Growing Old For Dummies

You can live without it, but if you miss Summer Camp you've missed a lot.  It started out in the Fall when it was announced that next year we'll be old enough and experienced enough to go to Camp for two weeks.  The cost would be $80.00 all meals included.  No this isn't this year 2005; it's 1963.

 

In order to go we would all have to save money/earn money.  One way was by selling raffle tickets for a Thanksgiving turkey.  Ten cents a ticket, twelve on one page for $1.00.  We got to keep half in our Camp Bank.

I made over $40.00 and had just $40.00 to go, I thought.  The holidays came and went.  We were supposed to go to camp the last two weeks in June.  I made more money running errands and even tried to get a job, to no avail. No one wanted to hire a 12 year old.  I had about $60.00 and things weren't looking too good.

 

I come from a family of 4 boys and a girl.  My folks had just bought the house we were living in and were struggling.  Both parents worked to make ends meet.  There wouldn't be much money coming from home and I was worried I'd never see camp.  They could hardly afford to buy us shoes.  As I recall; I had walked around much of the Spring with a flip flop.  Oh, not the sandal, but shoes that had the sole come loose so that when I walked the whole sole would flop when I walked.  I would get it glued at the local shoemaker's store, but it never held.

 

This is probably the first time I came to appreciate the generosity of my neighbors.  Our leader of summer camp knew that several kids wouldn't be able to come up with the money so he went out and recruited "Sponsors."

My sponsor actually paid for my whole summer camp and I had the money I earned/saved to spend.  How great is that!  My sponsor was the VFW Post from Portage Park-Chicago who also had a ladies' auxiliary.  About monthly; at our meetings the ladies would always have a sweet table filled with cookies and brownies, FOR FREE!   I always managed to take one or two home to Mom who would always save it and take it to work to eat at lunch. 

 

The big day arrived.  Downtown we went, a huge duffel bag in tow filled with clean underwear and tee shirts inscribed with my last name in indelible India Ink. There it was; Union Station where upon arriving encountered a throng of over 500 boys all going to the same camp.  The train ride itself was an experience; as for me it was my first time ever on a train.  It had drinking fountains and paper cups at either end of the car and even a bathroom.

I learned how to "pop" a paper cup by turning it over on the floor and stomping it with my heel.  On the train we would sing "camp" songs and soon also learned there were other songs besides "Row Row Your Boat" and "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall"

 

Our duffels were  sorted by camp, I suppose there were 5 camps altogether; two at one lake and three on another.  We always went to Camp West and as I soon found out our arch rivals were across the lake at Camp Stuart.  Plans were made on the train, alliances formed and little did we realize; new friends, true friends that will never be forgotten.

 

Arriving at the area of the Camp we were lead over dunes and around pine trees; thru a marshy clay swamp about 2-3 miles from the train to Camp West!  Our site was up on a hill.  Our tents were already there; all set-up and even had a wooden floor.  A truck brought our duffels which we didn't bother to unpack.  Dinner was in half an hour at the mess hall.  Just enough time to take a leak.  Well some of us did.  The toilets or Kybos as they were called were of the outdoor type and reeked. There were those who elected to "hold it."

 

We would wait outside the mess hall for the bell and then go inside to find our assigned places.  We would sit in the same place almost everyday.  We had 10 people to a table, two leaders at either end with 4 kids on either side.  One "volunteer" would serve the food (bring it family style to the table).  Two "volunteers" would do the cleanup including washing dishes, table and floor. 

 

Dry and thirsty the first thing on the table was 'bug juice'  "Hey, I'm not drinking that!  What is it anyway?"  These were the moans and groans all around the table.  It turns out it's just Kool-Aid and let me tell you bug juice or not, it was ice cold and gooood!  I don't know how the staff ever did it.  Three meals a day, breakfast, lunch and dinner on time and so good, I mean; very good.  It wasn't just because we were hungry.  I never saw any food wasted.

 

After dinner it was announced that the Camp Store would be open for one hour.  We decided it was time to stock up on pop and candy.  Well, it seems like a good idea at the time.  The pop went warm inside of an hour and the candy melted in your pocket.  Stocking up really wasn't such a good idea.  The store also sold craft materials that we could buy and have our leader show us how to make things like a lanyard that could hold a whistle by simply braiding.  Since I didn't have a whistle I made an "Indian Bracelet."  This looked much like the friendship bracelets of today only much more colorful.  The store had everything, binoculars, knifes, shoelaces, the Camp Patch, and they paid a deposit on empty bottles of pop.  We spent a lot of time collecting bottles and chasing frogs.  This all stopped abruptly when one day while looking for bottles and frogs we came across a huge hissing black snake that scared the hell out of us.  We were assured by our leader that the snake was harmless, a black racer, but they never hiss.  Hey, did you hear me, this snake hissed!  So we knew it wasn't a black racer and we

weren't about to find out what it was either.

 

Back at camp we learned how to clean the Kybo by pumping up, carrying and pouring two buckets of water down each hole and one or two on the floor while sweeping away the mud and sand.  This had to be done each morning and evening by volunteers.  Oh, yes, if no one volunteered, as was usually the case the leader would volunteer you.  We soon found out that it was better to work with your close friends on these tasks than acquaintances who had formed alliances not including you.  Otherwise, you would end up doing the whole job by yourself with them sitting around watching and if you protested you could end up with a red belly.  Now a red belly is when you get held down by one or more kids while another starts to slap your tummy while wetting it with water or spit.  After a few slaps you had a pink belly; with a red belly soon to follow.  I always thought this a little sadistic; even then it just didn't seem right.

 

As night drew close we were ready to go to the huge welcoming campfire.  The fire itself was humongous; reaching taller than most of the trees, but far enough away as not to cause a problem.  You wouldn't roast marshmallows in this fire.  If you got too close it would singe your eyebrows.  Four huge logs at the base with four more on top and so on.  The inside square filled with timber.  Sparks flying.  First up; authentic Indian Dancers in full costume and make-up.  You think I wasn't scared?  Next and even though there must have been 300 kids,  We each would give our names and if we weren't scared to death of being singled out, tell a little more about ourselves.  This being done we would learn camp songs.  I guess my favorite is "She Waded in the Water" with "I See A Bear" a close second.  "I See A Bear" was good because it had action.  You would form a line of say eight or nine and the first person would say "I See A Bear" the second would say, "Where?"  The first would say "Over There!" and point to the left or right.  This would be repeated until each person had their left and right arms pointing in both directions, that is, until last person in line.  After saying the last "Over There" by the person, now in a sitting position; would tilt over and knock over the entire line (who were already pretty tired and off balance).

 

"She Waded in the Water," was a teaser.  Remember the age here is between 11-15 year old boys.  It went

"She waded in the water til she got her toes all wet. (repeat) (repeat again)

"But she didn't get her (clap, clap) wet yet."

 

"She waded in the water and she got her toes all wet."

"She waded in the water and she got her ankles wet." (repeat)

"But she didn't get her (clap, clap) wet yet."

 

This goes on up the legs until, "She waded in the water and she finally got it wet."  (repeat much slower)

Yes, she waded in the water and she finally got her bathing suit wet, YET!

 

Now if any of this sounds familiar, YOU went to camp.  If it doesn't, YOU SHOULD HAVE!  So how about

becoming a sponsor and send a kid to camp.  There are many ways and places on the internet.  Just do a simple search "send a kid to camp" and enter your area like Illinois to narrow it down.  You will make some child's dream come true!

 

Since 1970 we've been celebrating Earth Day.  For those of you who may not know exactly what Earth Day is all about, in short, I offer it deals with environmental issues...all over this Big Blue Marble.

 

 

http://www.nasa.gov/audience/forkids/home/F_Big_Blue_Marble_Storybook_Text.html

 

One day seems hardly enough to deal with all of these  problems and of course it's not a one-day happening.

 

It's happening everyday in every country, county, city, town, neighborhood and street, avenue, parkway, lane and place.  Everyday.  The air we breathe.  The water we drink.  The very ground we live, work and play on.  The key to understanding the problems and solutions is education.  Education that gives back but is now in danger.

 

As a youngster in grammar school my friends and I would eagerly wait for spring having collected cat's eyes, clearies and even a dreaded "boulder"or two.   I had saved my pennies and bought a new/used leather bag that fit neatly in my Levi's pocket at the corner candy store.  I hated my new Levi's they were stiff and I had to roll up the cuffs.  It took several washings for them to shrink to the correct pant length.  School was over and we would meet at Jimmy's house.  It was new and he had no grass.  Just bare earth.  Ideal for playing marbles.

 

We played two types of games.  Ring and Pot.  Ring was simply a large circle, maybe five feet or more in diameter, drawn in the dirt.  Each would put two or three marbles at risk in the center each game.  The first to start would shoot at another's marble and try to knock it out of the ring.  Once someone hit a marble out of the ring it was theirs to keep.

 

Younger kids played for fun.  Older kids always played for keeps.  One turn each until all marbles were gone.  Simple enough but there were always power players.  These guys could shoot and hit a marble out of the ring in one shot.  If you were lucky you had a "mib" which was actually a ball bearing.  Metal and much heavier than the usual glass marbles.  These mibs were killers.  Since they were heavier they could, even if shot with a weak thumb, crash into a glass marble and knock it out of the ring with ease.

 

We played before and after school and even developed calluses on our fingers and thumbs.  The game of pot was a hole dug in the ground about 4-5 inches deep.  A line was drawn about 5 feet from the hole and the players lagged their shooters from the line to see who could get closest to the hole.  The closest would shoot until they missed trying to knock someone into the pot.  Once in the pot the marble was theirs to keep.  A good thing to remember here is the "boulder".  This was an oversize marble or mib, maybe ten times the size of a regular marble.  It could be lagged and it wouldn't  roll.  You could really get close to the hole without going in.  Once lagged you could legally switch to your shooter and clear the ground around the hole.

 

At the time we didn't know the value of the Big Blue Marble, or frankly even care.  We took it for granted.  The air, wind, rain, snow.  The dirt on our knees; our hands and our face.  The cold water from the drinking fountain.  The trees, birds, flowers and bugs were all just there.  Weren't they always?

 

Once Jimmy's parents planted grass we had to look for another spot.  I'll tell you it wasn't easy finding a place where six to ten boys could play in the dirt making the noise that goes with a game of marbles.  We ended up in the playground.  We made new friends and

won and lost plenty of snake eyes, glassies and boulders.

 

This is the problem with the Big Blue Marble.  There is no other place to go.  If we don't take care of it.  If we don't educate our children to appreciate it. ..their children won't have a place to play.  Visit the Earth Day website: http://www.earthday.net/  Find out what you can

do.  Remember, we're playing for keeps.

 

 

 

 

It's Saturday and we are on our way to the Cornicopious Center which is a place for seniors and they are holding a meeting about winterizing your home or apartment, however that is not why we are going.  We are taking the bus to get a bus pass (reduced fare for eligible seniors).  The sun is shining and it is a beautiful day.  The streets are crowded with people shopping and going to and fro perhaps getting ready for tomorrow's Super Bowl.  We must transfer to another bus so we get off and wait for the traffic light to change.  While waiting I feel something on the bottom of my topcoat.  There it is again.  What the?  I look around and it's an elderly blind man tapping my coat with his cane.

 

I had seen him on our bus.  We got off the back, while I guess he got off from the front.  Anyway before I could open my mouth my wife is asking him where he wants to go!  He says to the bank across the street (the opposite direction he is facing and the opposite direction we are going).  My wife asks me to wait while she walks him across the busy intersection (it's six corners; Milwaukee Avenue, Irving Park Road and Cicero Avenue).

 

She walks him and I wait lighting up a cigarette.  A disheveled man with dark hair, beard and dirty clothes asks me for a cigarette.  I give him two and a lite.  It takes some time for the traffic lights to change and my wife finally returns.  But before she did I kept wondering to myself about this woman.  How many other people would have taken this blind man's hand?  There were many people around but it was only she that reached out.  Now I ask you, isn't she one in a million!

 

I've read so much recently that my head was starting to spin. I thought I was starting to suffer from "Internet Download & Application Syndrome". What's that? Maybe only I suffer from it, but whenever my wife and I start to discuss these things.  Then, it's as if a large part of my brain goes numb. I get a huge mental block!

It's not as if I'm stupid or don't understand the concept or old (well, yes, I am old, but I've had this Internet Problem for many years!). No, it's just that the complexities seem too great to grasp. 

She is the one who really knows.  For instance,  I really like to listen to Old Time Radio Shows, mostly mysteries and sci-fi and I found so many sites on the internet that are offering free downloads  (like this one:  http://www.rusc.com/ ).

I thought why not just download to a floppy disc on one computer downstairs where it is more convenient to do so, then just bring it upstairs and play it back whenever I wanted which is usually just before bedtime.  For some reason listening to these old time radio shows at night makes me sleepy. 

"Well," she says, "you can't do that.  There is not enough room on a floppy disc for a half hour radio show. What you need is a "disc burner" or an MP3 recorder/player." I thought, why not. (Maybe I am getting old, or maybe I am before my time?  What could it take.  Free downloads!).

Oh yeah?  Well how about zipping the file on the disc?  "No!  That will not work either!"  (She's always right <I hate that.)

So here I am, computers coming out of you know where and they won't do what I want them to do!  Am I asking too much?  Come on!  I thought I had a great idea!  Why spend money when I can get free downloads of just what I want.

Internet here I come.  First stop, E-Bay; all kinds of MP3's but most going for over a hundred bucks.  Now I'm not cheap (I just don't have that kind of money to spend on another gadget.  I keep thinking about all of this hardware I have already; two laptops, two tabletops all upstairs and two tabletops and one laptop downstairs, now just why am I looking and even bidding on an MP3?)  Forget it.

Weeks go by, my tape collection is quite extensive, maybe over 200 tapes all purchased new, none downloaded.  I've listened to them all maybe two or three times and know them almost by heart.  I need a change.  I must think of a solution.

I know!  I could tape record them from my computer speakers!  So I set up the tape recorder and speakers and give it a try.  Nope, poor quality.

So how about a wireless network between downstairs and upstairs.  (more money!)  Forget it!  Besides we tried this once before and this technology just isn't perfected; it just kept crashing and we ended up returning it to the store for a refund.  Okay that was ten years ago, but is wireless any better now?

Hey, maybe you have an idea?  Give this old guy a break.  Share!  Thanks!

 

 

The story you are about to read is not really true (see DISCLAIMER), but anyway the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

 

It's 1994, we're flying down to a meeting on the island country of Barbados.  The meeting is being presented by the Nations United.  We're on the way to a beautiful city called Bridgetown; it's old, rustic yet modern, and tropical.  Capital city, no less, and a fishing village.  The rain has just ended, and it smells like fish.  We're staying at the hotel complex that has a clear pool and a wet bar.   

 

My name is Morgan, a reporter for the New York Sun Post.  They sent me here to cover this meeting because there is some concern being expressed in letters to the editor and on the internet that New York City may be in danger of a Super Tsunami

Incident that could be caused not by an earthquake as most tsunamis are, but rather by a landslide or mountain collapse across the ocean sending in gigantic waves that could inundate the entire East Coast.

 

I need to relax before and after unpacking head for the pool.  It's not too crowded just three old men smoking cigars and drinking anisette.  These men are representatives from some other island countries.  They remind me of the "good old boys" from Texas, but no beer.  Laughing out loud and blowing smoke.  They speak perfect English and invite me to join them (I don't think they know I am a reporter).  Soon our discussion leads to the reason we're all here. 

 

"Tsunami's are so few why spend the money on a warning system."  Says one man in a flowery tropical shirt and white shorts while asking a waiter for another drink. 

 

The other, a heavy-set perfectly tanned gent dressed in a military uniform responds, "Even if there were a Tsunami it would just clear our coast of those shacks and make way for some resort hotels, so who needs a warning?  We'll get rid of the riffraff and make way for progress." 

 

The third man says, "Yeah, progress is what we need.  Hell, I live up on a hill anyway.  Tsunami/Psunami!"

 

I think to myself just what the hell are they talking about?  Murder?  If there are no warnings just think what could happen.  Hundreds of people could die.

 

The Nations United has been after these countries for decades to pitch-in some money so that an early warning system for cyclones, earthquakes and tsunamis could be established.  Each time the delegates agree to a formal resolution for just that, but when it comes to acting on the resolution; nothing is ever, ever done.

 

The shirt man interjects, "We've been trying to move these fishermen out of there for years.  We have people with much money who want to build casinos and hotels on our ocean front and finally we have an army and may do just that; move them out or shoot them out" 

 

"Why?  Why shoot them?  If we wait long enough they will just be washed away, or blown away.   Oh, I don't even know why I keep coming to these meetings.  I guess it's good just to get away and relax."  Says the third man.  "Yeah, this is the life!"  They all agreed, almost in unison.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My name is Morgan, a reporter for the New York Sun Post and that's just the beginning of this story of "How to Get Away with Murder and Make Millions"

 

Well that's how it went back in '94.  Lots of talk about this and that.  Educate the poor about AIDS, pollution and natural disasters that was the Resolution.  Now I can look back.  Now I can see something very wrong.  I can see murder.

 

You see it's December 27, 2004 and reports of a great tsunami are just coming in over the wire.  Hundreds of thousands of people are already dead and the toll is expected to keep rising.  Hundreds of thousands of people murdered!

 

Update: January 20, 2005 the death toll has reached 265,000.  This disaster is the worst in world history.  There are more people dead in this disaster than in most wars.  I'm wondering if I should write the murder mystery of the century?  Who would believe me when I told them that only ten years earlier governments were planning murder?

 

Update: January 30, 2005 The Nations United announced plans to establish a worldwide tsunami warning system at a cost of 30 million dollars that will be in place by the end of this year for the immediately affected area and the remainder of the globe by next year.  I thought is this the cost for 265,000 lives?

 

Update: February 20, 2005 relief efforts still continue.  It is unimaginable; the devastation, disease, death.  The Nations United said today that this Tsunamis

Catastrophe is a wake-up call to the world to fulfill its commitments to the poorest communities to eliminate or considerably reduce extreme poverty, malnutrition and lack of access to health and education.

 

Update: March 21, 2005 "The sheer scale and timing of this tsunami was Biblical in character."  The Nations United Administrator and recently named Chief of Staff announced, "Clearly the basic lesson of this natural disaster and result is that the poor suffer most."  "We have a very strong presence in all of the affected countries and our disaster teams were on the ground within one day.  We will remain until our job is done."

 

Update: Some time in the future; Headline:  "New Casinos and Hotels being built on Tsunami Cleared Land."  Foreign leaders hail and greet the newcomers who have already spent billions of dollars constructing "tsunami save" structures on the barren shores where once fishing villages abounded.  Once poor governments now have their treasuries filled with money and more keeps coming everyday.

 

…My name is Morgan, a reporter for the New York Sun Post.  I wrote about the Tsunami Murders, but no one believed.  Human lives for money.  I wept.

 

 

DISCLAIMER:  This story does not reflect the thoughts or opinions of either

myself, my company, my friends, or my cat; don't quote me on that; don't

quote me on anything; all rights reserved; you may distribute this story

freely but you may not make a profit from it*; terms are subject to change

without notice;  any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is 

unintentional and purely coincidental;   (I hope I didn't miss anything)

*If you do make a profit please donate it all to Tsunami USA Red Cross 

  Relief.