Outsmarted by a Phone

About eight years ago as a daylight savings time change approached,  a fellow Forest Service retiree told me of his tactic to remove any doubts about which way to reset his clocks. He bought two cheapo watches--one set on standard time, the other on daylight savings time. He merely switched them on change days and used his wristwatch as a guide to reset all other timing devices in his household.

I already owned a cheap wristwatch. I found a duplicate at Walmart on sale for $5.00 (sometimes that place is worth visiting). Ever since, I have kept one on standby in a dresser drawer until it was

So they're two minutes off. Who cares now that they're obsolete?

restored to service when we gained or lost an hour moving from standard to daylight time, or vice versa.

The switcheroo worked equally well moving between eastern time at our Michigan home and central time in often-visited Wisconsin. My son and I took that trip this summer. I decided to brag a little and made a show of trading watches as we were about half way across Lake Michigan on a ferry.  Lee said, "Oh, but time changes aren't any problem."

"How so?" I asked.

"My smart phone automatically makes the adjustment. I just tap the time ap."

Time and technology once again have marched on. One of my favorite schemes has been rendered obsolete.  Anybody want to buy two watches used only about half a year each throughout their lifetimes?

It's That Time Again

'Tis the season when footballs and banners of avid team followers fill the air.

Some who pass our home wonder why my Packers flag flies only intermittently. That's because ancient family tradition dictates the flag is unfurled only after a victory. The first game of the season is tonight. At dawn's early light tomorrow my flag may, or may not, be there.

At the moment, a very few leaves in our Lake Doster area have begun to turn color. Mom Nature is more consistent than the Packers--all the  leaves will change and fall to the ground in a few weeks. You can depend on it.

Absence Makes the Heart . . .

The geezer never has been much of a fan of poetry, and a few attempts to write in that format have ended in dismal failure. Over the past year of so, however, I've been delighted almost daily by the creations of Marc Leavitt, who posts his work at www.marcleavitt.blogspot.com

Marc occasionally puts together a lengthy work. I enjoy those, but prefer his briefer offerings. He has a gift for conveying a big message in a little poem.

My beautiful wife Sandy has been away for several weeks visiting friends and relatives in Wisconsin. These trips have been an annual event for a long time. Lake Michigan waters permitting, she'll be back in our Michigan home in two days, just in time to celebrate our 53rd wedding anniversary. 

Inspired by Mr. Leavitt and the impending occasion and despite my numerous previous failures, I've decided to go for it. I hereby publish my first (and perhaps only) poem:

            Your trip was barely under way

            When life here ceased to be OK

            How many times must I learn

            When you are gone

            I soon yearn for your return

"Don't Do Stupid" Ain't Stupid

The usual chorus of President Obama detractors got a boost from an unusual source recently. Fellow Democratic Party leader and presidential candidate in waiting, Hillary Rodham Clinton, attacked Mr. Obama's foreign policy on the grounds it is a non-policy.

The president's policy earlier got a strange name. Staffers leaked the news that inner circles have taken to defining it as, "Don't do stupid shit." For the more sensitive masses, the policy is being redefined as, "Don't do stupid stuff."

Ms. Clinton said "Don't do stupid" is not an organizing principle, and great nations need organizing principles worthy of their leadership role. I beg to differ. Ms. Clinton, in my opinion, did an acceptable job as secretary of state, but she got this one wrong.

If you win, please don't do stupid stuff, Ms. Clinton (Wikipedia)

It's about time a U.S. president decided to set aside lofty rhetoric smacking of egotistical American "exceptionalism" and adopted a realistic foreign policy standard. Remember how we fought  to "Make the world safe for democracy" and not may years later to establish the "Four Freedoms" on the planet? How are those types of policy statements working for us lately?  

We could make "Don't do stupid" prettier, of course. Something like, "Carefully analyze every foreign conflict and intervene only when it is clearly in our national interest" says the same thing, and obviously states what President Obama tries to do, but certainly there's nothing catchy about it. In this case, I like the negative "don't do" better than the positive "do." For one thing, it's more fun.

Mr. Obama, with Ms. Clinton as a top foreign policy advisor, has made some boo boos, as all presidents have. A recent one was prematurely declaring, "It's time for Assad to go." He forgot that Goldilocks could be leading Syria and it would have little effect on American interests. He also forgot that displacing strong dictators in the Muslim world often creates chaos. Is that part of the world more tranquil now than it was when Saddam ruled Iraq with an iron fist? Hardly. How's the serenity index looking in Libya nowadays?

We did what was in our interest in Syria. With Russian cooperation and good work by our more usual allies Assad's weapons of mass destruction--lethal poison gases--a true threat to the world and thus us, have been destroyed. We finally did what was in our interest in Iraq--we got out. We're back now in a limited way, a far cry from the days when we invaded the place with massive force over a pretext. 

Soon we'll be out of Afghanistan, leaving the kids to fight it out in their sandbox as they always have. In a strange turn of events, Assad may become part of a new coalition including the U.S. to help stabilize the Middle East. Things might actually work out well for a change now that the horrifically bad guys have come out of their closets and staked out some territory where the good people can shoot and bomb the crap out of them.

"Don't do stupid stuff" has saved a lot of American lives, and quite a bit of cash we can use to better advantage elsewhere. The policy isn't a return to isolationism. It's simply a venture into reality.

Golf for the Footloose

Our Lake Doster Golf Course has come up with a new ploy to increase play. Every Sunday afternoon, half the layout is available for a different kind of game. Players need only bring a soccer ball and their feet. They kick their ball around the course much as normal golfers move their small ball around with clubs.

We've lived in homes adjacent to fairways for 35 years, a long time to observe golfers in action. A few of them should be great Footgolf players. They've had lots of practice kicking their ball into an improved position when they thought no one was watching.

Beautiful wife Sandy for several years got special chuckles observing an older man who played the course by himself very early in the morning. He would look around to ensure he was alone, and then drop a ball down the inside of his pants leg into a good spot for his next shot. If it wasn't just right, he improved the lie with a foot nudge or two.

Of course, Footgolf hadn't been invented when the old duffer entertained Sandy by practicing cheating. He would have to wear extremely baggy trousers to be able to drop a soccer ball down one leg. But he might be a champion foot nudger.

Old Beer Drinkers Just Fade . . .

Being able to "hold your beer" in Wisconsin, land of many breweries, when I was a teenager was a badge of honor. That meant you could down quite a few lagers, the only beer readily available in most places, and act as though you were cold sober.

"Quite a few" was a bunch when an eight-ounce glass from the tap cost a dime. A dollar financed a fairly long night out at a beer bar. The legal drinking age was 18 back then, but it wasn't difficult to find bar owners who weren't at all concerned about winking at a fake draft card altered to prove a 15- or 16-year-old was really 18 or 19. Sometimes, they just took your word for it. Pete Zemlis served me my first beer at his Half Moon Lodge near Tomahawk, Wisconsin, when I was 14.

Practice may well make perfect in the beer guzzling world. By the time my real 18th birthday came around, I could walk a straight line after downing seven or eight short (eight ounce) beers. Later, I held my own at several bars during Mexican vacations at a level that would have made Jimmy Buffett proud.

I took to drinking dark ales, which had much more robust taste than the pale lagers. Ales also had slightly higher alcohol contents. I could no longer drain as many glasses without major consequences, but I still liked to think I was pretty good at "holding my ale."

Along with other things that faded with advanced age, my beer and ale capacity declined considerably. I retreated from dark ales back to light lagers. Even then, two beers became my limit. Perhaps that was good, because now I get full well before I get loaded.

 

Three Two Hearteds are two too many for me!

Nevertheless, there is room for adventure at any age. I began to take notice of "Two Hearted Ale," an India Pale Ale produced by Bell Brewery, a local brewer in our area. A newspaper article pointed out that the Beer Advocate Society gave Two Hearted a 95 rating, which translates to "world class." Another rating agency called it "outstanding." Yet another group concerned with such things announced Two Hearted Ale was the best beer in the world. After seeing that claim, I just had to try the stuff.

About then, the brewer announced that Two Hearted was being made available in cans for the first time. I found a four-pack, just enough for a trial drink or two, at the local supermarket. My son was coming over for a meal, and I thought two cans for him and two for me would be just right.

Each can held 16 ounces, four more than the usual amount. The ale tasted great, but I  barely made it through one can. A check of the label showed Two Hearted had an alcohol content of 7 percent. No wonder all those raters gave it such outrageously high marks; they probably quaffed one small glass and experienced what happens late at night to many tavern patrons when all the girls suddenly are beautiful.

Incidentally, the ale is named after the Two Hearted River in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. That probably is of little or no significance, but it's the kind of thing one might ponder after downing a couple.

Sign Writers Wanted?

If only one stone is loose, wouldn't it make more sense to pick it up rather than putting up a sign?

This sort of thing, however, does point out a possible opportunity.With a continuing tight job market for English majors and journalists, the  unemployed might do well to check with organizations such as the Michigan Department of Transportation. They might consider upgrading their writing staffs. 

Leaping the Lake to Lambeau

The SS Badger leaving Ludington harbor. (photo from the ship's web page)

Our son Lee and I needed a road trip from our Michigan homes to Wisconsin.

Lee had business to do near Madison with a gallery displaying some of his stained glass art. I had a bucket list item to attend to--a visit to Green Bay to get a look at Lambeau Field after several hundred million dollars in renovations and expansions since I last was there to see a Packers game about 40 years ago. We decided it would be fun to go the old fashioned way, with a 60-mile voyage across Lake Michigan aboard the SS Badger.

A "road trip" on a boat?  Among other SS Badger trivia is the fact that it officially is part of U.S. Highway 10, linking the eastern and western sections of the route. We were amused by the highway sign displayed prominently on the ship, and thought it was a joke--a bit of research proved it wasn't. Another thing sets the Badger apart from other ferries; it is the only vessel registered as a historical site by two states.

 

We used a photo op to give Lee a souvenir.

The Badger is the last large coal-burning steamship in the United States, where many once sailed the Great Lakes and other waterways. It and a sister ship, the SS Spartan, were built in 1952 in a Wisconsin shipyard and launched the next year.

Of course, University of Wisconsin sports teams are "Badgers," so perhaps the sister ship was named just to even things up in cross-lake traffic. "Spartans" represent Michigan State University in athletics. The SS Spartan was retired from service in 1979 and now rests in the harbor at Ludington, Michigan, near the dock used by the Badger, serving only to supply replacement parts for its sister ship. Michigan comes out on top in daily operations, however. The Badger runs on eastern time; Wisconsin is in the central time zone. Michigan also has the upper hand financially, the state collects the sales tax on all tickets.

The Badger, built with a reinforced hull, originally served as an ice breaker as well as a commercial vessel. It traveled between Wisconsin and Michigan year round. It is a big ship. An important use for many years was transporting railroad cars between the two states. We saw the railroad tracks imbedded in the floor of the hold where now only motor vehicles are carried. The Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad owned the ship for many years.

The need for railroad car transfers gradually declined, and in 1983 railroad interests sold the Badger. It was rebuilt and remodeled for service with an emphasis on carrying autos and passengers. However, it still has commercial uses. A huge tanker truck was driven into the hold shortly after our mid-sized sedan went aboard. A crew member said an important business for the ship is transporting oversized trucks carrying blades for giant windmills that generate electricity in new developments.

The Badger can carry 600 passengers and up to 180 vehicles. Nowadays, it runs from May 16 to Oct. 26. It travels slowly. The 60-mile trip from Ludington to Manitowoc, Wisconsin, takes about 4 hours. But driving between those cities via the northern route that crosses the Mackinac Bridge takes about 8 hours. Taking a southern route through Chicago would keep you on the road about 7 hours, but that trip can be much longer during rush hours.

 

The Badger can carry big rigs, such as the Budweiser Clydesdales' truck.

Unless one has a fascination for gazing at unbroken stretches of sky and water, a cross-lake journey can be dull. Badger management tries to make up for this with activities similar to those offered on a grander scale by ocean liners. Food and drink is available in a large cafeteria and a smaller lounge that has a well-stocked bar. A museum room has exhibits tracing the ship's history in detail. A few of the 50 to 60 crew members are hired as entertainers. A bingo game was in progress in one large area throughout most of our trip. Children were being entertained with a variety of games.

Ours was Lee's first voyage on the Badger, and my second. We had a ball exploring the old ship and agreed running our road trip over the waves was a good idea.

The conclusion of the trip was to be another lake crossing, which would be a first for both of us. We planned our return to Michigan via the Lake Express, a much newer ferry than the Badger that sails from Milwaukee to Muskegon and beats the older ship's travel time by about an hour and a half. Beautiful wife Sandy has traveled on the Express many times, and highly recommended it.

The phone call came when we were about five miles from the Milwaukee harbor. "We're sorry, but we have high winds and waves on the lake, and passengers wouldn't be comfortable. Our remaining trip today is cancelled."

Oh yes, several of the various descriptions of the SS Badger claim because of its size and design it seldom cancels a trip due to bad weather. We thought about that several times as we sat motionless on Chicago expressways or in countless construction zones in Indiana.

I phoned the Badger office today to check. "Did you folks cancel any of your trips on Wednesday?"

"Oh, no. We made all crossings on schedule."

Apparently, the grand old lady of The Great Lakes still has some good sailing in her and even can outdo a younger upstart sometimes.

Winging It Safely

               Oh, they sailed out from England and were not far from shore

               When the rich refused to associate with the poor.

               So they put them down below where they'd be the first to go.

               It was sad when the great ship went down.

                          --from a version of "The Titanic"

Oh yes, the guys with the big bucks have long known how to place themselves in the safest possible positions. And they sometimes did it by making those less fortunate more susceptible to disaster. It therefore is strange that the moneyed classes could have gotten it so wrong when modern airliners became the travel vehicles of choice.

Many years ago, I heard mutterings about relative safety in airliner seating, so the idea is nothing new. The smokers exiled to the rear of the plane sometimes joked about it with observations such as, "The smoke may be doing us in, but if we crash we're in the catbird seats."

 

Be smart, move back

Safety and seating locations, however, never became much of an issue. But now that could change. The question popped up in a latest issue of AARP The Magazine. The AARP publication has huge readership, so we may assume the word will get around, and be relayed to those who can afford to travel in style. Here's the item:

"In 2007, Popular Mechanics published an analysis of 36 years worth of airline seating charts and 20 accidents, back to 1971. The numbers were decisive. Passengers sitting behind the wings had a 69 percent survival rate in an accident. Folks sitting over or in front of the wings had a 56 percent rate (first class was lowest, at 49 percent.)"

Wealthy folks fully understand 20 per cent differences. How long do you think it will be before first class is relocated to the tail sections of planes?

A Blogday Anniversary

Today is the eighth anniversary of this blog. No national, or local, celebrations were held.

Some fairly accurate calculations indicate more than 400 little stories have been posted since July 11, 2006. Some of them have been read. Some very nice people have been met in cyberspace. Those are good enough reasons to continue.

You Called Me, What?

I thought oldsters were overreacting when they moaned about the way many of today's younger adults address their elders. That was before a recent trip to my credit union.

I may be cute, but I'm not your honey

A clerk I had never met called me "Honey," "Dearie," and "Hon" all in the same brief conversation. I was appalled and amazed, but not amused. In a flash I came to understand the feelings of my fellow fully mature adults who launch rants about having these labels hung on them by strangers. Waitresses seem to be the principal offenders, perhaps mistakenly believing the unjustified familiarity will result in bigger tips. If they think that, they are wrong.

It should not be difficult for juniors to use more respectful tried and true salutations when speaking to older people. "Ma'am" seems acceptable for older women. I feel good about a "Sir" applied to my geezerly presence. A snappy salute also would be nice, but that would be overkill and is not recommended.

While waiting for respect to return to polite discourse, which may be a long wait, I'm planning a counterattack. However, so far it's a tough decision whether to respond to unwanted terms of endearment with "Darling" or with "Sweetheart."

One That Got Far Away

We didn't have a separate outdoor page when I was sports editor of the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune, but we had a lot of readers who were dedicated hunters and fishermen.  We tried to work in as many individual outdoors stories and photos as we could.

Early one afternoon a woman phoned to tell me about a big walleye her husband had caught.  It wasn't a record, but it was darn close.  She wondered if we could get a photo of the fish because her husband's birthday was two days away and a story in the paper would be a nice surprise.  I thought it would be an interesting feature item.

Our full-time photographer was busy.  He loaned me an old Speed Graphic, the kind of press camera now seen only in very old movies.  I'd learned to work one in a University of Wisconsin photography course, but had not used one of the ungainly boxes for nearly ten years. Nevertheless, it was the only camera available to me at the moment.

I went to the lady's house. We got the fish out of her freezer and I lined up a nice shot with one of the kids holding it.  I told the lady I couldn't say which day it would appear in the paper, because I never knew in advance how much space would be available.  She said that was OK.

Our photographer developed all film and made all the prints we used. Space for the fish scene was available two days later. I was just penciling a spot for it into a page layout when the photographer appeared with a blank negative.  I had goofed somehow; there was no big fish image.

No problem, I thought.  I phoned the lady that afternoon, explained the situation, and asked when we could schedule a reshoot.  She started crying.  "We can't do it over," she sobbed.  "We had Tom's birthday party last night, and I served the fish for dinner."

     (First published in 2008 in "Days With The Dads; Recollections of a Small-Time Journalist.")

Life Lesson 2

My father played cards very well at bridge, skat (a game of German origin), and poker tables. He won a lot more than he lost. Dad seldom gave me advice, but he did caution me about poker several times:

"If you walk into a strange place and are invited to join the poker game, don't. At least two people at the table are smarter than you."

These people are not interested in your financial health

                             

Sandy, Get My Gun!

No need to be a red-necked Texan to join the fun available by signing on with one of the groups of obnoxious exhibitionists toting weapons around to prove they have a right to terrorize the general public.

Here near our peaceful neighborhood, we have remnants of the infamous "Michigan Militia" and any number of misguided Rambos who think the nation's constitution made them exempt from sensible gun control when it provided a right to bear arms linked to a well-regulated militia. "Well regulated" is about as far from describing members of the Michigan Militia and their clones as a term can get.

Lately, the loonies have made the news big time in these parts. They haven't appeared on our doorstep yet, but they've shown up twice recently in nearby Kalamazoo.

In the first incident, concerned citizens called police because a man who appeared to be intoxicated was walking down the city street near a laundromat shifting a rifle from shoulder to shoulder. When officers approached him with guns drawn, the man yelled profanities at them while "acting irrationally," according to a police lieutenant at the scene.

The police talked the man into surrendering the weapon. He was not charged with a crime and the rifle was returned to him the next day, because the police could not determine precisely that he was "brandishing" the weapon, a term used, but not defined, in the state's open carry law.

The rifle bearer was not an African-American nor a Muslim. Had he been, he'd probably still be gracing a cell in one of our more inhospitable institutions while the legal technicalities were being debated.

Several days ago, the Kalamazoo Public Library presented a special reading program for little children in the library parking lot. A man showed up with a pistol in a holster attached to his belt. Members of the library staff called police as they had been told to do. The gunslinger stated he had

Something our libraries don't need

a right to carry his pistol and was there to protect his three-year-old daughter. The library people did not challenge his right, but an administrator several times asked him to depart.

When the man's wife asked him to leave, he finally agreed to go. He was across the street when the police arrived, and he returned to convince them of his right to open carry. The police didn't need any convincing. They knew the law allowed him to carry. So did Gail Madzier, head of the Michigan Library Association. Madzier made one of the more sensible statements regarding the incident: "But just because something is legal doesn't mean it's the best idea."

Rob Harris, spokesman for Michigan Open Carry, Inc., made one of the least sensible statements. When told the gunman's presence made the children and library staff people uncomfortable, he said, "Unfortunately for them, nothing in the law says they have the right to be comfortable."

The police told library staffers to continue to call them whenever anyone with a firearm showed up. What other advice could they give? No one has yet devised a way to tell a "good guy" civilian carrying a weapon from a "bad guy" civilian carrying one.

We taxpayers, while endorsing the "call the cops" policy to err on the side of safety, wonder a bit if the exhibitionists care at all about the added policing expense they are creating, or even how forcing public safety officers to respond to what often will be false alarms weakens their ability to protect us from serious criminals.

Our son is on the board of trustees of Ransom District Library, which serves patrons in several communities in our area. The trustees were forced to cancel their "no guns in the library" policy when anti-control advocates threatened legal action while pointing out that the ban violated Michigan laws allowing concealed and open carrying of weapons in many places.

The law also establishes gun-free zones, which include day care centers, school buildings (without a concealed carry permit), sports arenas, taverns, casinos, and most buildings operated by religious organizations. Somehow, libraries were left off the list. That concerns library staff and policy makers across Michigan.

There is a movement afoot to pressure legislators into defining public libraries as gun-free places. With the conservative nature of Michigan government, however, it may be a long time before that sort of legislation passes, if ever.

Our son says his sense is that there is no sentiment among the library trustees or staff members to allow firearms in the building, although some express sensible gun rights beliefs. Despite the general feeling that guns and the library are not a good mix, there is no legal way to ban weapon carriers.

But hold on, pardners--the strange law that allows guns in Michigan libraries may be balanced by another strange law that could scare weapons carriers away, just as anti-control people claim they frighten criminals by carrying guns indiscriminately.

Michigan has a "hold your ground" law similar to the Florida statute applied to exonerate an adult who killed a teenager by claiming the kid posed a threat to the shooter. Our law says you do not have to attempt to flee if you or those you are caring for feel seriously threatened by another person or persons. You can confront interlopers and shoot to kill in your defense if you believe it is justified.

Therefore, nothing appears to prevent geezers like me who have working knowledge of how weapons operate from becoming defenders of the library. We could get concealed carry permits and share shifts at Ransom with our pistols close at hand but hidden. If anyone frightened us or any library patron by approaching with a firearm in plain sight, we could feel free to respond with a few bullets placed to do them maximum damage.

It should be easy to recruit geezers with reputations as solid citizens to spend a little time protecting children and other patrons of public libraries. What court would convict them of anything after they merely were standing their ground when they gunned down a younger armed malcontent who had little standing in the community?

Of course, I would never encourage anyone to resort to such violent activity. But, some concerned geezers may also have looked into the pertinent laws and already formed  "library anti-militias." Think about that, open carry exhibitionists. Does the prospect of being greeted by a barrage of bullets make you shake a little in your jackboots? Well, good. Stay out of our libraries, they should be peaceful places.

Starting Anew

After observing life for about three-quarters of a century, the geezer has decided that well-reasoned and thoroughly explained observations about the passing scene are a thing of the past. Sound bites are the in thing. With that, this blog will feature frequent infusions of brief statements summarizing lessons learned. The first of these is:

Be careful about bending over if you are an altar boy.

There WAS an Elephant in the Room

Conventional wisdom tells us "everyone has a story." And if we dig deeply enough into the history of any community, we are likely to find "every place has a story," a wondrous tale unique to that locale.

People who have lived long in Plainwell, Michigan (pop. about 3,800), the closest city to our country home, know well the tale of the day a rogue elephant showed up downtown. As a relative newcomer, I hadn't heard about it until recently when the shoppers guide that circulates in our area described the event in a brief article.  It's quite a bizarre tale.

 

The Spencer-Woodard building has stood for 98 years at the intersection of Bridge and Main Streets in Plainwell, Michigan. No elephants have dropped in since 1916.

I was skeptical, as old journalists usually are of bizarre tales. A puter search said I could buy a history, which would include an account of the elephant's visit, at Campbell's Drug Store. "We did sell the histories for quite a while, but we don't have them anymore," a clerk said.

I said I was interested in the elephant story. A pharmacist looked up from his work and advised me to visit the local library. He also told me to go out the side door and look at the historic plaque attached to the building. Somehow, I'd missed the plaque in five years of frequent visits to downtown Plainwell. The elephant story was there.

At the library I found two treasures. One was a pictorial history of Plainwell and sister city Otsego, and in it was a brief version of the elephant story. The other valuable find was Sandy Stamm, area historian who co-authored the book. Sandy, a volunteer archivist at the library, also wrote the plaque description at Campbell's Drug, which is the principal business in the Spencer-Woodard building. She gave me copies of two published articles she had written on the topic.

Here's what happened, and it is well documented:

In 1916 a circus arrived by train at the depot on East Bridge Street. To get to the fairgrounds on the west side of the village where the show would be held, the circus entourage had to traverse the old Anderson Bridge across the Kalamazoo River. The bridge was made of iron, and for some reason it spooked the elephants.

The elephants refused to get on the bridge. The circus manager decided to try to get them to swim across the river. This was working fairly well until, suddenly, two elephants got out of control in the water and escaped. One headed north, the other went downtown.

The northbound elephant traveled out Sherwood Road to a farm. The farmer, Ed Morgan, was raking hay and must have been amazed to look back to see an elephant following his hay rake. Morgan apparently stayed calm. He remembered it was the day the circus was due in town, and simply turned his rig around and led the elephant back to the circus manager.

The second elephant, when it reached the center of the village, was lured by the smell of fresh baked goods to the bakery on Main Street. The elephant tried to nose its way into the establishment, but anxious customers scared it away.

The Spencer-Woodard building next to the bakery (a three-story structure when completed) was in the early stages of construction, with only the subflooring in place. The elephant headed there and its weight caused it to crash through the subfloor into the basement.

The circus manager had a new problem--how to get a very big elephant (it weighed more than 1,000 pounds) out of a basement room. After much deliberation, workmen brought railroad ties to the site and built a ramp. The elephant walked up the ramp and was reunited with the circus troop.

The concluding sentence in Sandy Stamm's most detailed account is: "The circus then proceeded to the Fair Grounds. Nothing at the circus performance that night could top the loose elephant escapade."

What's your community's best story? Can it top the day elephants were on the loose in Plainwell?

Finally, a Well-Deserved Discount

The geezer has maintained for some time that the pricing structure for men's haircuts is all wrong.

Kids get a big discount. Have you seen one of the little rascals screaming, kicking, crying and otherwise obstructing the best efforts of a barber?  Based on problems created, those tykes should be charged double.

Other discounts are based solely on age on the other end of the spectrum. "Seniors" get deals just because they are. The guy with an "extended forehead" who needs only one or two zips with a clipper

This luxurious head of hair finally earned a permanent discount

gets no better deal than the man with long wavy gray hair that requires all sorts of snipping, trimming, and styling. 

It makes better sense to base discounts on hair volume and the complexity of the job.

For several years, I've pleaded my case just before climbing into the chair. "Considering what's up there, I ought to get a special rate," my statement goes. Most barbers smile and charge me the regular rate. The others just charge me the regular rate.

Recently, I tried a new shop because the owner advertised a one-day special on haircuts at a ridiculously low price. I saw no reason to suggest anything more.

About half-way through the 10-minute clipper job it takes to do my sparse "do," the barber asked if I'd visited the shop before. I said I had not.

"We hope you'll come back," she said. "We have a senior discount every Wednesday. In your case, we'll give you the discount any day."

Hallelujah! A sensibly based discount finally happened, and I didn't even ask.  If nature continues to take its course, I'll hit them up for ever bigger price reductions in the years ahead. Wonder if the price eventually will get down close to "no charge"?

Commencement Speaker Rights and Wrongs

Rutgers University once again has made the news for a speaker invitation. Some 50 students occupied a stairway in the administration building protesting selection of former presidential advisor and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice as this year's commencement speaker.

The protesters left peacefully after an ultimatum by school administrators. Outside the building, some of them joined about 100 others carrying signs and shouting slogans criticizing Miss Rice's role in starting the second Iraq war. Meanwhile, 350 faculty members voted to oppose the campus appearance. So far, the school president is sticking with the speaker selection, citing academic freedom and free speech ideals as his justification.

University officials had a right to invite anyone they chose to speak at the school.

Students and faculty had a right to peacefully protest the selection.

 

A peaceful protest made the students' point.

The geezer fully supports those rights. What is wrong is the fact that Miss Rice will be paid $35,000 for her half-hour speech. Like many other universities, Rutgers has been going through tough financial times. Economy measures in recent years included freezing the salaries of thousands of employees and many program reductions.

That Miss Rice's fee will be paid by private donations to the university's foundation doesn't make it right. That the fee is modest on the scale of commencement awards, which range from about $2,500 to more than $100,000, doesn't make it right. All commencement speaking fees are wrong. That money could be better spent helping needy students with expenses or supporting essential academic programs.

Any potential speaker with a sense of public service responsibility should be willing to honor a graduating class with his or her words of wisdom for nothing more than travel expenses. An honorary degree (and Miss Rice will get one of those, too) of course is a justifiable speaker reward.

Rather than fixing the problem, Rutgers has raised the ante. Back in 2011 it paid the commencement speaker only $30,000. That wasn't newsworthy, but when students used $32,000 of their activity fees to pay for an appearance by Snooki, infamous as a vulgar sex kitten on the "Jersey Shore" television show, Rutgers got a dose of media attention. Snooki told her audience to "party hard," among other things.

Paying a sex object more than a commencement speaker perhaps is justified. I've fidgeted through several lengthy graduation ceremonies. I can't remember a word any of the distinguished speakers uttered. I probably would have paid much more attention to Snooki.

U.S. higher education cries out for reform. A small, but good, start would be rerouting speaker fees to deserving students and academic programs.

Good People Make Good Places

While I was trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up, a process still under way, our son had little choice but to come along on the trip. It was quite a journey. We lived in eight different cities while Lee was growing up.

Lee proved there may be truth to the currently overused pronouncement: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

No doubt it was difficult for Lee to periodically leave good friends and adjust to a new community and school. I've often regretted causing those problems for him. But I think he became a man of integrity and honor who has been able to adapt to difficult situations partly because of his diverse experiences. The nature of two communities we lived in may have contributed positively to his development.

Forbes latest list of the top 10 best places to raise a family in the U.S. includes two cities where we have lived. Forbes ranked metro areas based on household incomes, costs of living, housing affordability, home ownership, commuting times, crime rates, and local school quality. Lee attended school and participated in organized sports in two of the top 10--Boise, Idaho, and Ogden, Utah.

 

Ogden, Utah, is a great place to live in any season.

Ogden was No. 3 in the rankings. It has one of the lowest crime rates in the country, an excellent spread between incomes and living costs, and great access to outdoor activities. Lee learned to ski nearby; a trip to the mountain slopes was just a few miles from our first home there adjacent to a Wasatch-Cache National Forest boundary. Lee made school friends in Ogden with whom he still stays in touch.

Boise ranked as the seventh best place for families on the Forbes list. Boiseans also enjoy a good income to cost of living ratio and great opportunities for outdoor lifestyles. School quality rated high and the crime rate is low. Several of Lee's early school years were spent in Boise.

 

Boise, Idaho, has a State Capitol and much more to recommend it.

Lee, Sandy, and I conferred today about characteristics of the places we've lived. We agreed the Forbes people got it right with Ogden and Boise. But, because it would be almost impossible to quantify, the raters didn't consider the factor we believe was most important. We all thought the people in those two cities generally were pleasant, thoughtful, and helpful. For us, good people made Ogden and Boise good places to live.

This might lead you to think I was pretty smart about picking places to apply for jobs. Not so.

We had never set foot in Idaho before moving to Boise. The only individual consulted was my sister, who knew a little about the city because her husband worked for Boise-Cascade and they had visited company headquarters a few times. The endorsement was lukewarm at best. Jane's final statement was, "I suppose its OK if you like sagebrush." We made the change simply because it was time for me to move on.

We moved to Ogden strictly to get a Forest Service promotion and the improved income that came with it. Most of the comments I heard before the move were negative, but that was because my boss (who had lived in Ogden earlier) mounted a campaign to convince me not to leave Idaho. Some of it was absurd.

The most imaginative, and least convincing, statement by Boise National Forest Supervisor Ed Maw was, "Those Mormons will steal your horse; then they'll steal your wife."

Well, I didn't own a horse, and Sandy has stayed on as my beautiful wife to this day. We didn't find a lot of bad guys in Utah. What we did find in Ogden, just as we did in Boise, were good neighbors and friends.

Give Us This Day . . .

Those words are known to all of us raised as Christians who comprise the majority of Americans.  Yet our elected representatives, who claim divine guidance for many questionable actions, continue to block efforts to ensure that millions of American workers are paid enough to feed their families.

Congress has failed to act on proposals to raise the federal minimum wage from $7.25 per hour to $10.10. Here in Michigan, and in other states, legislatures also are refusing to raise minimums that qualify full-time workers in many occupations for food stamps. They need the food stamps, paid for by taxpayers like me, to feed their families. Thus, we taxpayers are subsidizing businesses that refuse to pay their workers a living wage.

Many owners of those businesses argue that they will be forced to eliminate workers if they are required to pay decent wages. There is a body of research in this area. Most of the better designed studies find few if any jobs would be lost.  

Political philosophies aside, it is a fact that the federal minimum wage adjusted for inflation is one third lower than it was in 1968. It simply is not fair pay for those who serve our meals, clean our buildings, and care for our sick and elderly.

Two members of a discussion group I coordinate are among those circulating petitions designed to force an improvement in Michigan. The change would be far from drastic. Over three years, the state's minimum wage would be increased from $7.40 per hour to $10.10. The minimum for those who depend on tips, which currently is below $3.00 per hour, also would be raised. To keep the playing field level, the minimum wage would be tied to inflation in the future.

I had to think for as long as it took to find a pen before signing. 

We should be ashamed that Americans working full-time at the bottom of the economic scale cannot afford to buy their daily bread. They should not have to depend on welfare for the most basic of human needs. We need to change this situation.