In response to conversation I have had on Facebook, I am transposing the text of an article published in January, 1955 in a magazine named Ohio Motor Travel:
The Story of Benny Gramm... Pioneer auto and truck builder Story by Floyd A. Brown
October 29, 1904 marked an important event in Chillicothe - it was Open House at the newly incorporated Logan Construction Company, manufacturers of the Logan automobile.
Chillicothe newspapers carried a full front page including several pictures, estimating the crowd at between 7000 and 8000 people. Between the hours of 5 and 9 p.m., with the Odd Fellows Band in attendance, the multitude streamed through the three floors of the newly-renovated building and marveled at the well lighted, up-to-date working quarters, and the latest machinery for producing the Logan, which at the moment was enjoying a meteoric rise in popularity.
The story of the Logan does not however begin at this moment. One must go back to the year 1886 when a young boy of 14, Benny Gramm by name, started as a messenger boy at the First National Bank, Chillicothe, Ohio.
During the years that followed, the young man's mind was constantly toying with the idea of a horseless carriage, which he some day hoped to build. Benny had plenty of vision.
As the year 1890 approached, the brain child was taking shape and with the help of an adding machine he urged President Alex Renick to purchase, cash was balanced earlier. Work completed, Gramm would rush home and devote the remainder of his working hours to his "first love."
Like another young man, a contemporary by the name of Henry Ford, Gramm also had an old building at the rear of his residence at 85 W. Fifth Street, where he worked long and late. Ford was nine years older than Gramm and both were born on the same date, July 30.
About the turn of the century, Gramm's first "horseless wagon" appeared on the streets of Chillicothe. There were always those who yelled "get a horse" and some who bought these "new fangled contraptions" did actually go back to horses. But on the whole, enough orders were coming to warrant Mr. Gramm's decision to resign from the bank so that he might devote all his time to his new venture.
About this time, 1901 to be exact, the late Dr. W. A. Hall, a local physician, ordered a steam automobile. It was manufactured by the Conrad Motor Carriage Company of Buffalo, N. Y., and arrived in Chillicothe unassembled. Benny Gramm uncrated the parts and had the good doctor making calls in amazing time, 15 miles per hour. Dr. Hall later became a stockholder and director in the Logan Company.
With still more orders, a new building was built on South Walnut Street, now the Herlihy Storage, and the business took a name, The Motor Storage and Manufacturing Company. The Hertz-Rental system isn not new for even at this time, the concern featured "rental cars for all occasions."
An "electric wagon" was built about 1902, but gasoline propelled cars and trucks were adopted as standard, although Mr. Gramm always expressed that the electric would come back some day.
Gramm's technical mind finally produced the "power take off" and he was granted a patent on this device in 1903. Tests were held at the Ross County Fair that year with one of Gramm's trucks operating a clover huller. The "multiple disk clutch," his idea also, came next, patents from which he never recieved royalties. It was at the Fair also that Benny's roadster made the fastest time on the track and was awarded a gold medal.
Sales continued to such a degree that new quarters had to be found, and the answer was the purchase of the old Woodcock Foundry on East Second Street, just recently razed to make way for a super market.
Incorporation came at the same time, and the Logan Construction Company came into being in 1903, the late John A. Poland drawing up the incorporation papers. Investors were many of the leading business men of Chillicothe who, knowing him from his association with the bank, had confidence in his integrity. The late George H. Smith called Mr. Gramm to his office, and presenting a check for three thousand dollars for stock stated, "Now you can exhibit at the New York Show."
The Logan line at the show was completely sold out, and Mr. Gramm came home with many orders. Logan cars and trucks were now being delivered all over the east and midwest. Large cities were using busses mounted on Logan chassis, several such busses were shipped to the Phillippine Islands, and two trucks , the first to be exported from the United States, left the Logan plant for China. Prospective buyers came to the factory and after a purchase would take the car home, in most cases, the factory supplying the driver. Very few people in those days could operate a motor vehicle.
Jake Breiel, now residing in Michigan, accompanied many such buyers home and taught them the fundamentals of motor car operation and care. Breakdowns ant tire trouble caused its share of the motorists' national headache in those days, and Mr. Breiel was kept busy delivering parts and tires to waiting motorists regardless of distance. Many times Mr. Breiel represented the Logan Company at auto shows in New York, St. Louis, Chicago, Washington D. C., and other eastern cities.
Wayne O'Bryant, who still operates an auto repair shop recieved his early training in motors at the Logan plant.
Hill climbing exhibitions toke place on Carlisle Hill. Each Logan was copelled to climb this hill three times before shipment. Wauyne being one of the official "testers" recalls that many times the added weight of an extra mechanic brought failure to the hill climbing ordeal.
Wayne represented Logan at many auto shows such as Chigago and New York, and made deliveries of new cars and trucks. While in St. Louis instructing the driver of the truck purchased by the Blanc-Wittinger Wholesale Candy Company, the ground work was laid for the really big sale that was to come.
The first fleet shipment of trucks in Ameriva happened here when the St. Louis Post Dispatch purchased 28 light delivery trucks, all equipped with Firestone tires. The trucks were backed up to the curb in front of the Court House and then were paraded to the depot for shipment. The late Lou Bierley was one of the drivers who travelled to St. Louis to teach the operators of this new delivery service.
The Chicago Motor Dispatch, a parcel delivery service, ordered 2o 12-horsepower light delivery trucks. E. P. Blake, an agent for Logan cars an trucks in Boston, sold $24,500 worth of orders during the Boston Show.
The 1906 catalogue appeared, printed on richly embossed paper, with the profile of Chief Logan on the cover, rivaled by his "red brother" General Motors' Pontiac of today.
Both air cooled and water cooled, four cylinder cars and trucks were featured ranging in price from $900 to $2000. Many types of body styles were available.
The Logan was not an assembled car like many others of that period. The plant had its own body shop where both the passenger and truck units, even the wood wheels, were designed and built. Cylinders were machined and gears were cut in an up-to-date foundry.
The Oscar Lear Motor Company, located at Fourth and Gay Streets, Columbus, Ohio, was building an air cooled car dcalled the "Frayer-Miller." Incidentally, Eddie Rickenbacker was then working at the plant learning the mechanics of auto engines. The Columbus plant contracted with Logan to build bodies for their cars, and in turn Logan was to use the cooling system designed for Frayer Miller. This same cooling process was later used on the Franklin automobile after the local plant ceased operations.
The success of the Company was undisputed. Its growth in just a few years was phenomenal. Even Ford hadn't enjoyed such great acceptance. But Fate in the form of the panic of 1907, (today we call such things recessions), entered the picture.
In spite of Mr. Gramm's pleas, the stockholders voted a receivership and the Logan Construction Company was just another victim.
One of the factors which helped greatly in the Company's failure was the excessive inventory. Experiments would show that a certain design or part was incorrect, maybe an axle too light or a gear too large. The purchasing agent had, however, bought in carload lots instead of small quantities and the stock of discarded parts mounted.
While liquidation was in progress, Frank Lamb, a Logan owner from Bowling Green, Ohio, passing through Chillicothe, called at the old plant. Hearing of Mr. Gramm's plight, Lamb informed him of an excellent location in Bowling Green for just such an industry. Gramm visited the scene and within forty-eight hours, stock was subscribed and the new Company, The Gramm-Logan Company was formed. This was the finale for the Logan as a passenger car for the Company decided to devote its entire line to trucks.
In 1909, 1910 and 1911, trucks were shipped to China, Australia and Russia, a six percent dividend was paid to stockholders and $145,000 placed in surplus. Mr. Gramm was invited to exhibit the first truck chassis ever shown at the World's International Convention of Wagon Builders at Washington, D. C. He addressed the group on the subject of "The Motor Truck and Its Relation to the Wagon Builder." The word "Logan" was finally dropped and the company became the Gramm Motor Truck Company.
Business men, headed by Mr. White of Lima Locomotive Company, hearing of the enterprising new plant persuaded the company to move to Lima. A new factory was built to double the size of the Company. Mr. White became presidnent and after a time sold his interest to John N. Willys of Willys-Overland. Overland dealers were to sell Gramm trucks along with passenger cars. Mr. Gramm did not relish this new idea and sold his stock. Willys eventually arranged a consolidation of the Garford Motor Truck Company with Overland, but Garford...
And that's were the story that I have ends. The copy I have says that the text continues on page 15. As a side note, the Garford Motor Truck Company mentioned in this article was based in Elyria and made chassis to order for Studebaker of South Bend, Indiana before being absorbed by Willys-Overland in 1912. If one were to follow the convoluted interconnection of motor manufacturers a century ago, it could be said that the Logan is a distant cousin to today's Jeep.
Pretty good company, eh?
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Metaphors
This afternoon I was as busy as a mouse in the bottom of a barrel of hungry cats. I mentioned that phrase to one of my customers this afternoon and he was amused.
When I finally got home and was getting ready for dinner (driving the Lovely Miss Carol to the Chinese Buffet), we got to talking about the fellow down in Austin who decided to run his airplane into the side of the IRS building. We couldn't decide if he was crazier than a loon, a few bricks shy of a load or a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. The debate went on for at least the 20 minutes it took to drive up to McKinney, but it did spark a conversation about colloquialisms which spilled through dinner and occupied our minds until almost bedtime.
Busy as a mouse in the bottom of a barrel of hungry cats is a phrase I had learned used by a colorful auto writer about 50 years ago to describe some automaker's success with a particular model. The phrase is very akin to "busier than a one legged man at a butt kicking contest" or "busy as a one armed paper hanger with the hives". Either of those sound mighty busy indeed, perhaps even "busier than a bumblebee at a flower show". Too busy, though, and one wouldn't know whether to "s*** or go blind"!
We have words of wisdom for just about any occasion. I got into a conversation the other day about the $2 bill that my daughter Sarah had handed to her as she was attending the till at her job as a Starbuck's "Barrista". I was under the impression that the Black community used the $2 bill as a statement of Black involvement in the economy. The person I was conversing with said the contrary. He was brought up to view the $2 bill as a sham, the operative term being "as phoney as a $2 bill". Quite truthfully, I had had the impression that the phrase was "as phoney as a $3 bill". Adjusting for inflation, no doubt.
The other phrase involving the $3 bill is the standby "as queer as a $3 bill", usually used as a slur against a gay person. The more modern version is quite a bit more tolerant and almost as descriptive: "As gay as a May Pole". I do know people who are as gay as a May Pole and none of them has, at least as of yet, noted that the saying is the least bit offensive. Again, the saying came from my daughter, Sarah who has used the phrase to describe a very good friend of hers... and in front of him, too.
I'm not quite up to speed about some of the sayings used by my children and my various nieces and nephews... I'm not the brightest crayon in the box as far as that's concerned. Nor am I the brightest bulb in the firmanent. There are lots of phrases used these days which elude me as to their meaning. The terms "homey" or "home boy" elude me. Marge Simpson calling her Homer "Homey" includes some sort of "in" joke which I don't fully understand. The joke goes right over my head. I'll laugh anyway, even if I don't understand because The Simpsons makes me happy as a "pig in mud" (or as I first heard it, "a pig in s***).
What I do understand is cold weather and some of the sayings which go with the lower temperatures. How about "cold as a witch's broomstick" which is much more polite than "cold as a witch's left teat in a brass bra". One of my College professors (Joe Berman) used to start out his lectures on cold days by telling us to can the brass monkey jokes and get down to business... as a reference to the standby "Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey"... a phrase which the internet tells me relates to stacking iron cannon balls on a specially made brass plate called a monkey which has nothing to do with a monkey's hangey down parts.
Wait a few months and it will be "hotter than a $2 pistol" around here, unless what one is talking about is a very good basketball player in February. Perhaps that basketball player would be that way due to playing a "barn burner". Ah, the colorful metaphors used by sports announcers.
Or the metaphors used by or about politicians. Ask him and he'll tell you that he is as honest as the day is long... except, perhaps in the dead of winter. His opponent is as crooked as a dog's hind leg. If I was the dog, I would be offended.
Anyhoo, all good conversations come to an end. Carol and I got home, made a few notes and before I could put this rant and rave to bed, she went out like a light while I finished.
Be Seeing You!
When I finally got home and was getting ready for dinner (driving the Lovely Miss Carol to the Chinese Buffet), we got to talking about the fellow down in Austin who decided to run his airplane into the side of the IRS building. We couldn't decide if he was crazier than a loon, a few bricks shy of a load or a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. The debate went on for at least the 20 minutes it took to drive up to McKinney, but it did spark a conversation about colloquialisms which spilled through dinner and occupied our minds until almost bedtime.
Busy as a mouse in the bottom of a barrel of hungry cats is a phrase I had learned used by a colorful auto writer about 50 years ago to describe some automaker's success with a particular model. The phrase is very akin to "busier than a one legged man at a butt kicking contest" or "busy as a one armed paper hanger with the hives". Either of those sound mighty busy indeed, perhaps even "busier than a bumblebee at a flower show". Too busy, though, and one wouldn't know whether to "s*** or go blind"!
We have words of wisdom for just about any occasion. I got into a conversation the other day about the $2 bill that my daughter Sarah had handed to her as she was attending the till at her job as a Starbuck's "Barrista". I was under the impression that the Black community used the $2 bill as a statement of Black involvement in the economy. The person I was conversing with said the contrary. He was brought up to view the $2 bill as a sham, the operative term being "as phoney as a $2 bill". Quite truthfully, I had had the impression that the phrase was "as phoney as a $3 bill". Adjusting for inflation, no doubt.
The other phrase involving the $3 bill is the standby "as queer as a $3 bill", usually used as a slur against a gay person. The more modern version is quite a bit more tolerant and almost as descriptive: "As gay as a May Pole". I do know people who are as gay as a May Pole and none of them has, at least as of yet, noted that the saying is the least bit offensive. Again, the saying came from my daughter, Sarah who has used the phrase to describe a very good friend of hers... and in front of him, too.
I'm not quite up to speed about some of the sayings used by my children and my various nieces and nephews... I'm not the brightest crayon in the box as far as that's concerned. Nor am I the brightest bulb in the firmanent. There are lots of phrases used these days which elude me as to their meaning. The terms "homey" or "home boy" elude me. Marge Simpson calling her Homer "Homey" includes some sort of "in" joke which I don't fully understand. The joke goes right over my head. I'll laugh anyway, even if I don't understand because The Simpsons makes me happy as a "pig in mud" (or as I first heard it, "a pig in s***).
What I do understand is cold weather and some of the sayings which go with the lower temperatures. How about "cold as a witch's broomstick" which is much more polite than "cold as a witch's left teat in a brass bra". One of my College professors (Joe Berman) used to start out his lectures on cold days by telling us to can the brass monkey jokes and get down to business... as a reference to the standby "Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey"... a phrase which the internet tells me relates to stacking iron cannon balls on a specially made brass plate called a monkey which has nothing to do with a monkey's hangey down parts.
Wait a few months and it will be "hotter than a $2 pistol" around here, unless what one is talking about is a very good basketball player in February. Perhaps that basketball player would be that way due to playing a "barn burner". Ah, the colorful metaphors used by sports announcers.
Or the metaphors used by or about politicians. Ask him and he'll tell you that he is as honest as the day is long... except, perhaps in the dead of winter. His opponent is as crooked as a dog's hind leg. If I was the dog, I would be offended.
Anyhoo, all good conversations come to an end. Carol and I got home, made a few notes and before I could put this rant and rave to bed, she went out like a light while I finished.
Be Seeing You!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Birthday
I was either 13 or 14 when I got the neatest birthday card. On the front was a photgraph of Rodin's The Thinker pondering "Valentine or Birthday Card..." and such is the fate of those of us who celebrate Valentine's Day and our natal anniversary on the same day. It's a blessing and a curse.
For one thing, there's a market out there, albeit small, for greeting card manufacturers to sell cards to friends and relatives of those like me. The Rodin card was the cleverest I've gotten, tough I have gotten lots more like it in later years. I manage to find at least one or two on my own while perusing the cart racks in the grocery store in the month preceding my special day. I do wonder if maybe the greeting card people collect left-over Valentine/Birthday cards in order to shuffle them along to new locations for the purpose of selling them next year to a different group of people.
There's also the coincidence that the beloved radio and television skinflint, Jack Benny, also celebrated his natal day on February 14th. Jack always claimed to be 39, and once I hit that magic age, I decided that I would be 39 from that point forward. If it was good enough for Jack, it's good enough for me. Today I celebrate the 17th anniversary of my 39th birthday. Wellll !
The down side is having to deal with people who don't believe that it's my birthday. I show my ID and one of the first things out of the mouth of the person perusing my ID has to do with the fact that I'm a Valentine's baby. Fair enough, but at the same time I could have been born a day earlier or a day later (sharing my birthday with Simpsons cartoonist Matt Groening) which would have meant that I wouldn't have gotten some of the great cards I've gotten over the years. Too, I tell people that my birthday is on February 14th, and they don't believe me, so, I pull out my ID and "Oooh! A Valentine's baby!" I do know that my parents appreciated the present on that cold day 39+ years ago, I just sometimes wish that others would just let the fact slide by with just a smile. No offense intended.
The other down side of having a birthday on Valentine's day is that it is almost impossible to get a table at a decent eating establishment at a reasonable time. Seriously. When I was younger, my tastes ran in the direction of an Arby's or McDonald's (in the dark days before there was a McDonald's on every fourth street corner). Tastes change, though. I rather think in terms of something a lot nicer, but, for some reason every nice place I can think of is overbooked with couples celebrating the day. A boon to the service industry, not to mention producers of the comestables involved. I usually find myself back at Arby's or McDonald's or, as my tastes have changed, Jack-In-The-Box, Wendy's or Whataburger.
So today promises to be a busy day. Finish this blog, notify folks on Facebook, dress, go to Church to be re-married and get my birthday blessing, drive the lovely Miss Carol to see one of her patients, lunch, then attend a Cursillo homecoming. Perhaps find a piece of birthday cake in the bargain. At some point in the day, I'll step back, count my blessings and realize that having a birthday on Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all. I'm on the right side of the grass for yet another year.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Be Seeing You!
For one thing, there's a market out there, albeit small, for greeting card manufacturers to sell cards to friends and relatives of those like me. The Rodin card was the cleverest I've gotten, tough I have gotten lots more like it in later years. I manage to find at least one or two on my own while perusing the cart racks in the grocery store in the month preceding my special day. I do wonder if maybe the greeting card people collect left-over Valentine/Birthday cards in order to shuffle them along to new locations for the purpose of selling them next year to a different group of people.
There's also the coincidence that the beloved radio and television skinflint, Jack Benny, also celebrated his natal day on February 14th. Jack always claimed to be 39, and once I hit that magic age, I decided that I would be 39 from that point forward. If it was good enough for Jack, it's good enough for me. Today I celebrate the 17th anniversary of my 39th birthday. Wellll !
The down side is having to deal with people who don't believe that it's my birthday. I show my ID and one of the first things out of the mouth of the person perusing my ID has to do with the fact that I'm a Valentine's baby. Fair enough, but at the same time I could have been born a day earlier or a day later (sharing my birthday with Simpsons cartoonist Matt Groening) which would have meant that I wouldn't have gotten some of the great cards I've gotten over the years. Too, I tell people that my birthday is on February 14th, and they don't believe me, so, I pull out my ID and "Oooh! A Valentine's baby!" I do know that my parents appreciated the present on that cold day 39+ years ago, I just sometimes wish that others would just let the fact slide by with just a smile. No offense intended.
The other down side of having a birthday on Valentine's day is that it is almost impossible to get a table at a decent eating establishment at a reasonable time. Seriously. When I was younger, my tastes ran in the direction of an Arby's or McDonald's (in the dark days before there was a McDonald's on every fourth street corner). Tastes change, though. I rather think in terms of something a lot nicer, but, for some reason every nice place I can think of is overbooked with couples celebrating the day. A boon to the service industry, not to mention producers of the comestables involved. I usually find myself back at Arby's or McDonald's or, as my tastes have changed, Jack-In-The-Box, Wendy's or Whataburger.
So today promises to be a busy day. Finish this blog, notify folks on Facebook, dress, go to Church to be re-married and get my birthday blessing, drive the lovely Miss Carol to see one of her patients, lunch, then attend a Cursillo homecoming. Perhaps find a piece of birthday cake in the bargain. At some point in the day, I'll step back, count my blessings and realize that having a birthday on Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all. I'm on the right side of the grass for yet another year.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Be Seeing You!
Friday, February 12, 2010
Colour
It all started with an ad during the super bowl for Audi.
The ad came to me via the internet and is, at least to me, uproariously funny. It was a take off on the tune "Dream Police" with lyrics being changed to "Green Police", and featured people being arrested for such "crimes" as selecting paper instead of plastic at the supermarket check out or being in posession of an incandescent light bulb (the detainee was Steve Martin). The message was that Audi has a "Green" diesel vehicle which allows its owner immunity from the "Green Police".
Then came the e-mails.
My right-wing correspondents were aghast that the ad was shown as it was a foretaste of what would be if the looney left wing were left to its own devices. Further, "Green" is now considered as being the new "Red" as in communist "Reds". Something having to do with former Soviet leader Gorbachev moving to San Francisco and plotting revenge from his left-wing hippie pad in Haight-Asbury. It's all very psychiatric.
Let's try this again.
I got an e-mail from someone trying to start a "new" symbolic salute to our military. Some church somewhere has decided that we should honor our men and women in the service by wearing blue shirts on fridays. Not really a bad idea, but, someone apparently forgot to tell this well-meaning group that there is already a red shirt salute to those in the military which was started by those in the military. Co-Worker David Pidgeon informed me of this custom some months ago and I thought it a good idea and adopted it. I've never been in the military, but I have a number of friends and acquaintances who either are or have been (including David) and I have every respect for anyone who has or had volunteered to take on what could be, at times, a thankless job. Red seems appropriate.
So, I'm trying to figure out the angle of these people who have decided to make blue the "new" red. An aversion to out-of-control communism, perhaps? Would they take offense at the Boston Red Sox or the Cincinatti Reds? How about a compromise? Purple. Oh, wait, that wouldn't work on a couple of levels, purple being associated with the homosexual community, you know. And where is the locus of those awful beings? Why, San Fransisco, of course! Right next door to Mikhail Gorbachev!!!
Am I on to something, or what?
Well, if blue is the new red and green is the new red, what happens to red? Are we now expected to go on red and stop on green at the traffic signal at the end of the street just to show that we won't be easily intimidated into bowing to the communist "Fifth Column"? How about heading to Cincinatti to watch the Blues on opening days, or to Memphis to listen to some of the famous "Delta Reds" (musicians being nothing but Bohemian commies, anyway). And what were my parents thinking, anyway, when they allowed me to watch "Mr. Green Jeans" on Captain Kangaroo (or was that Kaptain Kangaroo - toned down to de-emphasise the connection with Karl Marx)???? And shouldn't we have been warned that Canadian actor Steve Smith's character, the loveable "Red Green" was just a "front" to get us in the mindset that Canadian "Socialized Medicine" would be just the ticket for us here in the USA? Oh, those clever and perfidous frostbacks!!!!
Oh, the possibilities, oh, the silliness!
I'll just go back to the story of the politician who, after a press conference where he waffled on just about every concievable issue was asked his favourite colour.
"Plaid".
Be Seeing You!
The ad came to me via the internet and is, at least to me, uproariously funny. It was a take off on the tune "Dream Police" with lyrics being changed to "Green Police", and featured people being arrested for such "crimes" as selecting paper instead of plastic at the supermarket check out or being in posession of an incandescent light bulb (the detainee was Steve Martin). The message was that Audi has a "Green" diesel vehicle which allows its owner immunity from the "Green Police".
Then came the e-mails.
My right-wing correspondents were aghast that the ad was shown as it was a foretaste of what would be if the looney left wing were left to its own devices. Further, "Green" is now considered as being the new "Red" as in communist "Reds". Something having to do with former Soviet leader Gorbachev moving to San Francisco and plotting revenge from his left-wing hippie pad in Haight-Asbury. It's all very psychiatric.
Let's try this again.
I got an e-mail from someone trying to start a "new" symbolic salute to our military. Some church somewhere has decided that we should honor our men and women in the service by wearing blue shirts on fridays. Not really a bad idea, but, someone apparently forgot to tell this well-meaning group that there is already a red shirt salute to those in the military which was started by those in the military. Co-Worker David Pidgeon informed me of this custom some months ago and I thought it a good idea and adopted it. I've never been in the military, but I have a number of friends and acquaintances who either are or have been (including David) and I have every respect for anyone who has or had volunteered to take on what could be, at times, a thankless job. Red seems appropriate.
So, I'm trying to figure out the angle of these people who have decided to make blue the "new" red. An aversion to out-of-control communism, perhaps? Would they take offense at the Boston Red Sox or the Cincinatti Reds? How about a compromise? Purple. Oh, wait, that wouldn't work on a couple of levels, purple being associated with the homosexual community, you know. And where is the locus of those awful beings? Why, San Fransisco, of course! Right next door to Mikhail Gorbachev!!!
Am I on to something, or what?
Well, if blue is the new red and green is the new red, what happens to red? Are we now expected to go on red and stop on green at the traffic signal at the end of the street just to show that we won't be easily intimidated into bowing to the communist "Fifth Column"? How about heading to Cincinatti to watch the Blues on opening days, or to Memphis to listen to some of the famous "Delta Reds" (musicians being nothing but Bohemian commies, anyway). And what were my parents thinking, anyway, when they allowed me to watch "Mr. Green Jeans" on Captain Kangaroo (or was that Kaptain Kangaroo - toned down to de-emphasise the connection with Karl Marx)???? And shouldn't we have been warned that Canadian actor Steve Smith's character, the loveable "Red Green" was just a "front" to get us in the mindset that Canadian "Socialized Medicine" would be just the ticket for us here in the USA? Oh, those clever and perfidous frostbacks!!!!
Oh, the possibilities, oh, the silliness!
I'll just go back to the story of the politician who, after a press conference where he waffled on just about every concievable issue was asked his favourite colour.
"Plaid".
Be Seeing You!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Home Towns
"It's been a quiet week in my hometown...", and so starts one of my favourite parts of my weekends as Garrison Keillor takes us on a visit to his "hometown" of Lake Woebegone, Minnesota. I could never place it on any map, nor could anyone else. Better off that way, too, considering that if there really were such a place, it would be swamped with fans of the radio show wanting to drop in on the Chatterbox Cafe or combing the surrounding countryside hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "Norwegian Bachelor Farmers" of "Powdermilk Biscuit" fame.
We all have a home town to which we belong. Where that home town is depends on one's definition. It could be where one was born. Both of my children were born in Columbus, Ohio, a non-offensive place in the middle of the Buckeye State. They were, however, transported south about 50 miles to Chillicothe, which is a little hillier and a lot smaller than Columbus. If where one is born is the determining factor of where one hails from, I am a Terrapin. My parents lived in College Park, Maryland at the time of my arrival on this planet. I don't recall the place at all, my only inkling of what it was like came from pictures I have of me as an infant either in a bucket or in a basket.
Another definition has to do with where one was brought up, which begs another definition as to what age or ages could one be when one is brought up. For instance, daughter Sarah was brought up in Chillicothe until she was nine, nearly ten. The remainder of her childhood years have been spent here in Allen, Texas. Stuart had just turned three at the time he came here, and has little memory of Ohio except for the occasional visit. I was moved from Maryland to the north side of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and was there between the ages of 2 and 4. I recall very little about the time there, save running away down a local hill and being scared of the big buildings downtown. I have visited Pittsburgh in my adult years and quite honestly love the city. I even have a few neighborhoods staked out were I ever to find myself with an honest reason to live there.
With me, the question of "Where were you brought up?" becomes a little bit complicated. At the age of 4, the family moved to the outskirts of Cleveland, Ohio, staying there until just after my 14th birthday. That put me in the Berea city schools from Kindergarten through all but 6 weeks of 8th grade. I managed quite a number of milestones in that period of time and I recall most of the time spent there quite fondly. For quite a few years after moving away from there I would toy with the idea of moving back to the Cleveland area. After all, the Indians have a really nice ballfield, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is in the area, and the Cuyahoga River no longer is prone to catching fire and burning to the bottom. One of my favourite nieces (well, they're all my favourite) is attending Case Western. And Case Western shouldn't have to be explained.
Which brings me to Chillicothe, Ohio. A lovely little city, but a bane to my existance when I arrived there in the spring of 1968. It took graduation from High School and a couple of moves here and there for me to really appreciate the place. If one determines one's home town by where one graduates from High School, then I belong to Chillicothe, Ohio. I still keep up with some of the people I went to High School with, directly or indirectly. I have kept up with some of the people I have spent parts of my adult life with, as well, and if one determines one's home town by where one has spent most of one's adult life, well, I'm a Chillicothean by that measure, too. I believe I scared the Lovely Miss Carol to a certain degree when we visited there last summer, snaking from place to place with apparent ease while getting her lost within a couple of blocks. But it was home. I knew it.
But I also had another revelation.
My mother was born and raised in a little town in West Virginia called Fairview. I recall going to Fairview from time to time when I was younger to visit my grandparents and was amazed at how well I was known by the people in Fairview. I was given the task of going "downtown" to Bell's store to get milk or another grocery item and didn't have to carry any money. The folks at Bell's knew that I was Leo Eddy's grandson and knew that he would pay for anything I would want to carry out of the store. My mother was and continues to be close to some of the people she knew in Fairview way back when. At the same time, though, she remains firmly planted where she is.
We had a conversation regarding home towns when I was in Chillicothe. Her reckoning is that her home town is now Chillicothe, Ohio. She has lived there for nearly 42 years, now and she does not anticipate leaving any time soon. In fact, she has informed me that she has felt at home in Ohio for almost as long as she has lived in the state. A good way to look at it, for certain.
This summer will mark twelve years since moving to Allen, Texas. Allen's not too shabby for a city on the edge of a metropolitan area like Dallas/Fort Worth. It's still growing, but at the same time has enough history to interest me. I can get to the library, city hall and "downtown" by walking if I choose, there is enough "green space" to walk the dog, ride the bike or go geocaching to my heart's content, and if I want more than what is offered in Allen, Dallas isn't that far away. Best of all, my family is here, my job is here, and I feel at home. It may not be Fairview, it sure isn't Chillicothe, but it has, indeed become a home town to me.
Be Seeing You!
We all have a home town to which we belong. Where that home town is depends on one's definition. It could be where one was born. Both of my children were born in Columbus, Ohio, a non-offensive place in the middle of the Buckeye State. They were, however, transported south about 50 miles to Chillicothe, which is a little hillier and a lot smaller than Columbus. If where one is born is the determining factor of where one hails from, I am a Terrapin. My parents lived in College Park, Maryland at the time of my arrival on this planet. I don't recall the place at all, my only inkling of what it was like came from pictures I have of me as an infant either in a bucket or in a basket.
Another definition has to do with where one was brought up, which begs another definition as to what age or ages could one be when one is brought up. For instance, daughter Sarah was brought up in Chillicothe until she was nine, nearly ten. The remainder of her childhood years have been spent here in Allen, Texas. Stuart had just turned three at the time he came here, and has little memory of Ohio except for the occasional visit. I was moved from Maryland to the north side of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and was there between the ages of 2 and 4. I recall very little about the time there, save running away down a local hill and being scared of the big buildings downtown. I have visited Pittsburgh in my adult years and quite honestly love the city. I even have a few neighborhoods staked out were I ever to find myself with an honest reason to live there.
With me, the question of "Where were you brought up?" becomes a little bit complicated. At the age of 4, the family moved to the outskirts of Cleveland, Ohio, staying there until just after my 14th birthday. That put me in the Berea city schools from Kindergarten through all but 6 weeks of 8th grade. I managed quite a number of milestones in that period of time and I recall most of the time spent there quite fondly. For quite a few years after moving away from there I would toy with the idea of moving back to the Cleveland area. After all, the Indians have a really nice ballfield, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is in the area, and the Cuyahoga River no longer is prone to catching fire and burning to the bottom. One of my favourite nieces (well, they're all my favourite) is attending Case Western. And Case Western shouldn't have to be explained.
Which brings me to Chillicothe, Ohio. A lovely little city, but a bane to my existance when I arrived there in the spring of 1968. It took graduation from High School and a couple of moves here and there for me to really appreciate the place. If one determines one's home town by where one graduates from High School, then I belong to Chillicothe, Ohio. I still keep up with some of the people I went to High School with, directly or indirectly. I have kept up with some of the people I have spent parts of my adult life with, as well, and if one determines one's home town by where one has spent most of one's adult life, well, I'm a Chillicothean by that measure, too. I believe I scared the Lovely Miss Carol to a certain degree when we visited there last summer, snaking from place to place with apparent ease while getting her lost within a couple of blocks. But it was home. I knew it.
But I also had another revelation.
My mother was born and raised in a little town in West Virginia called Fairview. I recall going to Fairview from time to time when I was younger to visit my grandparents and was amazed at how well I was known by the people in Fairview. I was given the task of going "downtown" to Bell's store to get milk or another grocery item and didn't have to carry any money. The folks at Bell's knew that I was Leo Eddy's grandson and knew that he would pay for anything I would want to carry out of the store. My mother was and continues to be close to some of the people she knew in Fairview way back when. At the same time, though, she remains firmly planted where she is.
We had a conversation regarding home towns when I was in Chillicothe. Her reckoning is that her home town is now Chillicothe, Ohio. She has lived there for nearly 42 years, now and she does not anticipate leaving any time soon. In fact, she has informed me that she has felt at home in Ohio for almost as long as she has lived in the state. A good way to look at it, for certain.
This summer will mark twelve years since moving to Allen, Texas. Allen's not too shabby for a city on the edge of a metropolitan area like Dallas/Fort Worth. It's still growing, but at the same time has enough history to interest me. I can get to the library, city hall and "downtown" by walking if I choose, there is enough "green space" to walk the dog, ride the bike or go geocaching to my heart's content, and if I want more than what is offered in Allen, Dallas isn't that far away. Best of all, my family is here, my job is here, and I feel at home. It may not be Fairview, it sure isn't Chillicothe, but it has, indeed become a home town to me.
Be Seeing You!
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