Memories Of Long Ago

 

     A long time ago, we didn't have the conveniences available today, for example - air conditioning. I was born in 1947 and my family didn't have air conditioning until 1964, my school got it in 1963 and I didn't own a car with "air" until 1970.

     I was reminded of our struggles, to keep cool, earlier today when Kay and I attended a local festival that had a music venue. It was held outdoors and although it was cooler than usual it was still a little warm. Before I get too far into today's discovery let me set the stage by going back a about 70 years, more or less.

     What religious upbringing I had was with my Grandpa Riggan, he was very devout and regularly attended church every Sunday and most Wednesday nights. I spent a lot of time with he and Granny from a very early age and wherever he went I went. His church was rather small compared to those of today, it was wood framed with tall windows - cold in the winter and hot in the summer and in the early 1950's there was no air conditioning and probably no heat. What they did have to beat the summer heat were "paddle fans".

     Paddle fans, as I call them, were two thick, stiff pieces of paper with a tongue depressor type piece of wood glued between them. The holder of the fan would wave it vigorously back and forth in front of their face thus creating a breeze that would keep the person somewhat cool and dry. Of course, a lot depended on the temperature, length of the sermon and the size of the person.

     The most interesting thing about the fans were the designs, those in the churches were of course decorated with a picture of Jesus, a shepherd tending his flock, Moses parting the sea or some other religious scene. The back side usually had an advertisement from a local funeral home, dry cleaner or feed store. I guess although dying was a certainty, the funeral homes figured a little early advertising couldn't hurt. Every church and funeral home had boxes of these fans as they tended to walk off with the clientele. Granny had several fans in case she misplaced one or had guest, actually the fans were everywhere you went from barber shops to grocery stores to gas stations.

     Fast forward to today, on the benches of the music venue were cheaper versions of the fan with an advertisement, on one side only, for a local realtor. They did come in handy and served their purpose very well. I don't think the paddle fans are going to make a big come back, their need now is more of a novelty than necessity, sadly they have gone the way of the horse and buggy and gas station., they are just another memory from a time long ago.

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     There was a time when the only way to stay in contact with a distant friend or relative was to go see them, call them on the phone, which was attached to the wall in one room of the house, or write them a letter. 

     My grandmother mothers were big letter writers but they were also very conscious of the cost with first class postage being four cents back in the 1950's. Granny Riggan wrote letters but more often she would send post cards that cost a penny to mail. She would leave a note to the postman telling him how many postcards and stamps she needed and he would leave them in her mailbox.

     The cards were plain white, three inches wide and five inches long, one side was for the address and stamp and the other side was where you wrote whatever you wanted to say. If you wrote really small you could say a lot. The only problem with postcards was that anybody who handled the card could read whatever you wrote, privacy was not to be expected.

     Postcards from that era were works of art, one side had a picture of depicting scenery from the place you purchased the card. The other side was where you wrote the address and a short note usually saying things like "we made it" or "wish you were here". Granny had a box of cards she had collected over the years and I would spend a lot of time looking through them. These cards are collector items today.

     Kay and I got into a habit of sending postcards to the grandkids whenever we traveled out of state but they are getting hard to find. There used to be carousels filled with cards in drug stores, gift shops and even gas stations. We had real good luck finding them at state park welcome centers but this last trip we took to Tennessee was a bust for finding cards. We went to Kentucky and on our way back we stopped at four different truck stops and once back in Tennessee we went to a state park, it was all in vain as we couldn't find any cards.

     With all of the cell phones and computers where you can see the person you are talking to, nobody seems to be interested in the personal touch of a picture postcard especially now that the postage has gone from a penny in the 1950's to sixty cents in 2022 and the card cost has gone from a penny to a couple of dollars. Another reminder that one day even I will become someone's memory from the past, I just hope it's a good one.

 

Frank and Jesse Together Again

 

     

     Kay has met all of my family, including cousins, east of the Mississippi River but my brother Pat and his wife Teresa live in Arizona and have made it clear they will not return to the south. Having     said that, the only way to see Pat and Tee was to go to Arizona.

     Pat and I talk on the phone every now and then but the last time we saw each other was about 2010. I'm the proverbial first born, the oldest of the family, Pat holds a close number two position being fifteen months younger than me. Growing up we were inseparable so much so that we were treated  more like twins, we got the same gifts for Christmas and often wore the same cloths. Where one of went the other was not far behind.

     Our parents named us Mike and Pat and those are the names we have gone by our entire lives but a few years ago I found out there was a time when we were known as Frank and Jesse. According to our cousin Beverly, when all three of us were little more than toddlers we lived in Gallatin, Tn. and we spent a lot of time playing together. Beverly says that her grandfather would see us running over to play and would say "here comes Frank and Jesse" which was a play on the notorious outlaws known as the James gang of the old west. Actually, I think his reference was more in line with the mischief we got into at such an early age, at any rate I kinda like it and even Pat seemed to get a kick out of it last

     Sometime in our teenage years our paths started to wander off in different directions, our meetings became short and less often especially in the years we spent in the Navy. When we returned home we became somewhat estranged and didn't see as much of each other, we didn't realize for many years that mom had a big part in that, she liked to keep things stirred up among us kids.

     Back in 2010 Pat and his wife Teresa were living in South Carolina when they got the itch to explore the west. Pat called up one day and said he was coming through town and wanted to stop for a visit, we reconnected then and have kept in touch since but only via phone calls and Christmas cards. So when Kay brought up the subject, we made plans. Turns out that Amtrak has a train to Arizona so to try something new we spent three days riding the 1800 miles to Tuscon. 

     Having not seen Pat in a few years I didn't really know what to expect. I remember the last time I saw him he was a little heavier and had a bit of grey in his hair. I was pleasantly surprised to see he had lost some weight and his hair had turned white, on the opposite side of the equation I have gained weight and my hair is certainly grey. I turn 75 in another six weeks or so and Pat will turn 74 in August so we both move a little slower and groan a lot more when we move but on the plus side - I'm still taller. I have been told I favor my father or at least his side of the family, on the other hand Pat favors mom's side of the family with a strong resemblance to grandpa even to having the stub of a cigar sticking in one side of his mouth.

     We spent a good deal of time reminiscing as our wives listened, we all laughed and in the end I didn't want to go. Three days is not enough time to catch up on the years we missed out on but three days was all we had and now we have another memory to look back on and for three days Frank and Jesse rode together again.

     Pat and Teresa Have made a beautiful home for themselves, the walls of the house are a tribute to their artistry, they both are artist in several fields. Pat presently enjoys working with beads in the style of the Native Americans of the southwest. Teresa works in stained glass and mosaics, her mosaic angels are beautiful, all of their work is beautiful.

     I joke about being the oldest and having gotten all of the good genes from our parents and how I have decided to be like our Uncle Paul and live well into my 90's. Well it could happen but the reality is that all of us are getting older and I often find myself wondering if the last time I saw one of my siblings will it be the last time, will the last time I talked to them be the last time. It still weighs heavy on me that I was the last person to talk to my brother Ronnie just an hour or two before he died and he was the youngest of us. Will I live into my 90's like Uncle Paul ? I really don't know but I don't want there to be any regrets.

     The night before we left I thought about what I would say to Pat when we parted, I ran several scenarios over and over in my head but when we got to the station all I could do was shake his hand and tell him to take care. I love my brother Pat, my brother Clint and sister Vickie, I don't know when or if we will see each other again so they will have to read this to know I do love them.

      

     

     

In My Wildest Dreams

     

     Well it happened, not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would get this far but I did. Today is May 5th 2022, and I am officially 75 years old.

     When I was young getting old was something we just didn't think about, we knew old age would eventually catch up with us but that was a long time away. I guess all young people thought like that even though old people walked among us like visions of our future, we acknowledged their existence while denying the fact that someday we would become like them. When Linda and I bought our first house way back in 1972 the loan was for 30 years, I was 25 at the time and horrified with the thought that I would live long enough to pay off the loan, I just couldn't believe that I would ever get that old. 

     One day I woke up and found out that I was 30, another time I woke up and I was 40, the word decade seemed to take on a whole new meaning. The funny thing about it though is that I never really felt any older, my body still functioned normally and the person I looked at in the mirror as I shaved in the morning was still that good looking guy I was ten years before. It took a while but it finally hit me that I was slowly getting older.

     Turns out the aging process is deceiving, it has something to do with the passage of time. Time actually is a constant thing, it is we who determine the speed at which time travels, if you want it to move fast it will spite you and move slow and if you want it to move slowly it will pass at phenomenal speeds, standing still is something it never does. Now that you understand how time works you can apply it to the aging process.

     When you are twenty your skin is tight and smooth, there are no crows feet lines at the corners of your eyes, your hair is all one color even though some people may dye it different colors. The muscles are firm, the eyes bright and all the joints work properly without complaint, your outlook on life is great. 

     Somewhere along the way, and it differs for everyone, things change, slowly at first but they change. Lines or creases in the skin start to appear on the face, they are called crow's feet and smile / frown lines, your skin takes on the texture of crepe paper. Bruises appear on your arms and the backs of your hands, obviously you hit something but you can't remember when or what. Grey hairs appear around the temples, some people's hair starts to thin out around 30, hair lines recede,  bald spots may appear and grow larger.  Later on you start to slow down and that causes the loss of muscle tone and maybe a small bulge in the tummy or you develop a really big tummy, when you stand up loud popping sounds explode from the knees or other joints. Time is slowly taking it's toll on the body and there is nothing you can do about it, you may forestall some of it with changes to the diet and exercise, maybe a little tummy tuck or tightening up the sagging skin in various places but nothing will  change the fact that you are getting old.

     All of these things happened to me and like most people I failed to see it happening, my brain denied what my body was trying to tell it and that often resulted in sore muscles and aching  joints. I have come to know the throbbing of arthritis, the snap, crackle and pop of worn out joints. Getting down on my knees and back up again can sometimes be an effort in futility and the reason I'm actually looking forward to knee replacement. After all of the pain and agony of the aging process the brain continues to say "sure you can do that, you've been doing it for years", I'm still waiting for the time when the body has the sense to override the brain. 

     And then there are the issues of memory loss, hearing loss and changes to other bodily functions. Sometimes it can get downright frustrating to walk into a room and wonder why you are there or trying to hold a conversation when you stumble trying to remember a word that is the key to the whole sentence. Kay frequently looks at me with an amazed look and says "don't you remember me telling you ........." and my answer is often "no" .

     Despite all of the issues with getting older I can highly recommend it, for one thing it is better than the alternative. I like this life so much that I have decided to stick around for another twenty years or so. I think I have a chance, I'm still standing on my own two feet, I don't spend my days in waiting rooms or take large quantities of pills. What I do have are grand kids that I want to see grow older, Kay and I have places to go and things to do and I have an Uncle Paul who turns 92 this year, I figure if he can make it that far I can too, only time will tell and as far as I know time is something I may have a lot of.

 

The Ride of a Lifetime

                                                     

 

    What little kid would not want to take a ride on a train. I know when I was a kid I would have jumped at the opportunity. But then I also wanted to ride on a firetruck, ride in a police car and ride on  a garbage truck. I'm turning 75 in a few weeks and would still like do those thing, it's every kids dream and every old man's fondest memory.

     I know I was like most kids (my grandson included) and had a fascination with trains, I even had my own train set that I had to share with my brother and every time I saw a train go by I would watch it in awe. The idea of having an opportunity to ride a train would have been the thrill of a lifetime but it never happened. I did come close when I was a Cub Scout, my den leader worked for the railroad and we got to ride from one end of the rail yard to the other, it wasn't very far but we talked about it for days.

     By the time I grew up my childish dreams turned to adult necessities that involved living in an adult world, little things like making money to buy food and gas for the car. Trains still fascinated me but something else always seemed to catch my eye but the thought of getting to ride on a train has always been in the back of my mind but the opportunity never came about because life in general always had a habit of getting in the way - until now. Believe it or not, here I am writing this story while Kay and I are on an Amtrak train on our way to visit my brother in Arizona, an old man's fantasy has come true.

     It all started months ago, Kay suggested that we travel to Arizona to see my brother Pat and his wife Teresa, they had moved out west years ago and Pat refuses to come east again and he was the only brother she had not met. We talked over time schedules, how much time should we allot and other sights we might see along the way. Then we gave thought to mode of transportation, should we fly, should we drive, I know how about we take a train. Kay had ridden a train to Washington years ago and thought a long train ride might be fun, so she set about coming up with the particulars, to make a long story short - here we be in a sleeper car on the "Sunset Limited" somewhere in southern Texas.

     It has been a great trip so far but things are not as I thought they would be but then my only experience with riding a train has come from the old movies I watched on TV and boy things couldn't be more different. First of all, when I grew up trains rode on lengths of rails that were joined together with large bolts and a gap of maybe an inch would separate the joined ends. There was a sound made by the wheels as they passed over the gap, it sounded like the train was saying "clickity clack, clickity clack" every time a set of wheels hit the gap. Well, they don't make any such noise any more as the rails are made in extremely long pieces and the ends are welded together to make a seamless rail that runs for miles. I was so looking forward to the "clickity clack" sound to lull me to sleep tonight.

     In the old movies, even new movies, where people are riding on trains they are carrying on a conversation while walking down the aisle just as though they were in the confines of their own home, they sat in the dinning car and comfortably ate their meals then returned to the sleeper car and invite friends in to talk for awhile, it made one envious of people who had an opportunity to travel by rail. Well, as I sit here swaying from side to side while attempting to type this story, I can tell you there is nothing smooth about a train ride except for when said train is at a complete stop. For one thing the appearance that the rails are laid on a smooth bed of packed gravel is for sure an optical illusion and the faster the train goes the more obvious the illusion. There are slight dips in the tracks that give a small bounce as the train passes over them, so you have some moments when you seem to feel as if you are in a bounce house. There is the sideways rocking motion probably due to a slight height variation of the opposing rails, at times your body (even when sitting) will rock violently from left to right or right to left by several inches, again the intensity of the sideways motion depends on the speed of the train. Sitting down while experiencing these various motions is bad but try walking down the aisle or worse yet try going to the bathroom while the train is running down the track at fifty miles an hour. If you are old like me, you had better be holding on to something, Kay was standing up earlier when the train was slowly coming to a stop she wound up in my lap. After a trip to the dining car, we are anticipating several bruises to appear on our bodies because the isles are narrow, like maybe 30 inches. Narrow aisles could be considered a safety net allowing your body to react like a ball in a pinball machine, your shoulders and or hips just bounce off the walls as the train sways from side to side.

     We chose a sleeping car because it affords privacy and the ability to stretch out and catch a few winks while the train is underway. If you are making a long trip of several days, it is nice to have a bed to sleep in and your own shower as opposed to a reclining seat and having to share the restroom with a bunch of strangers. While the coach class is not as private the sleeping compartments also have their  own brand of deficiencies, for starters they are small, tight, slim, and downright tiny. The sleepers of the old movies slept four people and were spacious enough to accommodate at least six people for drinks and polite conversation. Sleeping compartments of today are built for two people and at least one of them should be young and flexible enough to climb into the top bunk, they should also be skinny as the bed is a tight single. The compartment as a whole is very well laid out with a long couch that opens to a small double bed, a sink, coat closet, shower / toilet, one fold down seat and a fold down table, all crammed into a space about six and a half feet by six and a half feet and six and a half feet high.

     The upper bunk folds up when not in use, when in use be sure the safety straps are secured as you could easily bounce out during the night and by the way, you must like a very firm mattress. I tried the upper bunk on the trip out, I am a spry 75-year-old with a brain that keeps telling my body "go ahead you still do that", after twisting my body like a pretzel. I finally made it into the bunk and got a blanket over me but after being tossed and bounced around for an hour I had to climb down to pee and damn near pulled a hamstring getting down. When I came out of the bathroom I looked at the top bunk and looked at Kay in the bottom bunk and decided she needed the warmth of my body next to her. The bottom bunk when not in use serves as a couch and is comfortable, when folded down for use as a bed another mattress is applied making it quite comfortable. Two people like Kay and myself can sleep on the bottom bunk but before attempting this you need to understand it will add a whole new meaning to the term "togetherness". 

     The shower / toilet is accommodating if you are about my size. I am 6ft 2 inches and weigh about 225lbs, if you are bigger than me then you may need a crowbar to get in and out. Turning around once you are in is damn near impossible and if you drop the soap you will need to step out to retrieve it. The nice thing is that the toilet allows that you can sit down while bathing.

     Not every stranger is interested in a conversation, and you should note that entertainment is limited to looking out the window counting cows, clouds, distant mountain tops and cars on fast moving trains going the other way. There is not always internet service so I advise that you bring your own form of entertainment, sudoku, jigsaw puzzles and a deck of cards should fill the bill. 

     One should be prepared to gain weight. We were told that all trains east of the Mississippi served food prepared by "Chef Mike", in other words the food is the same as a TV dinner warmed in a microwave oven - hence the name "chef Mike". We are also told that all trains west of the Mississippi serve food prepared by a cook on board and meal choices are more appealing to the palate. I can attest to the truthfulness of these statements, for sure the deserts on the Sunset Limited are to die for. I'm afraid to jump on the scales when I get home.

     Not surprising there are people who love train rides and take them quite often, even I wouldn't mind taking a short trip in the coach section but I'm not so sure that I will be interested in another cross-country trip. I will say this has been a good trip, it was both interesting and exciting and I'm glad we did it but if you are prone to bruise easily or are a senior who has a problem with your balance then riding the train is not for you.

Young Love

 

     My first love turned out to be my second grade teacher, she was fresh out of college, blonde and beautiful and had the nicest smile. I think I was her favorite as she often let me operate the phonograph while the other kids slept on their pallets. She was my teacher for only one year then we moved to another school district and my third grade teacher turned out to be Mrs. Webb who by chance had been one of dad's teachers back in the late 1930's. From then until I hit my teenage years girls were more of a pain than anything else.

      About the time I was turning 13 I started noticing girls and it wasn't long till I was falling in love with girls on a frequent basis. I wasn't able to date, didn't have a car or money but none of that stopped me. I went "steady" with several girls in school even giving them my class ring to wear but it was a school day romance, all the same it didn't stop me from falling in love on a regular basis. It was called young love by some puppy love by others, whatever it was I had it.

     In 1960 I turned 13 and went to work part time in a grocery store where my dad was the butcher. It was about this time that we started spending a lot of family time at the lake on Sundays and quite often one or more of dad's friends would join us. There was this one couple George and Nancy that became regulars, they were in their 30's, the guy was a vendor dad dealt with at work, I knew him and got along with him alright but the day he and his wife came out to the lake was a day I fell in love with an older woman. Nancy walked up wearing a two piece bathing suit, she was beautiful, tall and slender with short dark hair and I couldn't keep my eyes off of her, to my 13 year old mind she was a goddess and all of the rest were just girls, of course she didn't pay any mind to me but that didn't stop me from doing stupid things to get her attention.

     As it happened, Nancy worked behind the lunch counter at Woolworths in Donelson Plaza about a half mile from where I worked. At least twice a week I would walk to Woolworths for lunch just to be near her and hope that she would be at the lake that weekend. I was infatuated but of course if she had any idea as to my feelings she never let on, she always greeted me with a smile and never lead me on.

     When summer was over and school started back I didn't see Nancy as often but my love life didn't suffered as there was no shortage of teenage girls to fall in love with. Meanwhile my affair with Nancy was put on the back burner as I only worked weekends through the school year but come summertime I was trekking back to Woolworths and waiting for the weekends. 

     My puppy love with the younger girls and infatuation for Nancy ran their course until I turned 18. Adult responsibilities overtook my teenage lifestyle, Uncle Sam was calling so I joined the Navy and left home for the next four years. It wasn't long after arriving at my first duty station in Florida that I met Linda, what started as young love soon turned into true love that lasted for 47 years.

     I'm into younger women now, Kay and I have been married for six years (Kay is eight years younger than me) and I love her very much. My infatuation with older women seems to have started and ended with Nancy, that young boy's infatuation with a beautiful older woman is a distant memory in an old man's mind as he struggles to hold on to his youth.

Accident Prone

 

     I recently had a slight run in with a table saw that has caused me some pain and agony and will for some time yet. The index finger on my left hand has about eight stitches, a 3/8 " long gouge that couldn't be stitched, the bone was chipped twice and the nail will eventually fall off. I suppose it could have been worse, I could have lost all or part of the finger but thankfully it was a dull blade.

      I have many scars covering my hands, so many that I can no longer remember how most of them got there, the oldest was incurred when I was maybe two years old, they were all due to neglect on my part, self-inflicted because I wasn't watching where I was going or I was in a hurry. It's true, I was usually doing something the wrong way, too fast, not paying attention or doing something I shouldn't have been doing at all, thus is the calamity of most men who wear scars across various parts of their body.

     So, as I sit here rubbing a swollen knuckle, I look at all the scars on my hands and reminisce as to how each of them occurred all those many years ago. The oldest scar is still visible on the back of my right hand, I was barely walking, maybe two years old, my dad's parents took me home with them for a few days and like most young boys I followed my grandfather everywhere. Grandpa went out into the barnyard to feed the animals and I followed, there was a pen where a mother pig was feeding her brood and I reached in to touch one of the cute little pigs, momma pig became upset and bit me. Now I can't say that the details I have just described are accurate because it was a long time ago and I was very young, I do remember sticking my hand in the pen and do remember laying on an exam table in the doctor's office, everything else is a guess.

     I'm sure there were other injuries before the age of six but they must not have been monumental because I can't seem to remember anything of consequence. The next scar occurred when a bunch of us kids were out after dark catching lightning bugs and needed a jar to put them in. Mom always had an empty jar with a screw on lid laying around the kitchen and I went in the house to get one. You couldn't just grab a jar and run; the lid needed holes so the bugs could breathe. I grabbed the lid and looked for something to poke holes in the lid, the best thing was a large butcher knife, so there I was with the lid laying on the kitchen table held firmly in place with my thumb and index finger of my left hand, my right hand is holding the knife as if I were about to stab something which I was doing vigorously to the lid. I probably should have stopped with three or four holes but I didn't stop until I felt the knife poke a hole in my thumb. After that incident there seemed to be no end to the cuts, scrapes and bruises that were caused by hammers, knives, rusty nails and such and those were only the injuries to my hands. From time to time I wonder how I made it past puberty, later I wondered how I made into adulthood and lately I wonder how I managed to reach old age.

     My right hand has had a few injuries like the pig incident or a pocketknife folding closed on my finger or thumb but the left hand has been the recipient of all kinds of the injuries in particular, it is a wonder I still have an index finger on my left hand. The latest run in with a table saw was not the first. In fact there have been several minor instances with that piece of equipment one of which also involved a trip to the emergency room and stitches to the left index finger. I cut my right thumb on a band saw and twice when a nail, from a finish nail gun, hit a hard grain of wood a two inch finish nail wound up in the web between the thumb and index finger of the left hand and another time clean through the index finger and nail. 

     In all the years I have been fishing the worst thing to happen was when I grabbed a flopping fish and was stuck with a fin, catfish fins were the worst as they were sore for days. A few years ago, I was out fishing alone in my boat when I caught a small bass, once out of the water it was flopping and jiggling all over the place and I wound up with a treble hook in my left thumb. There I was with a hook in my thumb that was still attached to the lure which was still attached to the rod on one end and a flopping fish on the other, did I say the pain was excruciating? The hook was buried up past the barb and any attempt to remove the fish or hook shot stabs of pain up my arm. The first thing I was able to do was grab the fish with the remaining fingers of my left hand and hold him still so I could cut the line to the rod with scissors then grab the hook in the fishes' mouth with pliers and carefully shake it loose. After a short break I thought of my options the first being to secure everything in the boat, go back to the ramp and load the boat on the trailer with one hand then drive to a clinic and pay a $100 + to have the hook removed, option two was remove the hook myself. Being the tightwad, I chose option two. When the hook went in it was fast, easy and almost painless so in my mind the best thing to do was just push that sucker on through to expose the barb and cut it - problem solved. Well, it didn't turn out that easy as either the point dulled going through my skin or my skin got thicker on the inside, it hurt like hell but I finally gritted my teeth gave it a good push and the barb was out then I continued fishing for a few more hours. Two years later the same thing happened again with the same problems, it was solved in the same manner but then I solved this problem with the purchase of fish pliers to grab the fish.

     Linda always kept a supply of Band-Aids handy along with rolls of gauze and ace bandages for the occasional more intensive injuries, over 47 years she washed away dirt and blood, applied mercurochrome, ointments and salves then kissed the injury to make it better. Kay being ever proactive has continued to maintain the stash of medical supplies I brought to our marriage and although somewhat skittish at the sight of blood she has become quite adept at applying Band-Aids and driving me to the emergency room if needed. 

     So here I am two months later, my latest injury from the table saw is looking good. The stitches are gone, the nail is off and starting to grow back but the finger has a slight curve to the right and won't lay flat. It's still swollen and stiff but I have been back in the shop working with the saws and other tools. I can still operate a fishing reel which is important. It's still going to be a while, maybe months, before all is well again, I may not be able to bend it as far as I used to but there are three more fingers to take up the slack.

     There are spots of blood on the shop floor to remind me to be careful and Kay has bought me a new device to hopefully keep my fingers out of harms way. But let's be realistic, this latest "accident" was not my first rodeo and regrettably it probably won't be my last I can only hope it's the worst and the last one for some time to come.

     

     

     

The Counterfeiter

 

     After the war Dad worked at several jobs before he found his calling. He worked on the ore ships that sailed the Great Lakes until Mom made him come home. Once he was back home he drove a cab in Gallatin and at some point he became an apprentice butcher. Being a butcher turned out to be his calling and he became very good at the trade so much so that as the years passed he developed a reputation and was in demand. He trained under several older butchers and worked for a local chain called Logans.

     By the late 1950's Dad was the butcher / meat manager for a small independently owned  grocery store called C&S Foods, the store was located in an older group of buildings along Lebanon Rd. in Donelson. I don't know how old the building was but it was small with wooden floors, the stock room and butcher shop were located in the basement and a conveyor was used to get products upstairs. The store was part of a long group of store fronts connected by common walls. 

     All of the stores had basements but not all of them utilized them for product storage so there were businesses located in a couple of the basements that were accessible from the rear. As best I remember there was a repair shop of some sort and a print shop. The print shop produced fliers / handbills and odd sized signage for local businesses. Dad would see the workers now and again when off loading trucks but he didn't know them enough to call them friends, they sort of kept to themselves. 

     One day there was quite a commotion at the print shop, police cars were every where along with a few unmarked cars which turned out to be from the FBI. The print shop workers were handcuffed and put in the back seats of the patrol cars and a truck was being loaded up with boxes from the shop. Dad found out later that the print shop had been raided because they were printing counterfeit money.

     I wasn't a teenager yet but I heard Dad tell this story several times, he always ended it with "there I was working a hard forty hours a week for a few dollars and these guys were right next door printing two months salary with every turn of the handle". I sometimes wondered if maybe he wasn't just a bit jealous.