



His life, his interests, his sometimes quirky frame of mind in words and pictures. A flyover of my life.
Rep. John Lewis, a Democrat from
In the fall of 1968, all three candidates – Nixon, Humphrey, and Wallace – visited the “Aud” during the month of October.
Four of us from the 482 A & B Allenhurst apartments, Humphrey supporters all, rode the bus downtown and attempted to blend in with the huge turnout of Wallace supporters. (War Memorial Auditorium had a capacity of 12,000, and I recall most of the seats being occupied.) As though we were conducting a sociological field experiment, our goal was not to protest but rather to be part of the crowd. We succeeded – at least no one accused us of being long-haired hippie scum, or worse yet (in their collective mind), college students – mainly because all but one of us sported pre-Beatles 1960s era haircuts. Nevertheless, I gotta believe we looked seriously out of place, especially since we weren’t offering up any cheers of support.
Forty years later, I can clearly recall the seething anger and racial fears that Wallace brought to the surface. It permeated the cavernous building like a foul smell. The four of us had entered a different universe – and were relieved to return to reality. Or at least what vaguely passed for reality on college campuses in the late 1960s. (I continue to regret the fact that I didn’t keep a journal at this time in my life -- or make copies of the letters I wrote to friends.)
Tuesday was Super Hero Day at
Had the mask restrictions not been in place, Eddie said his main challenge would have been figuring out a way to breathe while having his face wrapped in a cloth designed with a strategically placed Rorschach blot. I’m sure it would have been very effective. Instead, though, we made a last-minute trip to Goodwill so Eddie could buy an olive-green sports jacket and matching tie – both of which he found within a few minutes. I guess that's Walter Kovacs’ civilian look?
More details and pics to follow: Friday afternoon parade, Friday evening introductions at halftime of the football game, Saturday dance.
“Hey, Dad.”
It was Andy, greeting me at the beginning of a voice-mail message he left for me while I had my phone on mute during my workshop presentation in Fennimore.
“I’m coming home this weekend,” he announced. “I have a class until 12:30 tomorrow,” he added, leaving me to figure out the rest of his schedule for the day.
With a follow-up question in mind, I called him as I walked back to my car. All I could do, though, was leave him a voice-mail message in return.
I didn’t ask him how firm his schedule was and whether or not there’d be time to schedule a last-minute appointment for an oil change at Jim’s BP, our usual destination for servicing the cars.
As it turned out, he didn’t show up at the house until after 4:00, so an oil change was out of the question. That’s why I spent 20 minutes earlier this morning parking my butt in the lounge of the local Jiffy Lube, as Jim provides only emergency service on the weekends. The Jiffy Lube service guy, of course, made his usual pitch for additional maintenance work. After inviting me into the service bay, he pulled out the Saturn’s dipstick, as if it were something new to my eyes, to show me how dirty the oil was.
“You must have really let things go beyond the recommended oil change time,” he noted.
“It’s been 4,000 miles,” I said evenly, a calculation I had made, before backing out of the driveway, when I looked at the sticker from the previous oil change on the upper left-hand corner of the windshield.
“You might want to consider an engine flush,” he advised. “And your windshield wipers look pretty worn.”
Surprisingly, even though the air filter had been removed and displayed prominently on the engine block, he didn’t offer to replace this item. From past visits, I’ve learned that the air filter is always in need of replacement. Funny how that is.
“Just the oil change today, please,” I replied, making a slight turn in the direction of the lounge, as if to say our conversation had ended.