Scotty Drops His Wrench

In one of my father's episodes of syncopation (irregular movement from bar to bar), he met the big Scotsman with whom he shared an adventure when they both wore a younger man's clothes. Although they never crossed paths at the time, they were both soldiers in the army of the United States fighting the Moros in the Philippine Insurrection of 1902.  That formed a bond between the two old vets so when it turned out we needed some plumbing work done, the man my father called was his old comrade in arms, Scotty the plumber.

The plumbing issue was under the floor of the house that required going into the crawl space, which had only about two feet of clearance.  Scotty said that was no problem and he crawled in on his back dragging an extension cord with a light fixture and his pipe wrench.  My father and I were crouched down outside the access hole, ready to give any assistance that might be needed.

Scotty had just started work when he suddenly started screaming and shrieking extreme curse words as he began a violent back-crawling to the exit hole.  When finally making it out he leapt to his feet, clutching his crotch with his right hand.

A rat had crawled up his pants leg and when the plumber felt the rodent moving he started screaming (wouldn't you?) and clutched the invader just as it reached the jewel box. One thing Scotty would not do is release his hold on the rat. But one thing he would do is get the hell out of there using his left arm and both legs and his butt-lifts to make that happen. All the while screaming and cursing and banging his head.

Once out of the hole Scotty yelled at my father to unhook his overalls and pull them down while he still clutched the rodent. But the rat was done for, sent to its after-life reward by the pressure of Scotty's grip.  The plumber told my father that was it for the day so they talked me into retrieving  Scotty's wrench that was still under the house.

He should have worn his kilt.

The King and I

My son, who lives in Thailand emailed me a clip from an international news source about that country's 67-year-old King checking in to a luxury hotel in Germany with 20 attractive young lady companions. He noted the story would not run in any  newspaper in Thailand. The clip triggered a memory of an event long ago where I was involved with the current King's father (who did not keep companions), a man revered by the Thai citizens.

In the early 1960s the University of Oregon and Chulalongkorn University in Siam (now Thailand) formed a sister university program for an exchange of students and faculty. This was a big deal that brought about the visit of the King of Siam to the University of Oregon to celebrate the arrangement with the Oregon University president. And this brought in the US State Department to direct the protocol for dealing with a foreign head of state.  In the master plan I, as assistant director of the Student Union where the banquet would be held in the second floor ballroom, had a key assignment: I would operate the elevator that would lift the King and his entourage from the lobby to the ballroom.  Kings don't do stairs.  Also, Kings are last to enter the elevator so they are first out and look at nobody's back.

At my post in the elevator I see the King's entourage approaching and spot an immediate problem: way too many people for this small car.  But nobody volunteers to take the stairs so we cram everybody into the elevator with the King now center front in a badly overloaded lift.  The doors slowly close with the King's nose barely escaping a severe pinching. It's a jerky start but the brave little Otis digs deep and moves upward and then it doesn't.

Arrggghh! I neglected to lock off the mezzanine and as the doors slowly open we see the King of Siam standing nose to nose with our custodian in his soiled uniform and his large wheel-container of garbage.  The King is cool.  He stares straight ahead, tuning out the custodian and his vile load.
I'm frantically pounding the 2 button while the President of the University of Oregon is giving me the stink-eye.  Dead silence in the car as the doors slowly close in front of the King of Siam and our custodian who never moved in his determination to get his crap container to the loading dock.

Hey, it wasn't as bad as Bush throwing up on the Emperor of Japan.

John Day's Bad Day

Time for some Oregon history about an early 1800s hunter and trapper named John Day who had his name attached to two towns (John Day and Daysville) two rivers (the big one in Grant County, the little one in Clatsop County), a Columbia River dam and the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument. Not bad for a guy who was kind of feckless and was never connected to any grand deeds or significant discoveries.

His one claim to fame came from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Day had signed on with an expedition that was leaving from St. Louis to travel to Fort Vancouver, (now Astoria) where they would hunt and trap fur-bearing animals. Near the mouth of the river that would bear his name he became ill and could not keep up with the others and so was left behind.  Ramsay Crooks stayed with him to help until he could continue on.

Soon after the others had left, Day and Crooks were captured by a war party of Indians seeking revenge for the murder of one of their tribesmen. They didn't kill the trappers but they stole their weapons, their packs, and their clothing leaving them bare-ass naked and bootless on the bank of the Columbia River.

Although still alive, John and Ramsay were having a bad day.

They elected to go up that Columbia River tributary in hopes of finding help, the best of all bad options because they knew they couldn't survive trying to reach the distant Fort Vancouver.  The great Northwest in the early 1800s was no place for sissies, with or without clothing and boots.

The decision they made was a good one because a number of miles up the river they did find a party of trappers who saved their lives.  And when the story of the naked trappers spread, John Day was the name given to the river where it all happened.  Crooks returned to St. Louis but John Day lived out his life in the Oregon territory, killing furry creatures and marking sites with his fame.

Nursery song

Somewhere out there in our Coronavirus ravaged land there are still little kiddies who need to be comforted with nursery rhymes.  Who better to do that than the Grands and the Great-Grands who comprise the major share of my audience.

So in this time of need, I contribute this little ditty that my father sang to my sisters and me when we were crawlers and toddlers.  The fact that I can still remember the words after almost a century proves that it still has legs (any tune you make up will work):

I went to the animal fair

The birds and the beasts were there

A big baboon by the light of the moon

Was combing his auburn hair

The monkey, he got drunk

Then fell on the elephant's trunk

The elephant sneezed

and fell to his knees

And that was the end of the 

Monkey, monkey, monkey, monkey, monk.

The second verse is just like the first verse and the third verse is just like the second verse so get out there, Pilgrims, and comfort those little modern-day creepers and wobblers.

Overheard

This happened a while back before the COVID-19 police closed our eating facility.

 It isn't eavesdropping if the voices just insinuate themselves into your space.

Evening meal and like me, the elderly lady at the table next to mine is alone.  Then a friend comes to join her and I don't know which one says, "I see you found your teeth.  Where were they?"

I tried to suppress the urge to laugh.

Semi-successful.

Psychopharmacology

If you want to impress people with your erudition, drop Psychopharmacology into the conversation sometime. "In college I once considered pursuing an interest in Psychopharmacology but then became distracted by other interests." Something like that.

 But first practice pronouncing it and be prepared to give the definition if a listener has the courage to admit he doesn't have a clue what you're talking about. Try not to be overly condescending when you explain it relates to psychology and was associated with Emil Kraepelin, the German professor from the early 20th century who is considered to be the Father of Psychiatry. You might throw in that Emil didn't think much of Sigmund Freud.

But in these situations it is wise to quickly steer the conversation in another direction before someone with real knowledge of Psychiatry exposes your ignorance. Most people relate to sports so that is a good getaway.

Like this. In 1964 Len Casanova took the University of Oregon Ducks to Indiana University to play the Hoosiers in football. Bob Berry was his quarterback who took snaps from Dave Toby, the center who also did kick-offs. In the first half Oregon couldn't do anything right and trailed by two touchdowns at halftime.  Casanova was furious with his team's performance and left the field a few minutes before the end of the first half and took up a position just inside the team locker room.  As the players filed in he snapped at them, "Sit down, Sit down. Sit down."

Coming off the field, Toby's only thought was getting to a urinal.  Urgent call, but when Casanova barked his order, Toby dropped to the bench. The Coach did a rant all through the halftime until an official stuck his head in the room and said to Casanova, "Get your team out here, coach."

Oregon had to kick to start the second half and when Toby, without relief, made his run to the ball his neglected bladder released its burden.  His flawed kick sent the ball careening off to the left where, just before going out of bounds, an Oregon player pounced on it. It had gone well past the required 10 yards for an on-side kick so Oregon was given possession. The team drove straight down the field and scored a touchdown.

Game changer.

In the second half Oregon filled the hole they had dug in the first half and went on to pull off a come-from-behind victory. The sports headline in the next day's Oregonian read,  "Brilliant Call By Casanova Wins Indiana Game 29-21."

Bob Berry got special credit for taking those second half snaps from under a damply embarrassed center.

Coronamusic

One of the bright spots of World War II was the music that emerged from the emotions of young lovers being separated by the call to arms of its citizen soldiers.  Beautiful music, heart-tugging lyrics. All that is missing in our war against Coronavirus.  Maybe we need to revisit those early '40s years and update their music.

I'll Walk Alone
old lyrics:
,I'll walk alone, because to tell you the truth, I'll be lonely
I don't mind being lonely
When my heart tells me you are lonely, too.

                                

New Lyrics:

I'll walk alone, we must stay six feet apart,

And you can't hold my hand,
Though you still hold my heart.

I think it does capture the vibe of our times although that may not rank as authentic heart-tugging. Here's another possibility:           

Don't Get Around Much Anymore
Old lyrics:

Missed the Saturday dance
Heard they crowded the floor
Couldn't bear it without you
Don't get around much anymore.

New Lyrics
Missed the Saturday dance
Found a lock on the door
Coronavirus surrounds me
Plenty here to deplore.

The experts tell us we will get through this and when we do we will need an updated version of a welcome home ballad to light up our lives:

It's Been a Long Long Time

Old lyrics:

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time.

Haven't felt like this, my dear

Since I can't remember when

It's been a long, long time.

New lyrics

Test me once, then test me twice
Then test me once again
It's isolation time.
Job gone south, sores in mouth
Temperature at 110
Our stocks aren't worth a dime.

Some of those probably need work but what the heck, time is the one thing of which I have an over supply. Better to be focused on creating high art than to keep banging my tin cup on the bars of my cell and screaming, "I'm innocent.  I'm innocent."