The History of Sports Cars...

…according to one.

#1 – 1964 MGB

I was in the Air Force, stationed at Lajes Field, the Azores Portugal. I was a medic, a public health specialist and had just turned 20. Some of us were offered a chance to fly on a C-130 to the Canary Islands for a 4-day period of “rest and recuperation”. I jumped at that and we were off! We spent virtually all our time in the city of Las Palmas on the Gran Canaria, the main island. It was, and probably still is, a beautiful cosmopolitan European city surrounded on three sides by ocean.

Four of us, buddies, were there and we were dazzled by the hospitality of the islanders as well as the beauty of the Spanish women there. We also had a chance to rent an MGB sports car. I was totally amazed at that car… so sleek, so low to the ground, so quick and nimble. With the top down, it was pure joy to ride and drive, especially at night in the city. It was totally big time to me… a hayseed out of small town North Dakota and Ohio. I would never forget it.

Fast-forward five years and I was in Riverside, California with my new, beautiful bride Julieann Marie. We were preparing to leave the Air Force as I was thinking Julieann and I could make a better life by other means. Then, I was promoted and we faced the prospect of a re-enlistment bonus that was over two grand! We were thinking that was big money and I had started night school for a degree so we figured we would ride that possibility a little more. I will never forget signing up and getting that cash (a fortune to us at the time). I took it all in bills to our apartment and tossed it on our bed. Julie and I just studied it, and laughed at it for a while then we put it in the bank.

At that time, Julie was also working full time so we had two incomes and a brand-new 1970 Cougar with a 351 Cleveland engine in it.

I was working in Intelligence (an oxymoron I know) at the time. One day at work one of my buddies said he was going to sell his MGB but had to rebuild the engine first so he could get a decent price for it. I was pretty naïve about those things so I just said, “Why don’t you sell it to me and I will take some leave (vacation) and rebuild it myself”? So he did… for something like $900. It was sometime around the first of the year, a pretty cool time even in Riverside but I would not put the top up. I just drove that puppy around with the heater on, top down and blew giant clouds of smoke around the Riverside area. I had to add a quart of oil for just about every tank of gas.

After a couple of weeks, I decided to visit the MG dealer and get an estimate on the cost of parts to rebuild the engine. I pulled up there, talked to a service tech and he checked things out. He put his hand over a certain point on the engine, asked me to rev it a little, and then quickly proclaimed, “You need a PCV valve.” I didn’t know what that was so I asked him how much that would run me. He said less then ten bucks and he could put it in right there and then. I was dumbfounded but managed an “ok” and he did it. From that point on the MGB ran like a dream and I couldn’t believe it. The famous “PCV valve” had become hopelessly clogged causing the car to blow out tons of oil and replacing it was all that was needed. I was in Fat City driving that sports car and loved every second of it. I kept driving it well into the spring without putting the top up.

Not long thereafter, I was assigned to do a tour in Thailand and we sold her, at a handsome profit of course.

Little Time

So many roads to travel. To our families, our friends, our next destinations. 

So much love to give. To our families, to our friends, to our work, to our homes. 

So much heart to share. With Tyler Thomas and Samantha Marie. 

So many sunrises. The colors, the air we breathe, the day’s adventures ahead. 

So many sunsets. The peace, the family together, the feelings of a good day spent. 

So much laughter. At the small things, at the big things, with each other. 

So much energy. To fulfill life, to fulfill each other. On a path paved with forgiveness. Almost forty years. 

So little time. To spend with you. 

Thank you Julieann Marie. I Love You.

Sittin' There

Don't tell me we're all alone.
'Cause I know he's sittin' there...
on your mind.

Screwed (It's not what you think)

Today, I replaced three lights on the front of our house.
Two guarding the garage and one guarding the main entry.

Note: Our garage contains the Harley’s so it gets more protection.
Another Note: This job involved electrical wiring.

I know nothing about this other than it can hurt you real bad if you aren’t careful.

Julie and I picked out the lights yesterday as we considered new paint schemes for the exterior.

So I put them on today because the originals were all in some state of disrepair. Now I will get to remove them again when we paint the place. The spacing screws that were used to properly attach the lights to the house weren’t the proper length. I needed others so I consulted the “Great Screw Box”.

This is a small Craftsman toolbox that, instead of tools, contains hundreds of different types of nuts, bolts and (you guessed it) screws. I have been saving these puppies from projects as in “I wonder where this goes? Aw hell, I’ll just toss it in The Great Screw Box”… for well over thirty years. This is because you never know when you are going to need an odd one and today… I did. It doesn’t happen very often for me, maybe once every couple of years or less. The Box didn’t let me down this time. I got the screws I needed.

There’s something about this Box that intrigues me… it represents the collection of a lifetime and it is certainly headed for an estate sale one day as my son and daughter don’t generally mess with tools, screws or anything associated except in an emergency.

Sure would be something if I could pick up one at random, blow on it and get whisked back in time to the day I threw it in there. That would certainly have me rummaging around for the oldest one. It would also add new meaning to the term, “Screwed”.

Proportional - To Kill

I realize this may be in violation of the unwritten “keep it light” modus operandi I usually operate under but I want to sound off on it a little just the same.

“The death penalty is not a proportional punishment for the rape of a child.” Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy, writing the majority opinion that overturned a law permitting the execution of child rapists.

I read this in a mid-July edition of Newsweek magazine and have to admit I have been really bothered by it. So much so, I hung on to the article and went to the old tried and true method of analyzing something… checking out a definition in a hard copy American Heritage dictionary. I think Kennedy is focusing on the second definition here, “A relationship between things or parts of things with respect to comparative magnitude, quantity or degree.” So it is kind of like a sophisticated way of saying, “An eye for an eye.”

My question for Justice Kennedy is how can anything be considered proportional to the rape of a child? I maintain many lives are ruined here, mainly the child’s and also the lives of the parents. I will (and hope to) never be able to fully understand the gravity of this on the victim and the victim’s family but I am nevertheless convinced a rapist steals the lives of several victims.

My argument is that people who have not been victimized by this crime cannot accurately judge “proportion”. Instead, there should be a gathering of previous victim’s parents who would review each case where there has been a conviction. Maybe something like an automatic appeals jury that convenes not on behalf of the perpetrator but on behalf of the victim. This panel should have the same power of life and death decision making that the perpetrator had when so thoughtfully exercising their power to steal a child’s future. Of course there would be an associated expense for convening these panels but the total cost would be minor in comparison to the cost of incarcerating a child rapist for life.

I think we would see some interesting results don’t you? I mean, if I was deliberating over the future of someone who had raped my son or daughter the choice would be pretty clear. I would gladly pull the trigger myself and then, of course turn to the task of forgiveness (the perpretrator and me) along with trying to help my child through the healing process.

I did a little Google research on the aftermath of this and see cries for Kennedy’s impeachment along with much general concern over this ruling.

Want the facts? Here is what the rapist did to this little girl: [The 8 year old victim] was transported to the Children’s Hospital. An expert in pediatric forensic medicine testified that [the 8 year old victim's] injuries were the most severe he had seen from a sexual assault in his four years of practice. A laceration to the left wall of the vagina had separated her cervix from the back of her vagina, causing her rectum to protrude into the vaginal structure. Her entire perineum was torn from the posterior fourchette to the anus. The injuries required emergency surgery.

“Justice Kennedy decided that it was cruel and unusual to execute a child rapist on the grounds that “national consensus” is against such punishments.”

“Proportional?” Proportional to what? The word doesn’t remotely fit the crime, let alone the punishment. “National consensus?” Go figure…

Cancun Cancan

We went to Cancun to learn how to cancan on the Yucatan.

We thought, “We can, can’t we?” and “If we can’t, who can?”

It turned out we couldn’t because no one in Cancun can cancan man.

So rather than cancan, I ran… on the beach.

Julieann, on the other hand, ran on the treadmill.

Can a person cancan in Cancun?

Don’t ask us, we ran.

We also learned this. Cancun is Mayan for "snake nest". Thirty years ago, the population of this, the “Mexican Riviera” was around 200. Today it is around 800,000. The growth has been sparked primarily by the development of 14 miles of hotels along a thin strip of land along the ocean known as the “Hotel Zone.” Most of the people here are from Mexico City, a place referred to by those who have relocated as “the human jungle.”

The people of Cancun are generally very happy and very service oriented. In fact, most of the establishments we encountered would make great boot camps for US service business trainees. They work hard on their English for the benefit of the “touristas” and are very thoughtful in trying to help. They are quick to make eye contact, smile and say “Hola!” They still like siestas but they work long hours.

We also learned this. Cancun is expensive no fooling. The prices for most things are the equivalent of the US, if not higher. They say lots of US citizens like to retire in Mexico because the cost of living is so low. That is definitely not the case in Cancun.

Mexican cabernet is pretty good wine. Chilean cabernet is better.

Mexican food in Cancun is first rate. All other types of food are pretty darn close.

Cuban cigars are plentiful, fresh and costly in Cancun. If you happen to like stogies as I do, you can go broke quickly. They are so good that the Cuban trade embargo is likely a good thing. If the embargo is ever lifted, demand in the US will explode overnight and stogie prices will skyrocket.

We also visited the ancient Mayan city, Chichen Itsa (shesun eetsah), learned some of its great architectural and cultural significance and found out it was the origin of the classic business phrase, “Heads will roll!”

Juliann and I want to live here but we’re concerned that Tyler and Samantha, after moving here with us, won’t be able to get the high paying jobs they will need to support us as well. They would sure learn a lot about customer service though!

All in all, we love it. As the famous Governator says, “We’ll be back!”

Molly

She's just a dog. Yet she fills my heart to the brim. Her tenderness with everyone fills the room. Her look is one of complete adoration. Her touch is one of maternal devotion. Her outlook on life is always fresh, always eager, always to capture the moment. Molly. I will love her for eternity. Her and Sparkle II. Her and Gypsy. Her and Mopsy. Her and Bingo. Her and Sparkle I. She fills my heart to the brim. She's just a dog.

Klutz - In Action

It was damn cold in Des Moines. The teens. I was busy finding out that a bum hip in the cold turns into a “bummer” hip, hence the expression (at least for me that is). So now, when you hear someone say, “that’s a bummer” you know they are talking about Tom’s hip… of course.

I returned to the Courtyard, walked into the lobby and headed straight for a parson’s table that had some magazines on it. They are usually free for the taking and I was trying to store up reading material for the plane flight home. Well, I didn’t exactly head straight for it. I had to dodge two small yellow pylons that warned of a “wet floor”. I checked out a Newsweek at the table for a few seconds, decided it fit my criteria (very low) for in-flight reading material and turned away from the table... magazine in hand.

I had forgotten about the little yellow pylon right behind me so the two of us immediately got into a wrestling match to maintain balance. Fortunately it was a tie and we both remained upright but not without making a lot of noise and attracting looks from a few folks in the lobby area. I made some dumb little comment and took two more steps whereupon I caught my foot on a runner they had placed in the lobby to collect some of the snow and other crud people were tracking in from outside.

I survived that encounter too but just barely. The runner and I did a little tap dance with some flapping and shuffling thrown in for good measure. That had the lobby gallery looking on again but strangely silent. I am guessing that is because they couldn’t believe what they were witnessing.

Through it all I managed to make a couple of moves that would have made a junior high school halfback proud…I think. I am also thinking Chevy Chase would be proud of me even though I failed to execute a complete somersault in either pratfall attempt. In any event there is a message here. Beware of unfamiliar objects placed strategically in normally empty hotel lobbies. If it seems they are out to get you, they probably are.

Butt Warm

About a recent trip from Sacramento to do some work for some good folks in Helena, Montana... United doesn’t fly into Helena and I am a slave to frequent flyer miles so I flew in to Bozeman, the Northern Gateway to Yellowstone National Park. Bozeman is 90 miles South of Helena…part freeway and part highway. The first stretch is about 30 miles along Interstate 90. It is in a valley and the mountains of Yellowstone are not too far off on the right.

At the turn off from Interstate 90 to head north is a community known as Wheat, Montana. There are signs advertising a bakery/deli there that get you to thinking a quick stop would be good. It’s interesting. The place has an official Guinness World Record announcement hanging on the wall…the record is for the fastest from field to table, that is, unharvested wheat to bread…8 minutes and 24 seconds! For some reason they used microwaves in the process and I guess that speeded things up. There is other stuff on the wall indicating the "Today" show has been there checking things out also.

I had a terrific cup of soup with a fresh French roll followed by a very nice cinnamon raisin roll and a fine cup of decaf (too late in the day for regular). It seems there are more people in the deli than there are in the whole town…lots of locals with the farmers apparently coming in for treats.

Pulled out of there pretty satisfied and headed up the two-lane highway about 60 miles to Helena. There was some tall (about a foot) wheat stubble in the fields around, lots of fresh snow and purple mountains off in the distance. So, you guessed it, I started doing my best imitation of Ray Charles singing “America the Beautiful”. You know, “amber waves of grain, purple mountains majesty” and all that stuff. Killed (and I don't mean in a good way) the song pretty good on the road that day…

It’s great being out on a good, fairly quiet road with all that beauty unfolding in front of you – lets you unload the vocals and brain cells a little. Only thing better would have been to be there on the Harley-Davidson Road King instead of in a rental car, with Julieann tucked in behind me, keeping my butt and heart warm…

Poor Man

Martha and Ray Campbell,
somewhere in North Dakota,
married for over 50 years.

Poor man, poor man
Rich man, chooser man

Born in a Pontiac
Pontiac Michigan that is

Daddy was a wandering man
“We won’t have much
But we’ll have a lot of laughs.”
He told my Mother
Before they got married
And that’s the way it was

We were poor people in a poor town

Moved to North Dakota
Tiny town, Willow City
Population 200-300
Brother was born
Dad was Mayor
He managed a lumber yard

Still poor people in a poor town

Couldn’t make it in Willow City
Packed all worldly possessions

Tom C and the Pontiac that would carry us
and all our possessions to Michigan in the mid 50's.
Had to sell the bicycle because the car was too loaded.
Willow City Elementary is in the background. 

The four of us
In and on a late '40s Pontiac

Then moved back to Pontiac
Michigan that is
Dad worked at Pontiac Motors
Mom was an artist and homemaker
We were hayseeds from North Dakota

Still poor. Still in a poor town.

Moved to Ohio
On the shores of Lake Erie
Dad was a janitor
Everyone had more than us
Or so it seemed

Poor people in a not so poor town

Moved to Seattle
Slept on a cot in Uncle’s basement
Dad was a janitor again
I attended high school  

With a huge student body
Disappeared among them

Poor people in a rich town

Finished High School
Joined Air Force
A little money from Air Force pay
Seemed like big bucks
Grew some independence
Good company with good people
Naïve but learning every day

Poor man with a future

Met Julieann
Saw my destiny in her eyes
She believed in me
And that I could do anything

Poor man rich with wife’s faith

Got degree
Became commissioned officer

Not so poor…anymore

Finished Air Force career
Great success
Backed by the best in Julieann

My heart was then rich

Two children, Tyler and Samantha
Within their growth and achievements
We find the meaning of life
They believe they can
They believe in Mom and Dad’s love

We are rich

We seize the day
Each of us
In our own way
Julieann, Tyler, Samantha and I
That is our choice

We are rich, and we have choices

Poor man, poor man
Rich man, chooser man

Made in America
It couldn’t happen anywhere else
Could it?

Ham-mered

Ham mered (ham’erd) 1. To hit, esp. repeatedly 2. Informal to keep at something continuously: hammered home the point. 3. Me: after having a margarita and 2-3 glasses of wine – yeah I know I’m easy. 4. Me: while watching retirement investments vanish into either the Bull or Bear’s anus… repeat hammered #3.