My Buddy

     More Letters From Paradise
          My Old Buddy

His name is George Hennig, and we first met in 1965. We were both teachers working in  two separate school districts, only five miles apart. Teachers had been granted the right by the Michigan Legislature, to bargain for salaries. Teachers all across the state joined the Michigan Education Association. George was Monroe County President, and I was president of my school.

George had been in the Airborne 508, part of the 82nd Division. And I had been in the Navy. We found we had a lot in common: sailing,fishing,hunting,and beer.

Teaching salaries were miserably low. I was making $4500 dollars, with no benefits at all. George wasn't making much more. He is a journeyman carpenter, and worked his butt off roofing houses during the summer. I became Justice of the Peace, and worked for the State inspecting bees. The average salary in the county was $7,000 a year. Teachers wanted a $7,000 starting salary. When the schools in both of our districts failed to meet this figure, George resigned, and so did I. He found a job in another district near Detroit's Metro Airport. At his urging I followed after him. We stayed in that district until our retirement.

Those years were not all tea and roses. We went six years without a contract. Picketing,letters to the editor had no effect.There were problems too in neighboring school districts. Teachers in one district  refused to teach without a contract. The judge  ordered teachers to report to work, or go to jail. Some of the male teachers refused to do so, and were photographed, finger printed, and were sent to jail. They now had a record as a felon. When the dust died down, the returning teachers were reassigned to different buildings and assignments.
In our school district another teacher and I were suspended. But that is another story.

This story is supposed to be about George, but so much of our friendship was all bound up in those difficult years of labor strife. Let me turn now to better affairs.

With a better and brighter financial future, he was able to buy a sailboat. It was a far cry from his little seven foot rowboat. I also bought a smaller sailboat.

We sailed on the Western end of Lake Erie. The lake is the shallowest of the Great Lakes, and also the most mean for sailing. The weather can change suddenly. Our end of the lake contains a few islands. It was there that Commodore Perry defeated the British fleet in the War of 1812. The American ships were built right there. Fantastic effort. Hell of a story.

We had a friend Ron Martin, who owned an old wooden Trojan power boat. We went to South Bass Island to a place called Put-in-Bay. This place is famous for sailers to go and raise hell. I brought along an electric roaster,turkey, stuffing, and potatoes which were mashed with a beer bottle. The dockside dinner that summer is a great memory for both of us.

I should also write about our fishing together. First in his little wood rowboat, and later in his big boat. Once we caught 30 pounds of lake perch from the little boat, in really rough seas. We took most all of the fish we ever caught to Matthews Bait shop, where women standing in rubber boots, with rubber aprons, cut fillets for ten cents a pound!

Sometimes while fishing for perch, we would each hold two fishing rods with a spreader having two hooks. And often caught a fish on each of the four hooks.  

I remember one time while George and I were hunting rabbits, we came across a cache of antique bottles. While we were digging in the pile of bottles, George said suddenly,"Look there goes a rabbit!" We didn't get any rabbits that day, as we filled the pocket of our hunting coats with antique bottles.

Life changed for George when his wife Peggy left him, and all his children moved away, leaving an empty house. Sometime he and I would sit at the kitchen table and play our  dulcimers. This is a folk instrument often shaped like a violin, and is played by strumming the strings. Its origin is in the hills of Appalachia. There is also a dulcimer played with small hammers.

George loves to sing, and for many years he sang barbershop music. He even had his own quartet. And as we rode together to school, he would often break into song.

And speaking about riding together to school, we took turns driving our cars, and never were involved in an accident. One time we skidded into a snow bank, and another time the left front wheel of my pickup truck fell off.

 In the spring we would take the back roads with a six pack and look for, and find wild  asparagus. on our way home.

George and Lou have been together some 31 years. And they purchased a mobile home in Florida, where they would live to escape cold Michigan winters. They did not travel to Florida this past winter due to health problems. And as I write this, I will be eighty in August, and George is 89. George remarked when I last saw him, "Who would have thought that we would have lived this long?"

        Aloha
        Grant

Kosher Kilt

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             Kosher Kilt

Just when I think that I have heard it all, there is this great story coming out of Scotland. This is the place where men wear kilts, eat haggis, and make and drink scotch whiskey.

Scots are divided into clans, each one with a distinctive tartan plaid color. They vary in design and color and are very beautiful. Woven of wool, and worn by men around the waist and hanging to the knees. It's best not to ask a Scot what he is wearing under his kilt.

All of the above information is easily found. But I have discovered something new concerning Scottish kilts. There is a Jewish rabbi who was born in Scotland, and recently caused a Jewish kilt to be manufactured. According to Jewish law the kilt had to be made of linen, not wool, as all the others are. The colors are blue and white, the colors of the flag of Israel, and the Star of David woven into the fabric.

This is an excellent example of how the Jewish people have managed to survive for a couple of thousand years. They adapted to the country where they lived, but managed to retain their identity and religion.

If you happen to have any Scottish ancestry, this story should tickle you silly. It does for me. My clan is MacDonald of Glencoe. But if you don't happen to be Scottish, and are Irish instead, take heart, for Irish are only Scots who learned how to swim.  

        Aloha
        Grant

Arkansas Farmer

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           Arkansas Farmer

"My dad never took a dog to the vet." "Why? I asked." "He could always get another one." "And when they were sick, he would hit them in the head with a ball peen hammer." "He couldn't stand to see them suffer." "Told us kids he would use the hammer on us if we didn't behave."

"Saw him beat up a man who was once abusing a horse." "And another time he saw a black man beating his wife, and knocking her to the ground." "He beat him up too, and helped the woman up from the the ground." "He was still beating people up into his late sixties."

This tough Arkansas farmer who only went to the second grade in school, built a school for children of tomato cannery workers. The nearest school was far away, and would require the children to stay at school. The canning factory put four tomates in each can. They were called "Kiser Tomatoes," and were developed by this tough Arkansas farmer. It was a win-win situation. The children went to school for part of the year, the rest of the time they could be picking tomatoes.

        Aloha
        Grant

Fourth Industrial Revolution

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      Fourth Industrial Revolution

Robots are here, performing tasks which once were done by people. A prime example is the use of robots in the manufacturing of automobiles on the assembly line. The White House economic forecast, predicts that occupations that pay less than $20 per hour are likely to be automated into obsolescence. The first ones to be hardest hit are blue-collar workers and the poor.

Corporations and investors are spending billions-$8.5 last year, on artificial intelligence and robots. Why? Simple answer is that robots need no health plan or pensions. And they can be worked for as long as desired. A McKinsey Company forecast stated that 45 percent of workplace activities today could be done by robots. Some professors argue that there will be 50 percent unemployment in thirty years. What is to be done with these people?

The 2016 World Economic Forum calculated technology will likely destroy 7.1 million jobs world-wide by 2020. And only 2.1 million replaced. What is to be done with all the people without employment? And you thought that we only had climate change to worry about. Technology comes with strings attached.

         Aloha
         Grant

Empty

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                Empty

It haunts me still, after watching a BBC film showing the visit by a Canadian photographer to an empty Jewish school in Slovakia.

The school was abandoned by order of the Nazis. And the schoolroom is shown as it was when the students left it in 1942. No one  ever returned.

Bookshelves filled with decaying books. Curling pages covered with Hebrew print, and hanging from the ceiling a single clear lightbulb. Desks covered with dust and neglect.

Why, you may ask was this school building  abandoned and ignored? The answer is simple. This was a Jewish school. There was nothing there to loot. But they were wrong. There was treasure to be found on the shelves of decaying books. The heritage and beauty of a culture the Nazis could not destroy.

      Aloha
      Grant

Paul

                  Paul
Teena and I first met Paul when we moved into 1405, and Paul lived next door in 1406. Pete has known Paul the longest. And I will  ask Pete to give us all the details of their long friendship. I think of them as Peter and Paul the Apostles in the Bible. But they  were "Apostles of Fun."

Paul, knowing my interest in history, took me to Wickham Field and pointed out the pock-marked bullet holes on buildings made by the Japanese attack.

One time we went to Ford Island, and looked around, including the red and white rusting control tower.

We would often go to the Coast Guard Station on Sand Island. It was there that Paul could buy his supply of wine at a cheaper price. There is a bar there where we would have lunch. We went so  often, that the bar maid came to know us well.

But the most interesting and memorable trip  to Sand Island was when Paul and I visited building 419. This large building was where bodies of U.S. soldiers and marines were returned from the war in Vietnam. In the building there was a tiny museum and military surplus store. The place was full of ghosts and termites. I wrote more about it in my blog.

Paul and I would take the bus to Chinatown, where we poked around the shops and ate dried fish, and char sui cut from slabs of red colored pork in a store window. I talked Paul into having a chop made for his large Chinese painting. A chop is like a signature.It is hand-carved. So Paul had a chop carved (like a seal with red ink.) It cost him $95 bucks.He added his chop to the painting. You can see that there were three previous owners.

Paul was a long-time nudist. He would attend nudist parties at the home of a woman named Amber. I remember one time when all those nudists rented a catamaran, and when they passed the outer body,and threw off all their clothes. Two of Paul's female friends are nudists.

When Paul's first wife died, he married a much younger woman named Donna. They had fifteen wonderful years together. A story about the two of them is just great. They were on a cruise around Greece, and one snooty woman noticed the difference in their ages. And she asked "Why did you come to get married?" Donna replied, "Because we had to."

Pete has a great story of the three of them traveling together in Europe. So as I know so little about it, let's let Pete tell the story.

Donna became very sick, and at last Hospice brought a bed for her. I was with Paul when she died. I said a few words, and Paul got out two bottles of champagne. We each drank a bottle while the hospice nurse flushed the drugs down the toilet. We asked her to join us, but she declined.

Paul rented two large canoes down in front of Dukes. The two canoes held friends of Paul. I think that Pete was in the one with me. A mile from shore, Donna's ashes were put into the sea, and I said a few words.

Returning to the Waipuna, Paul held a party for Donna. He was fond of this female singer who played guitar and sang "Oh Donna, My Donna." Pupu's and drinks were served. At least thirty people were all crammed together in his apartment.  

Following Donna's death there are five female friends of Paul. The first one is Winnie, a Dutch nudist and painter, from Florida.  She painted miniatures, sometimes with an eyelash. Teena and I have some of her paintings. The large black painted four masted sailing ship you see at the harbor was sailed by her father. She is the one who taught us how to pronounce Gouda cheese. It's really" how-duh."

And, there is Grace. A Chinese woman who lives in Chinatown. He really liked her. She had a hard life, her family owned a laundry. He took her to a nudist party at Amber's house. She wasn't cut out to be a nudist.

Next on the list of Paul's women friends is Pat, a fellow nudist, who had an apartment in Discovery Bay. She liked to drink Amaretto. Paul bought a case of Amaretto at the Coast Guard store. The clerks were greatly surprised.  As Pat's health declined, she decided to return to the mainland. Teena and I went with her to Sand Island, and arranged the shipment of her car.

Then we come to a woman we all know. Noelle, the French lady. She was very fond of Paul.

The last of the five is Helen. She and Paul had known each other for fifty years, living as neighbors with different mates. Helen's husband was gone and so was Donna. The two began spending time back and forth between California and Hawaii. At last Paul decided he would move to California for good. The two of them managed to have five years together. Love and companionship.

We all remember Paul's generosity. Need any money? Need to use his car? All this and much more. It is too bad that none of the tribe took any pictures of his marajuana plants on his lanai. I remember his fondness for cooking sausage and sauerkraut. Paul delighted in what he called "stirring the pot," when he would say some outrageous statement, and then when a person reacted, he would laugh like hell. One other thing is that he often bragged how he had the first hot tub in Santa Barbara.

Everyone here has something to remember about Paul. It was Paul who introduced the tribe to Paisano, our favorite beverage. You may recall the small white hat he wore to the exercise class at Fort DeRussy. I often made fun of his hat but he said it covered his ears.

Someone once wrote that a person was never really dead until they were forgotten. Paul's memory will remain alive in our memories.
 
           End

 

Bong Bong

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             Bong Bong

Ah Spring! The daffodils and tulips are up.  Cold winter is left behind. And the thoughts of many people turn to America's favorite sport-baseball!

Fans clutching tickets in hand, climb stairs and look for their seats. And the smells of hotdogs and peanuts fill the air. Over-priced cups of beer are offered for sale.

And out on the field balls are whipped around the infield, and the pitcher and catcher are tossing the ball back and forth. Then it is time to stand for our nation's National Anthem. The crowd gets settled into their seats and eagerly await the first pitch.

The pitcher winds up, the ball tries to miss the swinging bat, but it strikes the bat with a mighty bong, and then sails out into center field. Hey wait a minute, what's this? Bong! instead of the sharp crack of the bat as it strikes the ball.

Just whose bright idea was this? Aluminum lobby in Congress? Lawyers certainly. "Lady your kid will be much safer with this bat.""Your athletic department will not have to replace bats as often." Probably insurance companies too. "There won't be any more broken bats."

Do you remember when you were a kid at bat,  and you always turned the burned-in trademark up? Or even on the back. But never on the trademark for fear that the bat might break. It would't have, but that's what we thought.

Anyway, you can't turn back the clock. My grandfather turned an ash bat on his lathe for me, and it lasted forever. Thank heavens that the major leagues never went the way of the metal bat. I always look forward to the crack of the bat, never bong.

       Aloha
       Grant