cincibuck
You kids stay off my lawn!
Tis a Glorious morning here; bright blue sky, cool breeze blowing through the windows, birds chirping... El Toro, the great grass eater, awaits my command to go chomping around the yard, payback for the asshole neighbors who set off fireworks until the wee smalls last evening.
We watched another episode of John Adams last night; this being our second go round. The Madness of King George, that incredible, bejeweled and wrapped in ermine painting of him -- who was the artist, Gainsborough?, and this portrayal of him in Adams, the man just can't get any good press over here. He seems to have been an elfin twit. Is he not Victoria's link to the crown? It's been a while since I read her bio, but as I recall the line slips down into some unlikely places, kind of a real life Kind Hearts and Coronets ascension to the throne story and then she not only remains on the throne for such a long time, but puts her kids on half the thrones of the rest of the world.
I can't think of this day without thinking of Old River Park. I must have been in college when we finally stopped celebrating the 4th there. Folke's hot dogs, the kind with real skin casings. Mom's hard boiled eggs pickled with the red beets until they turned a delightful magenta and then deviled! Aunt Rose's lemon cake, the first watermelon of the summer -- the big fat dark green kind, usually from Indiana, grandmother's German Potato salad with bacon and vinegar, onion and celery, Mike-sells potato chips, Aunt Betty's baked beans from scratch, thick with brown sugar, catsup and strips of bacon on top, coleslaw -- again the vinegar - we were a sour bunch -- the watermelon always cooling down in a galvanized wash tub, big block of ice in the middle, ice pick on top, and bottles of Weidemann beer and Barge's pop in every color of the rainbow. The NCR band would play a concert around five or six, eat and then march over to a bandstand near the fire works and play Overture 1812 while the first of the fireworks were set off, then a grand fireworks show, the combat veterans -- Uncles Ray, Cliff and Bill -- wincing and silently remembering real fireworks. We'd then pack up the cars and meet at Grandma and Grandpa Brandt's house. Galvanized water pail at the ready, I would be given boxes of sparklers and would spend the next hour writing across the pitch black sky in dazzling golden stardust.
Cap guns. I especially recall the one I got during 3rd or 4th grade, actually broke down the way a real six gun would, with a revolving barrel and special disc caps, only six shots at a time. Boxes and boxes of caps and then those strips of paper -- faded red on one side, white on the other and black in the middle where the powder had burned off-- would be found everywhere as we cowboys fired off a salvo and then tore the paper strip off and tossed it on the ground. Then came the experiments: taking a hammer, putting a strip of caps on the curb and firing them off -- hard to tell which made the most noise, the caps or the hammer banging on concrete- which would lead to folding the caps back on each other to make a pillow of 10 or 12 caps to fire off at once and then taking a whole roll of caps, setting it down and smashing it with the hammer, now we're getting somewhere. One year a company came out with little bombs, vinyl plastic, screwed together, the nose piece had a little metal detonator pin in it and the fin part had a metal pad, you screwed the thing open, put a cap on the pad, screwed the nose and it's detonator pin back on and tossed the bomb into the air. The fins would stabilize it assuring that the nose would lead the way, the pin on the detonator would hit the street or sidewalk and bang! So then we had to try multiple pay loads of caps to get a bigger bang. I can't remember how many it took, but at some point too many caps would stop the detonator pin and the bomb would be a dud.
Other fourths: 1970, less than a year since I'd left Vietnam and just days before daughter Robin was born, teaching photography for Devereaux School, a boarding school for emotionally disturbed kids, at their summer campus on Embden Pond in Maine. I lucked out and had the day off. Old First Division buddy, Steve Zurrow, came up from NYC, we steamed clams and lobsters, corn on the cob, green beans, salad and then Steve took over cutting two pineapples in half, top to bottom, hollowing out much of the fruit, mincing it and setting it aside and then filling the cavity with ice cream, chocolate sauce, minced pineapple and putting a meringue on top and baking the whole thing until the meringue toasted to a delightful tan brown. The husk and the meringue kept the ice cream from melting. I could barely walk from the table.
1976: we were living in Be(z)erkeley, California and San Francisco was planning the biggest fire works display in the city's history, to be set off at Alcatraz. Folks packed the parks and rt 101 along the bay was turned into a parking lot as everyone waited for the sun to set. Kathy and I pulled our old Chevy onto a perfect viewing spot on Frontage Road at the edge of the bay and waited. Less than a half hour before the show was to start a fog bank crept over the hills and through the Golden Gate covering everything and the biggest fireworks show in the city's history was a no show.
1989: I was on 180 day reserve tour at Ft. Lee. A Captain in the office had drawn Staff Duty Officer and was begging anyone to take his place as his family was planning on visiting. Kathy and I had nothing planned and when he began offering $150 I stepped forward and volunteered. He would have been ok, but a storm blew in and I had to make the decision at oh dark early: storm flag, garrison flag or holiday flag. I chose the storm flag as we had howling winds and rain by the bucket full, no time to be flying the enormous (and expensive) holiday flag. After I was relieved at oh eight hundred the storm cleared out and the MPs never bothered to call the new duty officer to haul the storm flag down and put the holiday flag up. Enter the CG, who, driving about his post on this great day looks up and sees the tiny storm flag and charges into the duty officer's post demanding to know why his holiday flag wasn't gallantly flying above the rockets' red glare. Then the decision was reviewed and the General wanted to know who this Major Brandt was instead of Captain X. Because I was a "reserve" I wasn't to be trusted with the keys to the kingdom and the decision to fly which flag, although all parties did agree that it had been the right decision initially. The Captain got an ass chewing for turning his duty over to a mere reservist and I got a $150 and the post saved thousands by not having the holiday flag torn to tatters by the howling winds.
We watched another episode of John Adams last night; this being our second go round. The Madness of King George, that incredible, bejeweled and wrapped in ermine painting of him -- who was the artist, Gainsborough?, and this portrayal of him in Adams, the man just can't get any good press over here. He seems to have been an elfin twit. Is he not Victoria's link to the crown? It's been a while since I read her bio, but as I recall the line slips down into some unlikely places, kind of a real life Kind Hearts and Coronets ascension to the throne story and then she not only remains on the throne for such a long time, but puts her kids on half the thrones of the rest of the world.
I can't think of this day without thinking of Old River Park. I must have been in college when we finally stopped celebrating the 4th there. Folke's hot dogs, the kind with real skin casings. Mom's hard boiled eggs pickled with the red beets until they turned a delightful magenta and then deviled! Aunt Rose's lemon cake, the first watermelon of the summer -- the big fat dark green kind, usually from Indiana, grandmother's German Potato salad with bacon and vinegar, onion and celery, Mike-sells potato chips, Aunt Betty's baked beans from scratch, thick with brown sugar, catsup and strips of bacon on top, coleslaw -- again the vinegar - we were a sour bunch -- the watermelon always cooling down in a galvanized wash tub, big block of ice in the middle, ice pick on top, and bottles of Weidemann beer and Barge's pop in every color of the rainbow. The NCR band would play a concert around five or six, eat and then march over to a bandstand near the fire works and play Overture 1812 while the first of the fireworks were set off, then a grand fireworks show, the combat veterans -- Uncles Ray, Cliff and Bill -- wincing and silently remembering real fireworks. We'd then pack up the cars and meet at Grandma and Grandpa Brandt's house. Galvanized water pail at the ready, I would be given boxes of sparklers and would spend the next hour writing across the pitch black sky in dazzling golden stardust.
Cap guns. I especially recall the one I got during 3rd or 4th grade, actually broke down the way a real six gun would, with a revolving barrel and special disc caps, only six shots at a time. Boxes and boxes of caps and then those strips of paper -- faded red on one side, white on the other and black in the middle where the powder had burned off-- would be found everywhere as we cowboys fired off a salvo and then tore the paper strip off and tossed it on the ground. Then came the experiments: taking a hammer, putting a strip of caps on the curb and firing them off -- hard to tell which made the most noise, the caps or the hammer banging on concrete- which would lead to folding the caps back on each other to make a pillow of 10 or 12 caps to fire off at once and then taking a whole roll of caps, setting it down and smashing it with the hammer, now we're getting somewhere. One year a company came out with little bombs, vinyl plastic, screwed together, the nose piece had a little metal detonator pin in it and the fin part had a metal pad, you screwed the thing open, put a cap on the pad, screwed the nose and it's detonator pin back on and tossed the bomb into the air. The fins would stabilize it assuring that the nose would lead the way, the pin on the detonator would hit the street or sidewalk and bang! So then we had to try multiple pay loads of caps to get a bigger bang. I can't remember how many it took, but at some point too many caps would stop the detonator pin and the bomb would be a dud.
Other fourths: 1970, less than a year since I'd left Vietnam and just days before daughter Robin was born, teaching photography for Devereaux School, a boarding school for emotionally disturbed kids, at their summer campus on Embden Pond in Maine. I lucked out and had the day off. Old First Division buddy, Steve Zurrow, came up from NYC, we steamed clams and lobsters, corn on the cob, green beans, salad and then Steve took over cutting two pineapples in half, top to bottom, hollowing out much of the fruit, mincing it and setting it aside and then filling the cavity with ice cream, chocolate sauce, minced pineapple and putting a meringue on top and baking the whole thing until the meringue toasted to a delightful tan brown. The husk and the meringue kept the ice cream from melting. I could barely walk from the table.
1976: we were living in Be(z)erkeley, California and San Francisco was planning the biggest fire works display in the city's history, to be set off at Alcatraz. Folks packed the parks and rt 101 along the bay was turned into a parking lot as everyone waited for the sun to set. Kathy and I pulled our old Chevy onto a perfect viewing spot on Frontage Road at the edge of the bay and waited. Less than a half hour before the show was to start a fog bank crept over the hills and through the Golden Gate covering everything and the biggest fireworks show in the city's history was a no show.
1989: I was on 180 day reserve tour at Ft. Lee. A Captain in the office had drawn Staff Duty Officer and was begging anyone to take his place as his family was planning on visiting. Kathy and I had nothing planned and when he began offering $150 I stepped forward and volunteered. He would have been ok, but a storm blew in and I had to make the decision at oh dark early: storm flag, garrison flag or holiday flag. I chose the storm flag as we had howling winds and rain by the bucket full, no time to be flying the enormous (and expensive) holiday flag. After I was relieved at oh eight hundred the storm cleared out and the MPs never bothered to call the new duty officer to haul the storm flag down and put the holiday flag up. Enter the CG, who, driving about his post on this great day looks up and sees the tiny storm flag and charges into the duty officer's post demanding to know why his holiday flag wasn't gallantly flying above the rockets' red glare. Then the decision was reviewed and the General wanted to know who this Major Brandt was instead of Captain X. Because I was a "reserve" I wasn't to be trusted with the keys to the kingdom and the decision to fly which flag, although all parties did agree that it had been the right decision initially. The Captain got an ass chewing for turning his duty over to a mere reservist and I got a $150 and the post saved thousands by not having the holiday flag torn to tatters by the howling winds.
