Metropolis—take a half-hour to stop by and visit with Superman. It’s about as kitschy as you can get.

You Cannot Unmake The Soup

The idea that we can go back to a world where nuclear fission and/or nuclear fusion do not exist is not just ridiculous; it is sublime! It is no more possible to unlearn the secrets of nuclear reactions than it is to mix ingredients together to prepare soup and then change your mind and separate all of the ingredients back into their component parts.

In short, you can’t unmake the soup, and you certainly cannot unlearn the science that we used to create and develop nuclear reactions.

Much like the well-used statement, “If you ban guns, the only people who will have guns are the criminals,” we can now correctly state, “If you ban nuclear weapons, the only people who will have nuclear weapons are the rogues who ignore the rules.” Unfortunately, there are a lot of criminals and rogues out there in the world.

You might consider our current bad guys, Osama Bin Laden, Hugo Chavez, Kim Il Jong, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Raul Castro, and a number of others, incapable of any threat to us in the nuclear arena. They don’t have the delivery systems, or so it seems, to place a nuke on our soil.

That may or may not be true, based on recent development and testing of intermediate-range missiles in both North Korea and Iran, but it isn’t really necessary to have intercontinental missiles in order to attack us. There are a number of scenarios that posit a nuclear attack without any sophisticated delivery at all.

We are at risk regardless of any diplomatic agreements to destroy and quit making nuclear weapons. If the technology is there—and it cannot be unlearned—then there will always be evil people who will use it to further their ends. They are not necessarily associated with any government, and are unanswerable for breaking any “treaty” with the rest of the world.

If President Obama gets his wish and is able to negotiate with the other nuclear powers to completely ban nuclear weapons—an impossibility from the get-go—I will give us about ten years maximum until we will have that dreaded nuclear war that we have deterred for over sixty years. It might signal the end of civilization as we know it.

Thank you, Mr. President. You are a true idealist, and I wanted to stop short of saying that idealists are fools, but then... I cannot unmake the soup either. So there, I’ve gone and made it official. I consider you a fool as well. And I truly hate to have to think that about our president, the most powerful man in the world. The seat of power is no place for a fool to sit.

Radio Blooper

This has been a very busy week for me. I sing in a barbershop chorus here in Augusta. We have a big show coming up this Saturday, and I have been doing a lot of the publicity for it.

If you opened the link I sent out Friday morning, you already know the story of the woman whose private telephone number was inadvertently printed on about 3,000 flyers for our upcoming show as the box office number for the theater where we are to perform. If not, here it is again: http://chronicle.augusta.com/stories/2009/09/25/met_549499.shtml That’s me on the left, the old guy with the gray hair, but at least I have some hair, unlike the other guys in the photo.

In addition to that publicity, I was called on to be the spokesman for the chorus on a local radio show. We had another quartet singing on that show, and the host asked me to introduce them prior to their performance of the songs. I started off okay, but when I got to the second fellow, Vern Lunsford, I drew a mental block and pronounced his name, Vern Lundquist.

That caused a lot of laughter in the studio, and also made my situation worse. I knew I had given the name wrong, (Verne Lundquist is a television sportscaster who broadcasts SEC college football games) but I couldn’t then think of our Vern’s last name. It was one of those moments of embarrassment that sometimes happen.

After Vern introduced himself, I was able to continue, and the next name (thank God) was George Brown. I needed an easy name at that point, and I got through the rest of the introduction without incident.

Someone taped the interview and the two songs for Southern Blend, the quartet that sang them, so I was able to listen to the whole thing later in the day. It all came out pretty darned good.

One thing that happened, probably because of nerves, was that I got a tickle in my throat just prior to going on air, so my voice came out sounding a little raspy. I was, in fact, one of those “gravel-voice” announcers I wrote about in last week’s column. That’ll teach me not to be critical of others.

Speech-challenged speakers

I drove up to Winston-Salem last week to visit family. On the way home, I was listening to a local radio station in Greensboro, and there was a weatherman on the morning show. He gave the forecast, and it made me terribly uncomfortable.

Why? He had a rattle in his voice so pronounced that it sounded like maybe he was gargling and forgot to spit. His voice was annoying, and to make it worse, he repeated himself three times. You know how a comic singer does that underwater gargle while singing the lyrics? It was kind of like that, but it was only about once every three words.

I kept hoping he would at least clear his throat, even if he did it on air. That rattle was a real turn off.

We had a local weatherman (I guess we’re supposed to refer to them as meteorologists) who recently retired, and he also had an annoying voice. It was what I would call a gravel voice. Again, I was always wishing he would clear his throat. Apparently, he has a permanent raspy voice. Whew, it was a relief when he retired!

On a recent trip up through West Virginia, my wife and I listened to a local guy who did refer to himself as a meteorologist, except he couldn’t pronounce the word correctly. It came out as “meteorlologist,” or maybe it was “meteolrologist.” It was so funny that we laughed every time he said the word.

It occurs to me that we probably don’t even pay attention to the forecast when the person reading it has a speech impediment. The focus changes from the speech to the speaker when that is the case.

Is there some equal opportunity law that requires weather forecasters with less-than-perfect speech have to be given priority? There certainly seem to be a lot of them out there.

Come to think of it, has any weatherman ever been promoted to, or even substituted for one of the news anchors? I cannot recall a single instance when that has happened, but then, I can’t remember a sportscaster ever doing it either.

Maybe there is a difference in the type of person who does those broadcasting jobs, and they don’t want to fill the other guy’s (or gal’s) shoes. They are perfectly happy pointing at green walls or reading the sports scores. At least those speech-challenged weather and sports geeks don’t opine for us in addition to reading their scripts.

One other word—actually a letter—that seems to get mispronounced frequently is “W” in station call letters. The letter “w” sometimes gets a weird middle syllable, so that the letter comes out sounding like “doubwolyou.”

Do you notice these things too, or is it just me?

Posting Comments

Last week, I put out a call for all of you to respond ‘yes’ or ‘no’ as to whether you read my weekly columns. The response was, well, all positive. However, since there were no negative responses, and yet there were more recipients than responses, I don’t know what to make of that.

The responses I did get were enlightening, because many didn’t just follow my simple instructions to put ‘Yes’ or “No’ in the Subject Line, but also sent some feedback as to why they don’t place comments in the blog.

Those who did respond were overwhelming in their reluctance to set up a Google account in order to post comments in the blog. They felt it was a privacy issue.

I have toyed with the idea of writing a column devoted to the newest Internet phenomenon, “tweeting.”

There are apparently a lot of people who find it entertaining to post their personal information for all to see, either on Twitter, or Facebook, or My Space. I am not one of them, and it is precisely because it is a privacy issue with me.

I suppose that most of you are also of the same mind as I am about the aforementioned, shall we call them ‘sharing sites’? That must be why you also don’t have a Google account.

In order to set up my blog page for the weekly column, I had to open a Google account, and I have never been bothered by anyone because of it. I do maintain a profile on the blog site, but it is very ‘low profile’ and doesn’t expose any of my personal information that I prefer not to share.

Let’s face it, everything we share with others has to do with our own ego. That is the main reason I write the column every week. I don’t consider myself to be an ‘intellectual’ or an ‘expert’ on the subjects I write about.

It is interesting to place my opinions out there for debate and discussion. But I know that I’m not always right, and I welcome criticism as well as praise. I get both almost every week; it feeds my ego either way.

The problem is, if you don’t post on the blog, I am the only one who sees how you react to my columns. A lot of your comments are good. They add to the topic, and should be available to everyone who reads the column.

I’m considering the idea of posting comments from you—anonymously, of course—for others to see. That means you might want to go back a day or so later and read the comments as updates to the column.

Regarding those other online tools, Twitter, Facebook, etc., I guess it’s different strokes for different folks, but I don’t consider them a worthwhile exercise, and they definitely compromise you in some fashion.

Oh, and my poll... In the first 24 hours, I received 22 responses, all ‘Yes’, and that makes me feel great. See, it is all about ego!