Smoke

 smoke (smok) n A suspension of particles in a gaseous medium.  Like when the place where you live is in flames day after day and the resulting gaseous medium is the only option you have for continuing an exercise essential to staying alive: breathing.

Somewhere along humanity's march to future adventures, smoke became associated with, among other things, romance: 

"I dim all the lights and I sink in my chair, the smoke from my cigarette climbs through the air, the walls of my room fade away in the gloom and I'm deep in a dream of you.  The smoke makes a stairway for you to descend. You come to my arms, may this dream never end..."

Or:

"They, asked me how I knew, my true love was true? I of course replied, something deep inside cannot be denied...Now, laughing friends deride, tears I cannot hide, I just smile and say, when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes."

If not romance-connected, it can be a dire warning:

 "Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette. Keep on smoking 'til you smoke yourself to death.  Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate that you hate to make him wait but you've got to have another cigarette."

If you are the platoon leader making an assault on an enemy emplacement you call on a smokescreen to hide your advance.

If you are a Chicago gang member you  hide in an alley waiting to smoke a member of a rival gang.

Pick-up line at meet market: "My friends over there wanted me to come tell you they think you're smokin'.

Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em (disambiguation).  Slang for "Do what you want if you've got the means." Origin: World War II overseas officer telling his troops,  "Smoke 'em if you got 'em" (cigarettes were hard to get) meant take a break.

If you are an elderly Pilgrim staring out your Russellville apartment window, day after day, at the dim outline of a tree that is all of ten yards away, hoping it will not explode into flames, then you acknowledge this is atonement for some long ago indiscretion.

There were, indeed,  many trespasses and now so little time to seek forgiveness.  Send more smoke. 

Sing, Sing, Sing

Who doesn't like mob singing?  From "Happy Birthday to You" to "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" there is something feel-good about joining others in a united, harmonious expression of shared goodfellowship pretending our off-key creation is akin to the magic of an angel choir.  My bad notes take cover in my neighbor's true pitch.

Few probably remember sitting in a movie theatre just before the main feature and following the bouncing ball as the words scroll across the screen.."sweeeet Car o line..."  Hey, it was more fun than watching commercials for the snack bar.

Churches offer opportunities for lovers of group vocalizing, but those writers of hymns who had been spiritually moved to please the Heavenly Host with the fervor of their lyrics never seemed to know when to still their quill and give the organist a break.  It's not irreligious to admit that going into the 14th verse of "Onward Christian Soldiers" causes the most devout members of the flock to clutch the pew in front of them for support.

One of life's small but intense pleasures is watching my Ducks play football in Autzen Stadium and no matter whether my favorite lads are ahead or behind as the third quarter ends,  I'm going to be jacked-up when Otis Day & the Knights appears on the Jumbo screen and crash into "SHOUT."  Listen to 40 or 50 thousand partially sober fans give Otis thundering backup.  Spine chilling. Sometimes the officials will delay the start of the fourth to let Otis and his gang finish.

Ever been to a Cubs game in the seventh inning?  "Take me out to the ball game, take me out in the crowd, buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don't care if I never get back..."

OK, everybody,  grab your mouse and join me on three...one, two three:

"You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine,(see the little ball bouncing) you make me happy when skies are grey, you'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my Sunshine away."

A New Star In The Cosmos

 If you have access to the Hubble telescope tonight, check out a new shining star that will be bringing a special brilliance to our harmonious universe.  Its name is Lawrence Alden Aschenbrenner.

Larry departed his long run on this small planet yesterday morning and what a legacy he designed in those 90 years. When most of us confer with our better angels, how much inconvenience their counsel will create is alway figured into the resulting decision.  With Larry it was always, "We'll do the right thing."

He and his wife, Katie, brought together a family of Ted, Dan, Connie and John. His larger family of school classmates, professional colleagues, client admirers, and ordinary friends would fill his beloved University of Oregon football stadium.

In his childhood years Larry was the proverbial preacher's kid with seemingly endless escapades of harmless mischief but that Methodist environment of his home marinated Larry's moral core into a life-long mission of crusading for social justice for every citizen.  From his at risk adventures in Jackson, Mississippi (he called it the most racist city in America) giving legal assistance to African Americans at the height of the '60s and '70s Civil Rights movement, to his advocacy for Native Alaskans rights in Anchorage,  Larry Aschenbrenner fought the good fight.

Through all his serious career in righting what he saw as wrong, he had a rollicking fun-factor in his German heritage and would recite Casey At The Bat with or without a pint of beer to lubricate his delivery whatever the occasion.  He was just a great companion and his was a magnificent life.  Star light, star bright...

The Name Game

A sociological study conducted by the Harvard School for Serious Studies in 1996 found there to be a vague correlation between a person's name and success or failure in his/her life pursuits.  They put all names into three major groupings: Unfortunate Names, Common Uninteresting Names, and Exotic or Captivating Names.  The study focused on the first and third categories explaining it was counter- productive to deal with all the Mary Joneses and Jim Smiths because they led ho-hum lives and didn't merit wasting resources and the time of researchers.

In the Unfortunate Name group the findings of the researchers can be summed up by two or three examples.  A baker, Norman Shitt, moved from job to job and had issues with schools trying to deal with his children's social relationships with their fellow students.

Researchers found a deputy sheriff in Arkansas whose parents, Harold and Amy Head, named him Richard.

A number of females, most of them from southern states, having Squatt as a surname, were found to have consistent tendencies to marry young (some at nine or ten years of age) apparently as a way to get a name change.  It was found that two of the Squatt girls married twin brothers named Downs.

In the third category the researchers agreed the most success-connected name ever was attached to the American President, Abraham Lincoln.  No other name was close for positive association.

In sports a football player had the perfect name: Joe Montana. Did they say perfect?  Perfect.

In pornongraphy-tainted journalism the perfect name goes to National Inquirer publisher, David Pecker.

The best lawyer name ever goes to the mouth-piece for recently seven-back-holes-drilled Jacob Blake, B'ivory Lamarr.  Whatever case B'ivory is associated with will give him a lock-down jury when the court introduces them to (drum roll) B'ivory Lamarr.  That name sings.

There are so many more names out there but so little space left in my allotted allowance.  Let me know any I missed. 

A Road Too Far

Bernard Daley was an immigrant who was born in 1858 and came to America with his parents where he lived the American dream.  He became a medical doctor, opened his practice in Lakeview, Oregon. Became a rancher, a banker, and a businessman who accumulated a large fortune.  In 1922 Dr. Daley established a foundation, the Daley Fund, that paid the expenses of every graduate of Lakeview High School who chose to attend four years in any of Oregon's institutions of higher education.  

In 1962 the institutional executives of Oregon's public colleges and universities elected to hold their annual meeting in Lakeview to honor Dr. Daley on the 40th anniversary of his gift. There are three ways to get to Lakeview, Oregon: Walk.  Ride a horse or bicycle. Use a car.  For Arthur Flemming,  President of the University of Oregon, Lakeview was beyond his walking range and he owned neither a horse or a bicycle, so that left an automobile. Arthur did not drive, so as the professional Executive Secretary of the U of O's Alumni Association I was selected to drive him to Lakeview.

Gene Lewis, a pal of mine from my fraternity days, lived in Lakeview and was delighted to learn I would be there on a late Friday afternoon.  President Flemming joined his fellow executives after we checked in to our motel as did I with brother Gene.  We retired to a cowboy bar & grill. (Walls decorated with displays of Indian arrowheads and at the bar each stool was a saddle.) After a few thousand old frat stories and an equal number of beers, Gene and I closed the bar at 2:30 AM and he dropped me at my room, where it was my plan to sleep until 9:00 or 10:00 AM and then treat myself to a fine Western Buckeroo breakfast.

                                                       Wrongo in the Congo

A note was on my door.  Dr. Flemming let me know he had arranged for me to be with him at breakfast (8:00 AM) and at the day-long meetings (down and down I go, round and round I go).  It gets worse.  Arthur invited the President of Oregon State University to ride back with us. Of course,  that meant little Willy could drive him on over to Corvallis (another 50-plus miles). Not good.  NOT AT ALL GOOD.  We left Lakeview for the 242 mile drive to Eugene in the late afternoon and I had no trouble staying awake at the wheel for the first 14 miles out of town.  From then on it was down and gritty.

The one terrible fear that gripped me was the newspaper headline in the Portland Oregonian I kept reviewing in my mind:  Presidents of University of Oregon and Oregon State University Die In Tragic Car Plunge Off Cascade Mountain. Driver of car, William Landers, uninjured and found peacefully sleeping in the tangled bodies of the two presidents.

A few sleepless years later I pulled into the driveway of Dr. Flemming's home, painfully aware that less than two miles away, across the Willamette River at 315 Van Duyn Street was a king size bed and a world-class pillow.  OSU's President chose to ride with me in the front seat to Corvallis where I fought to stay alert in his driveway, knowing that sleeping there would be bad form.

Corvallis, Oregon is way down my list of favorite Oregon towns, but on one of its quiet residential streets, in a pinch, a guy can grab a couple winks with no trouble.  Lakeview's not high on my list either.

Who Remembers John McKay?

In 1948 Oregon football coach, Jim Aiken, had put together a juggernaut team composed of many WW II vets from all across the country. If Aiken challenged you to a duel you could be certain one of his handlers had loaded your weapon with blanks.  Jim liked to shave the odds but that '48 team with Norm Van Brocklin went to the 1949 Cotten Bowl after getting shut out of the Rose Bowl when a tie with Cal was decided by the University of Washington voting for the Golden Bears.  That decision by the Dawgs still resonates with Duck fans.

John McKay was a star running back on that Cotton Bowl team.  After Aiken was asked to leave Oregon, new Athletic Director Leo Harris hired Len Casanova to replace him.  Casanova brought McKay onto his staff in 1950 and after nine years, his talent as the offense coordinator was recognized by other programs including USC. which hired him as an assistant in 1959. They appointed him head coach the next year, after which he would go on to win four national titles.  McKay considered Casanova his mentor and his affection for Cas lasted throughout both their lives.

When you are the head football coach at USC, it's like being King with a really good army.  After Cas retired as Oregon's Athletic Director in 1969, I went with him to LA where Oregon would play the Trojans in the Coliseum.  Friday before the game, McKay invited Cas to have lunch with him and I tagged along. We went to a restaurant-bar across the street from the USC campus and it was apparent this was a royal gathering place. McKay had a round table on a raised landing in the back of the room and it was obvious only John and his guests ever dined there.  After lunch we went back to McKay's office (no tab for the lunch ever came to our table).

Did I say office?  Let's define it as a large,  impressive reception chamber. One side of the room was dominated by a window overlooking the practice football field two stories below. On the wall behind McKay's massive desk at one end of the room was a huge oil painting of O. J. Simpson. A number of comfortable chairs surrounded a low table in the center of the room where we sat and I remember John telling Cas, "If you can't win at USC you should find another line of work."

John's son, JK, came into the room and after introductions said to his dad, "I need new tires for my car so is it OK to charge them to you." "How about using your Rose Bowl ticket money for your tires?"  Rose Bowl ticket money?  You mean wealthy USC alums might pay generous money to players for their Rose Bowl tickets?  Shocking!

John McKay would move on to coach the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and USC  replaced him with another Oregon coach, John Robinson. We know about O..J. but what happened to that oil painting of him? The frame looked expensive.

Let's Hear It For Bill Gates

 I watched that Sunday CNN guy whose name I can't spell interview Bill Gates today.  Bill Gates.  What an exceptionally fine man he is. Look at his face (you can't hide what's on your face). High intelligence. Friendly. He is obviously comfortable being Bill Gates.  Watch him respond to questions and he might reach up and readjust his glasses. Also,  he has a habit while talking of reaching over with his right hand and twisting his wedding ring.  Is that a way of touching bases with Melinda?

If I could get every living American to line up according to the contributions he/she has made to their fellow humans on the planet Earth, brother Gates would be very close to the front of the line.  The remarkable accomplishment of his entrepreneurial creation of Microsoft has been topped by the amazing impact his philamprothy to international causes has had.  

Gates has also used the excellence of his mind to consider problems in our national life and offer intelligent opinions that could solve them.  Of course, this gift from Gates can only be valuable if there is someone smart enough to recognize its worth.  He recognized the coronavirus threat years before it happened but his warnings went unheeded.  The brilliance of Bill Gates's mind has not been a secret for many years and why political leaders would not seek his counsel is hard to understand. Maybe some important clout-meister will come along in the next few months and see the light.