My Encounter with Bigfoot...

No, I'm not off my rocker - at least not completely.

Please bear with me as I relate the facts of my case:

It was the winter of 1983 and I was stationed with the U.S. Coast Guard in Owensboro, Kentucky. Yes, there are "Coasties" in Kentucky - the Coast Guard is responsible for the Ohio River that runs along the northern border of the state.

Anyway, like I was saying. It was winter and we had been having some very heavy snowfalls that year. I was manning the radio room at the Coast Guard station and since it was night time, I was there all by myself. The rest of the station was manned during normal working hours only but the radio room had to be operated 24 hours a day.

Lucky me.

It was around 2 a.m., I was real tired and so had gotten up to walk around the room and to do some stretches. Falling asleep on watch was not an option for me, that is - unless I wanted to get carted off to a military prison!

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement outside one of the windows and so I quickly turned my head to see what it was - but nothing was there. Whatever it was though, it stuck in my brain as being very, very large.

A few seconds later I heard the sound of someone or some thing beating on the door at the back of the building. I looked outside into the parking lot and could not see any other vehicles there but mine. The station was at the very end of a road, sat near the banks of the river, and the only other thing close by was a fuel depot across the street, but a quick glance in that direction told me that nothing was going on over there.

I left the radio room and headed for the back of the building. Just as I entered the break room (where the back door was located), I caught a glimpse of a very, very large figure moving away from the door. There was a window in the door and so it allowed me to see what was on the other side. Besides being quite large, I noticed quite nervously that it was covered with hair!

I remember just standing there in shock. Thoughts of Bigfoot immediately entered my mind - although up until that time, I had always thought Bigfoot was just a figment of crazy people's imaginations.

I turned and slowly headed back toward the radio room at the front of the building. As I made my way back, I'd stop and carefully peak out some of the windows but I could not detect any movement.

Then the thought crossed my mind as to whether or not I had remembered to lock the front door when I came in for duty. I figured right then that I'd better check that door. The front door also had a big glass window in it, so I cautiously peered through it to see if anyone or anything was around it before I got any closer to it. I saw no people and no monsters. I quickly moved for the door and out of instinct, instead of just making sure the deadbolt was engaged, I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it and gave a slight push to the front door.

What happened next was terrifying. In what seemed like instant, the big hairy creature came running for the door, grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door wide open. I backed up so fast that I almost fell over a desk that was just inside the front room. No scream left my mouth though - I was proud of myself for that.

Suddenly the hairy beast was apologizing to me profusely.

My mind was reeling, but slowly it dawned on me what was going on. The "beast" was in fact a very large man wearing a hooded parka - you know, the kind the Eskimos wear up in Alaska. He then explained to me that he was a fuel truck driver who's rig had gotten stuck in a snow bank a few blocks away. He had walked down to the fuel depot but nobody was there, and after seeing the lights on at the Coast Station, had decided to seek assistance there.

The man could tell that he had scared the crap out of me. He kept apologizing. I thanked him though. And for what you might ask? I thanked him for getting my adrenaline pumping to the point that I would not have to worry about trying to stay awake anymore that night.

He understood completely.

Before the Internet there was Citizen's Band Radio!

Currently, the Internet is THE thing man.

I mean you can't read a newspaper, or watch television, or listen to the radio without the Internet being mentioned. Well, back in the mid-1970's, that is how it was with CB Radio.

For $50 bucks, one could put a CB radio in their home or car and instantly be communicating with others in their community. And, just like the Internet, there was some degree of anonymity involved. People didn't use their real names over the radio, they used "handles". A handle was some catchy self-descriptive name that people gave themselves. Mine, well - it was "Beach Baron" - "Beach Bum" had long been taken (by several other guys) so I had to find something else. Having an interest in small airplanes such as the "Beech Baron" and a love for the beach, "Beach Baron" just seemed to fit just right.

I started out with a CB radio in my car but eventually talked my father into purchasing one for our house. Naturally after that, my father put a CB in his truck. We were a full blown CB family after that! I met a lot of very nice people over the CB. After talking to folks for a few months, we'd end up meeting face-to-face. I actually dated a couple of girls that I met on the CB and established a few really good friendships with other guys my age.

I joined the local CB club and met even more nice people. We'd have cook-outs, transmitter hunts, help look for lost children, etc.

There was one aspect of a CB radio that most folks never gave much thought to and that was the built in public address system contained in almost every radio on the market. All one had to do was mount a P.A. speaker under the hood of their car and then run a wire from it to the back of their CB radio (it simply plugged in). After that, it was simply a matter of flipping a switch on the front of the CB and you could blast out announcements and such from your car.

Do you remember Steve, the fella' I wrote about in the past? Well, Steve and I had hours and hours of enjoyment with our portable P.A. systems. The first practical joke that we played with our units was that whenever we'd come to a stop light - especially in the summer when most folks had their car windows down, one of us (according to who was riding in the car and not driving at the time) would grab the CB microphone and announce something along the lines of:

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. You are experiencing the world's first talking traffic light. This is a U.S. Government experiment and we would appreciate your cooperation. When the light turns green, you may proceed with caution through the intersection."

People would be freaking out. They'd be straining their necks trying to figure out where the talking voice was coming from. Some folks got out of their cars and looked around. Of course, if I was driving my car, Steve was laying on the back seat with the microphone in his hand an no one could see him. I'd be busy pretending to look around the area myself so that no none would get suspicious.

Steve and I must have played that joke on thousands of people all over Ft. Walton Beach, Destin, and Niceville, Florida.

Another joke that we liked to play on our fellow teenagers was that we would drive to a city park late at night, a park that had a small beach just below a sea wall. That location was a VERY popular location for teens to go and make-out. Steve and I would slowly drive one of our cars into the parking lot (the headlights would be off of course) and then one of us would yell over the P.A. speaker something like "I'm looking for my daughter and if I find the guy that is with her I'm gonna' kill him!"

You should have heard the screams and then seen the teenagers practically climbing over each other to get to their cars and out of that park!

I know, we were mean. It was harmless fun though. Steve and I didn't do drugs, smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, or commit any crimes. We were only guilty of being practical jokers!

The flying car....

Back in the mid-70's when I was in high school, I had a best friend named Steve.

Steve was pretty wild and was always looking for some adrenaline pumping action. I on the other hand was very cautious and reserved. Somehow we successfully complimented each other.

I'd sometimes be able to convince him that something he was about to do was just too darn dangerous and at the last minute he'd not do that thing, and then he'd thank me later after realizing just how stupid that "thing" was he was going to do.


I benefited because Steve always encouraged me to step out of my safety zone and to try new things. He taught me how to fish for sharks, to water-ski, to ski down really tall sand dunes, and to drive cars and boats real fast.


I never had a difficult time getting dates while Steve and I were best friends. Steve was very tall and very handsome, the girls just feel at his feet. In fact, there were so many falling at his feet daily that I got to pick from the excess. A pretty girl would go out with an average looking guy like me just so she could be around Steve. I didn't care, I wasn't looking for "Mrs. Right" at the time anyway and the confidence building that it did for me was a real plus. It was also real cool when all the other average guys like me looked on in awe whenever they saw me with an extremely pretty girl on my arm.


One afternoon Steve called me and told me that he had arranged for the two of us to have dates that night. That we were taking three lovely girls bowling at the local Air Force Base, it was a nice alley and Steve and I were both military dependents at the time, so we had base I.D. cards.


A few hours later, I drove over to Steve's house, dropped off my car and off we went in his souped up 1973 Mustang Mach I. Steve's car was one of the coolest I'd ever been in or driven, I liked it just a little more than I did my 1969 Camaro. Anyway, Steve, with me in tow - drove around and picked up the three girls for our bowling date. Our few hours at the bowling alley were okay, but nothing special. I could detect that Steve was pretty bored and was anxious to do something crazy.


As he drove all of us across the base and headed toward town he suddenly took a quick turn and told me that he was going to take a shortcut. Immediately, I knew something fishy was up.


"Steve, doesn't this road lead to the flight line?"


"Yeah."


"So, why are we heading somewhere that's off limits?"


"So we can fly."


"Fly?" I asked nervously.


The girls in the back seat were very quiet.


"Don't you remember I told you about how the flight line is much higher in elevation than this road - and it's like going up a ramp as you reach the runway?"


"Well, sorta'."


"Well, I think if we go fast enough, I can launch Mustang in the air."


"Hmm, I don't know..."


"What about you girls, do you want to fly?"


I was taken by surprise, the girls all responded positively. I had expected (or hoped) that they would have talked Steve out of his crazy idea!


Steve suddenly pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Mustang's engine kicked in full and we were all thrown back in our seats. I could see the road raise slowly toward the runway. In a matter of seconds we were truly airborne. What seemed like minutes was probably a whole 2 or 3 seconds but no matter, we were gracefully in the air.


There was nothing about our landing that was graceful though.


Steve hadn't give much consideration to the extra weight of the three girls in the back seat. He had also forgotten about the 4 bowling balls in the trunk!


When we hit the ground, the air shocks in the back of Steve's car immediately blew out. When we came to a stop, the back of the Mustang was laying right on top of the back tires. Whenever Steve tried to drive the car forward it made a horrible noise and we could only imagine all of the rubber being scrapped off of the tires.


So there we were, five teenagers sitting in a busted car, on a military runway which was totally off limits. I was starting to get just a little worried. Steve just looked over and smiled at me like the "Chesser Cat".


"What?" I asked.


"I know what to do."


"Yeah, walk somewhere, borrow a telephone, and call base security."


"No way. I'm not having them call my dad - again!"


And you know. We did make it off the base that night without getting into any trouble. It was a miracle - but we did it.


Can you imagine the looks on the faces of the drivers of the few cars we encountered as we left the base that night and headed for Steve's house and my car. What they saw was Steve and I sitting on the front part of the hood of the Mustang and holding on for dear life. The three girls were sitting in the two front bucket seats with the blowling balls piled on the front passenger floor. By shifting all that weight toward the front of the car, we were able to lift the back of the car up just enough so as to not drag on the tires.


Fortunately for us, cellular telephones didn't exist back then and so nobody was able to call the police on us. Since Steve only lived a few miles from the base, we were able to get to his house quickly before being detected by law enforcement.


I have no idea what Steve told his dad about the car and the damage inflicted on it. I left him to deal with that issue so that I could take the girls home. Everyone seemed to have had a good time that night - except me. I had been afraid that we'd never see those girls again.

My fears were without merit.

Fast Company...

Fast Company magazine is all about business and technology. It covers breaking news, new trends, and also has articles about people using technology to overcome obstacles.

Every year, the magazine takes submissions from folks who feel that technology has greatly improved their lives. At the end of the submission process, 50 people are chosen as the "Fast 50" for that year.

In 2004, after being prodded to do so by some of my well meaning friends, I finally relinquished and made a half-hearted submission online. Of course, I never expected anything to ever come of it, I mean - there must of been thousands upon thousands of folks from all over the country making submissions at the same time right?

Needless to say, I didn't make it into the top 50 that year.

But I did make it as a runner up. That put me into the top 100 of all the other submissions that year. I was terrifically and pleasantly surprised. You can click here to visit the Fast 50 Web page that contains my submission.

Life Circling...

Have you visited Classmates.com recently?

They have added much more than just the ability to locate past classmates from high school. Now one can locate former college buddies, military members, and former co-workers. A while back, while typing in the information on my former U.S. Coast Guard duty stations, I was presented with a listing of names of individuals who were stationed at the Alameda (California) Recruit Training Center – otherwise known as “boot camp”- during the late 1970's.

One of the names that appeared on that list seemed to just jump right off of the page. The name was Terry Dowdy, he had been my Company Commander during the nine weeks I spent at Alameda. Being a Company Commander meant that Terry was in charge of all of the drill instructors in my company. He was the big cheese, when he walked into any area that we troops just happened to be located in – we all had to drop down and do 50 push-ups. I reckon’ we must have done about 500 of them suckers every day.

Terry was unlike most of the “D.I.s” under him though – he was quiet and calm, the instructors, well – let’s just say, they were like walking activated fire alarms - noisy, abrasive, and unrelenting. When I arrived at boot camp, I was involuntarily separated from my original company of recruits and placed into “Oscar” company. “Oscar” company was the official drill team, members marched in formation, and performed intricate routines with massively heavy rifles (M-1s from World War II) – and, they had big sharp bayonets on the end of them.

I had absolutely no desire whatsoever to be on the drill team, I wasn’t happy. My goal for boot camp, was to keep a low profile, not volunteer for anything, and to just survive. Because I was so unhappy about my assignment, I got up the nerve to approach Chief Dowdy – I couldn't believe it, he was actually approachable. He listened to my opinions, and without yelling and screaming at me, or demeaning me – he made me an offer. “You participate in the first gig, and if you don’t like it – you can go back to your original company, and you won’t be harassed about it”.

I thought that was a very fair offer.

Needless to say, the first performance was inside San Francisco City Hall, the taps on our shoes sounded awesome on those marble floors, and we impressed the heck out of the visiting Prime Minister of India, all the while having our performance broadcast on live television. Needless to say, I remained with “Oscar” company. We performed 21 times in my nine weeks of boot camp, winning first place in 19 of those competitions.

We traveled all up and down the west coast, performed in the Kingdome before a Seattle Mariners baseball came, performed in front of 50,000 people at Sea Fair in downtown Seattle, and got to perform on the streets of Vancouver British Columbia.

Most folks, when they think back to boot camp, have relatively bad memories of it. Me – it was one of the most exciting times in my entire life, and I have Terry Dowdy to thank for that. Occasionally, we have folks that come into our lives for just very brief periods of time, and then they are gone. Most of us, never consider the possibility of ever being able to articulate to them, our sincere appreciation.

Well, I succeeded in doing just that awhile back. I located Terry using Google, called him up, and expressed my thoughts to him. He’s now living in Fairbanks, Alaska – which is quite a coincidence, considering that is where my family and I lived when I was a child.

Sometimes life actually does come full-circle, we just have to notice it when it happens.

Chasing Wyatt Earp....

Yep, that's right. I attempted to chase down Wyatt Earp so that I could get his autograph but I failed at my mission. No, I did not attempt time travel nor am I certifiably insane.

Have I got your curiosity peaked yet?

Actually, what I had attempted to do was to meet the actor Kevin Costner. I just so happened to be living in Santa Fe, New Mexico back in the early 1990's when "Wyatt Earp" was being filmed. A lot of the film's interior scenes were shot on the sound stage at the College of Santa Fe where I just so happened to be a student.

Much to my envy, a friend and fellow student had been temporarily hired to work in the prop department for the film. He had been lucky enough on numerous occasions fortunate enough to get to speak with Mr. Costner. So after quite a bit of pestering, I finally convinced Kareem to try and get me into the area of the sound stage whenever he thought the actor might be there.

I'll have to give it to Kareem, he did his college (pun intended) best to make things happen for me. Unfortunately, it just never panned out. I did get to walk around on the set a few times and "play" with some of the props.

Still not quite like meeting Wyatt Earp - I mean Kevin Costner though.

Challenger Encounters...

January 28, 1986

I will never forget that date nor forget where I was and what I was doing at the exact moment the Shuttle Challenger exploded in mid-air.

I was in the U.S. Coast Guard on temporary assignment to an Air Station in Puerto Rico. That particular day I just happen to be on duty in the radio room. I was busy maintaining communications with several Coast Guard aircraft that were airborne that day. I remember a clearly a very young enlisted member beating on the radio room door. As I opened the door he began yelling for me to turn on the television because the Shuttle had just blown up.

I had encountered this particular young man before and I had assumed he was trying to play a joke on me until I saw the look in his eyes. I quickly walked over to the television and turned it on and much to my shock, there was the now famous footage of Challenger exploding. My stomach began to quickly get nauseous. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing.

The network kept playing the footage over and over. Every time it repeated I found myself hoping, wishing, that somehow I'd see the Challenger rising up out of the clouds and vapor and progress onward toward outer space but alas it never happened.

A few minutes later I was given an order to advise our airborne flight crews of the event and to recall our aircraft back to the base.

The mood was very somber that afternoon.

My brother Tony, who was also on active duty in the Coast Guard at the time had the unpleasant duty of participating in the recovery operations of the shuttle debris, it was a lengthy endeavor.

My "connection" to Shuttle Challenger was established way before it ever exploded. Just two years prior, my son Christopher and I were able to be within a very close proximity of the spaceship. Each time the Shuttle returned from space it would land out west somewhere and it would be piggybacked on top of a 747 jet and transported back to Cape Canaveral on the Atlantic side of Florida.

It just so happens that my family and I were staying with relatives right outside the gates of Eglin Air Force Base in northwest Florida when the 747 carrying the Challenger arrived for a brief pit stop. My father-in-law at the time was a photographer for the military and had easy access to the flight line on the base so that he could take some pictures. He graciously invited Chris and I to join him. I think I was just as excited as my little boy was that day!

I can remember watching in awe as the 747 made its approach to the runway and began to descend. It just didn't seem natural for a humongous aircraft like the Challenger to be sitting ON TOP of a 747 Jumbo Jet. I can remember thinking that the combination of the two aircraft looked like a big lumbering elephant to me.

I pretty much think everyone was a little nervous as the 747 landed heavily on the runway and I can tell you I think most folks there that day let out a deep sigh of relief as it finally came to a stop.

An Extraordinary Boy...

Today is my son Christopher's birthday!

He was born February 26, 1981 in Panama City, Florida. He will always seem like an eleven year old boy to me even though this is his 26th birthday.

For you see, Chris died at the age of eleven.

My son left this planet and headed for heaven on April 13, 1992. He was awaiting a heart/lung transplant (he had been waiting six months) but passed away before a donor could be found. Chris spent the last year of his young life bound to a wheelchair and an oxygen tank.

We all expect to bury our parents some day, it's the natural order of things. A parent never expects to bury their child. It is a horrible thing to have to do.

I've spent the past years trying to focus on my son's life and not on his death. But at times, the memories of that event come flooding back into my mind and fills my heart, soul, and spirit with pain, remorse, frustration, and questions - many, many questions.

Chris was a bright candle and a very unique person. He had a dry sense of humor that couldn't be beat. I've written about his humor in past posts. As you can see from the picture, he had no embarrassment whatsoever from the massive scar on this chest caused by open-heart surgery. He eventually ended up with far more scar tissue after this picture was taken because he had two more open-heart surgeries after that.

We had a nickname for Chris, it was "Bear". We called him that because he had to "tough it out" with so many surgeries and with a seemingly unending onslaught of exams, blood tests, x-rays, and lots and lots of hospitalizations. Chris complained very little and was always an encouragement to everyone around him. He could easily light up a room with his smile and positive outlook. Whenever someone ask Chris how he was doing - he would always respond with "Fine", even when he wasn't.

I'm sure visitors to Sunset Cemetery in Valparaiso, Florida probably stop and scratch their heads if they just happen to come across my son's headstone. Blazoned across the marble surface reads the following words:

"How you doing Bear?" "Fine."

My son's life touched many, many lives. He impacted an entire community. To this day, fifteen years later, a little picnic area located in a courtyard at Valparaiso Elementary School remains dedicated to Chris.

I miss you so much son.

Divine Intervention...

Have you ever watched the film "Its a Wonderful Life"?

If you haven't, you really should, it's a great movie! Anyway, if you do know the film, do you remember how George saved the life of his younger brother when they were children? Do you remember that George's little brother went on to be a war hero and save the lives of hundred of men? If George hadn't done what he did, then things would not be quite the same for many, many families and many children would not have been conceived and lived out fruitful and productive lives.

Well, I've had a similar thing happen to me - in fact, it has happened three times and involved my younger brothers and sisters.

The first event occurred when I was around eight years old. Back in those days when the world was a lot safer place to live, elementary students were allowed to leave campus and to go home for lunch. Since I lived pretty close to school, I'd quickly walk home every day - snowsuit, rubber boots, and heavy coat to boot. Nebraska winters were pretty darn cold and snowy while we lived there in the 1960's.

I had quickly wolfed down my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a tall glass of milk while sitting at the kitchen table and then figured I'd better get headin' back to school. I remember clearly walking through the formal dining room and then putting on my coat as I passed through the living room on my way out the front door. I distinctly remember hearing a "snapping" sound coming from the dining room, but I had no idea what it was and if I would have stuck around to figure it out, I would have been late for school. I closed the big wooden front door and just as I started to leave the porch - I heard a voice inside my head, the same voice that sounded like me conscious - tell me to go back into the house.

It was an order, not a request.

I quickly turned and re-entered the house, this whole event not taking more than a few seconds mind you. As I entered the house I could still hear the "snap, snap, snap" sound coming from the dining room so I hurriedly headed for that direction. I remember looking around the room and then suddenly realizing that the sound was coming from under the dining room table, which instead of sitting in the middle of the room as most dining room tables were normally arranged, had been pushed against one of the walls.

Can you imagine my distress when I spotted my one and half year old sister Tammy clinging to a hair pin that she had inserted into an electrical outlet?

She was being electrocuted!

I immediately grabbed the dining room table, dragged it out away from the wall, ran around the table and then swiftly and firmly kicked her away from the outlet. If I would have grabbed her I probably would have been killed. My rubber boots saved both our lives and I really don't know that I knew at the time that rubber was an insulator from electricity.

God's hand was in that event and that I will never deny.

"Sissy" was fine, shaken up pretty bad and she was left with a burned imprint of the hair pin on her hand temporarily, but other than that she was fine.

I had to take a note back to school with me that day because I was late returning from lunch. My mother explained to my teacher what had happened, I remember the expression on his face very clearly - he didn't believe what the note said but never said a word about it.

A good day for a mugging....

It was 1985, I was still in the U.S. Coast Guard and on temporary assignment to Puerto Rico. Now, I know what you are thinking "Poor guy, had to spend a winter in the tropics..." - well, yeah I did.

Anyway, I had been down there for a few months and had been staying at the guest house on base. Right across the street from the guest house and through a locked gate, there was a very steep drop that led down to a very beautiful beach. I had been told that no one was to go down to that beach unless they were with a large group, that is was just way to dangerous to go by one's self (for swimming or for fear of crime).

It sure didn't look dangerous to me and in fact, every time I looked down there (daily), I never even saw another human being. Eventually, I convinced one of the security guards to give me a key to the lock and to let me go down to the beach by myself. I don't know why he gave in to me, but he did.

Like I said, it was a very steep drop down to the beach - a man made trail had been painstakingly created to make it easier to descend and ascend though. After 15 or 20 minutes I found myself standing on a very beautiful beach and with awesome view of the water. I had quickly laid my towel and other personal belongings down on the sand and had walked out into the water but I had kept my glasses on so that I could keep a good view of my surroundings.

As I scanned the area I immediately observed a group a men about 1/4 of a mile away from me down the beach. As I watched them, I soon realized that they were beating up another man. They'd pound the guy a few times and then drag him out to the water, then they would return to the beach with him and begin beating him again.

I knew I was no match for 4 or 5 guys so I figured pretty quick that I'd better get the heck outa' Dodge. As I began walking back toward my belongings, I realized that one of the men was running toward me. I didn't want to act scared or anything so I pretended to just be looking for something.

"Hey man, are you from the Coast Guard base up there?" the native Puerto Rican asked me as he pointed up the hill.

I knew it wouldn't do any good to lie, although at the time the nationals there very much hated Americans - especially military ones.

"Yeah, I'm in the Coast Guard."
"Well, that's okay, we won't mess with you today man. You can stay."
"Oh thanks, I appreciate that it." I tried to look earnest in my response.

I pretended that I was going to go back out into the water as the man turned and began running back toward his buddies. As he got about 1/2 way back I grabbed my stuff and quickly started heading across the beach towards the trail that led to the top of the hill. When I looked back toward the group, my heart leaped into my throat! All five men were running in my direction and quickly catching up with me.

I had never run so fast in my entire life as I did that afternoon. As I sped up the hill on that trail I could hear the heavy breathing of the men behind me - they were too winded to yell anything at me, that was a good sign! As I drew closer to the locked gate I realized that the sound of the men's breathing had dropped farther behind - I never did see any of them come into view as I hurriedly unlocked and locked the gate and ran for the base security building.

As I returned they key to the guard that afternoon, he asked me if everything was okay - I told him it was, I was just too embarrassed to tell him what had just happened. My legs by then were like rubber and my whole body began to shake. It was only because I had been working-out in the weight room and riding a mountain bike almost daily, that I was able to outrun those thugs that day - plus I believe God added some speed to my legs!

I firmly believe if those men had reached me before getting through the gate, that I would have quickly been a dead man. Instead, the next I was so sore all over my body that I couldn't get out of bed.

I thought that was an okay alternative.

Larger than life - why me?

It has always seemed that I have lived a life that is considered "larger than life", but I have no idea why?

I mean, it's not like I go out of my way trying to create strange situations to go through. In fact, I've lived most of my life trying to stay "low key" and in the background - but it doesn't seem to matter most of the time. I still end up on the front row, wearing a big ugly hat and bright clothes and then "stuff" just homes in on me and "blam" its got me.

I thought I'd just share that thought with you today.

Out of the mouth of babes...

I've got one more story to tell about my son Chris' sense of humor.

Back in the mid-1980's, there was a rash of child abductions all over the country. Especially from malls and large department stores. Every parent in the country was paranoid whenever they took their children shopping with them.

One day, I needed to go shopping for some work pants and so I decided to take off for the mall. My son was about 5 years old at the time and asked if he could go along with me. I told him that he could but he had to be on his best behaviour and that he had to stick with me like glue the entire time.

"Okay, Daddy - I'll be good." Chris responded as he looked up at me with a big smile on his face.

We soon found ourselves at Sears and as I wandered throughout the men's department searching for just the right pair of pants, I held onto Chris' hand tightly. My son was in fact behaving like an angel and I had been very much impressed. Eventually though, I had to temporarily let loose of my son's hand so that I could pull a couple of pair of pants off of the clothing rack. It hadn't taken me more than 60 seconds to grab that clothing and yet I suddenly realized that my son was gone!

I started quickly scanning the store for all of the exits, my heart raced and my breathing quickened, my mind started reeling with all of the possible scenarios and at the same time I started yelling at the top of my lungs "Christopher, Christopher!".

I was torn between leaving the last place that I had seen him and taking off for one of the exits. The more times I called out his name and I did not get a response, the more close to panic I got.

Suddenly though, I thought I heard a snicker. I listened closer - it WAS a snicker. I turned back toward the rack that held the men's work pants and quickly grabbed the pants and created a big gap between them. There, stood my son Chris laughing and pointing at me.

I was speechless.

"Daddy, you worry too much!"

Tell a joke - go to jail...

Since I'm on the subject of practical jokes today, I'll tell you about another "joke" that my son Christopher pulled on me.

He was about seven years old and had caught a cold. Since he had been born with heart problems, I got him to a doctor pretty darn quick. We had never met that particular doctor before and so he was totally unaware of my son's dry sense of humor.

I was also totally unprepared for what was to happen that day.

As the doctor was examining Chris, he noticed a pretty large bruise on my son's shoulder. Chris had been running through the house a few days earlier and had run smack dab right into a bookcase - thus the "war wound". The doctor, trying to strike up a conversation with my son casually asked him about the bruise.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, Chris immediately responded with:

"My daddy hit me with a baseball bat."

Chris didn't bat an eye, he didn't smile, he didn't snicker - nothing. He just starred up innocently into the face of the doctor who had a look of shock on his face.

The silence in the room became overwhelming, I had been caught totally off guard and I could actually hear my heart beating in my ears.

The doctor looked over at me with a look of disgust on his face.

I pretty much figured there was nothing I could say that would make any difference at that moment - I felt defenseless.

Suddenly though, my son started laughing uncontrollably. The doctor looked back at Chris and my son was pointing at him as he continued to laugh.

"Chris, you mean you're dad didn't hit you?"

"Of course not 'doc' - my dad doesn't hit me or my sister!" he replied as he continued to laugh.

I was feeling quite light-headed by then.

The doctor then started to laugh and then commented on my son's dry sense of humor and ability to carry off the joke. I told him that it was things like that that was going to turn my hair gray prematurely.

I could see that the doctor had taken a quick liking to my son. Chris then went on to show him how he could stick magnets on his chest and they would stay. For you see, my son had had open-heart surgery at the age of 4 months, the surgeons had used metal wire to put his rib cage back together, therefore a strong enough magnet would stick to my son's chest.

The doctor ended up taking Chris around the clinic that day, telling everyone about the joke he played on us and about the magnets.

Chris was always the brightest bulb in the room wherever he was. Unfortunately his bulb grew dark at the age of eleven and he went home to heaven in the early 90's.

I still miss him immensely.

The Jokester Gene...

I think maybe that the motivation to be a "jokester" must be a genetic thing. Before I was born, and while I was growing up, my father was a very big practical joker and as soon as I was able to think coherently on my own, I became one also. A few years later, my younger brother Tony started exhibiting all of the same symptoms (except his were a lot more predominate than mine!).

Twenty some odd years later, my son Christopher - at a very early age, started showing all of the signs and soon became very adept at tormenting me. One of the first incidents I can remember was when Chris was about four years old and it involved ketchup. His mother and I had taken him to a local fast food joint where the ketchup was available in those tall plastic squirt bottles. As I was preparing to feast on a much anticipated burger, my son suddenly yelled "Dad look!" As I quickly turned my head towards Chris, I found myself face-to-face with the ketchup dispenser in his hand and had absolutely no time to avoid the massive amount of red substance exiting out of the tip of the dispenser and headed for my face.

The ketchup was in my hair, covered my glasses, and had even entered my mouth since it had been wide open in startled reaction to what my son was doing.

Chris and my wife thought the whole thing was pretty darn funny which was quite apparent by the laughter that emanated from their mouths. Me, I just didn't see the humor in it at the time.

It took me like, 10 years to finally think it was funny.

Rocky - Bigger than life...

Okay, now I know what you are probably thinking, maybe something along the lines of "If this guy starts telling a story about meeting Sylvester Stallone in person, that is just too much."

Well, you'd be right.

Unfortunately I've never gotten to meet the man. I did get to see and touch the giant Rocky statue in Philadelphia though. It was in late 1986 and I visited a friend who worked in "Philly" and lived in New Jersey.

"Hey Steve, since we're still in town, could you run me by the Philadelphia Museum of Art?"

"Since when did you get culture Tom?"

"I picked some up last week, seein' that I'm living in the "Big Apple" now."

"Yeah right, you wouldn't know culture if it jumped out of a petrie dish and bit you!"

"Very funny, actually I just want to see the Rocky statue."

"I've got bad news for you bud, the statue isn't there anymore."

"What? No way man. They can't do that to me, it's un-American!"

"I've got good news though."

"How could you have good news after what you just told me?"

"They moved the statue to the "Spectrum"."

"What's a Spectrum?"

"It's a sports facility and...."

"Hmm, I don't really need to know anything else about it other than are you going to drive me over there now?"

"Yeah, for you I'll do that."

"Thanks, just for that I'll keep telling your mother and father nice things about you whenever I see them back in Florida."

"Oh thanks, I can use all the bonus points I can get."

Eventually over the years after that, the statue got bounced back and forth between the Spectrum and its original spot in front of the museum. Finally, and I'm not sure exactly when, the statue came to rest on a pedestal located in a grassy area off to the side of the museum. It just seems to me that the statue should have stayed there all along.

Tom to the rescue....

Long before I ever joined the U.S. Coast Guard, I was in the rescue business. From the time I was 5 or 6 years old, I was the kid who always took it upon himself to protect the weakling that was being bullied or the damsel being mistreated, even if it meant getting my own butt whooped in the process.

I learned how to do that from my father. He was a REAL rescuer, he was a military firefighter. I can remember at the age of 5, being in the living room of our apartment in Alaska. I was playing with some toys and my father was reading the evening newspaper. Suddenly a blood curdling young female scream reverberated up from the playroom in the basement into our apartment. Our living room just happened to sit right above that room.

I looked up at my father just as he looked at me and said "Let's go!". We both ran out the door and then down the stairway into the basement. As we entered the playroom I remember freezing in place as I witnessed an older boy, maybe 10 or 11, with his hands around the neck of a little girl my age. She was screaming and turning purple at the same time. The room was filled with kids of all ages but not one of them was trying to rescue the little girl; the boy looked like he had absolutely no intention of letting go of her either.

I remember looking up at my father and he simply said to me "Go take care of it."

So I did.

I quickly ran toward the boy who was a couple of inches taller than me, I pushed him as hard as I could which took him by surprise and so he dropped his hold on the little girl's neck. The look on his face was priceless, like "what's a little wimp like you gonna' do about it?". I surprised him again by quickly clenching my fist and punching him in the nose as hard as I could. The blood started spurting immediately.

Talk about a look of disbelief in someones eyes. I remember the wide-eyed kid backing up away from me and then leaning against the playroom wall. He kept holding his nose to try and get the bleeding to stop. All of the other kids started cheering for me and the rescued little girl walked over and gave me a big hug.

A hero was born. A legacy had been continued - and I would regret it for the rest of my life.

Do you recognize this face?

If you grew up in the 60's and 70's then you probably know who this is without any hesitation whatsoever. If you are a child of the 80's or 90's, you might still easily recognize Tom Lester from all of the Green Acres reruns on Nick @ Night. Tom played the character of Eb; it was his most famous role although he made many, many appearances on other television shows and even some movies.


I got to meet Eb - I mean Tom; it was in 1977. I was a senior at Niceville High School in Florida. Back then Tom was heavily involved with Campus Crusade for Christ. That organization paid a visit to my school that year and put on a presentation. I just happen to be in the right spot at the right time and so I got to speak with the actor personally for a few minutes. I just knew he had to be from the south and so I asked him from what parts. He then told me that he was from Jackson, Mississippi. Shoot, his hometown was just a couple of hours drive from Niceville.

He told me that he liked Niceville and that he was familiar with the area because so many folks from Mississippi travel down to the gulf coast of Florida for vacation each year. We had a good visit and I never quite looked at Green Acres the same ever again - and I still don't.

The Modem Shark...

Back in 1994, the Internet had just reached the rural area of New Mexico where I was living at the time. I had been reading about the World Wide Web with great anticipation of its arrival.

Almost immediately I had realized all of the great opportunities that the Internet could open up for enterprising and creative individuals. Little did I know at the time though, just how much the Internet was going to affect me personally and much sooner than I would have ever imagined.

As soon as I could get Internet service I was signed up and chompin' at the bit to start surfing. It took me quite a while to get my computer configured for the slow dial-up access that was available back then (14.4 Kbps). Once I did get the connection established though, it would drop within 10 or 15 minutes - every time I logged in.

After spending a great amount of time on the telephone with my ISP's technical support department, we determined that it was the very poor conditions of my telephone service that was the culprit. I learned that in most of the rural areas of the country, the telephone lines are way past due for replacement. Most of the analog lines are corroded, and have bare spots in the insulation that allow moisture and such to wreck havoc on an Internet connection.

What I needed was some type of filtering device, something to clean up the telephone line signal. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any such device. I searched high and low throughout eastern New Mexico and west Texas but to no avail. My Internet searches were just as fruitless. It was time to take matters into my own hands and so I did.

I had dabbled in electronics off and on since the age of 12 or so, having built quite a few electronic kits and such. Although I had never gotten a Ham radio license, I did have a bunch of old electronic project books on hand that had been given me to by a friend. I started looking through those books and I found a section in one of them about signal filtering using simple electrolytic capacitors and a couple of resisters.

It wasn't long before I had built and tested several different variations of what ended up being my own unique design. After a few days, I had build a circuit that allowed me to stay connected to the Internet for as long as I wanted - no more disconnects! I was quite content with my success and had never given any thought about telling anyone else about it.

It wasn't just a few days later though that I met a young man named Paul Nelson who lived a couple of ranches over and he mentioned to me about having great difficulties staying connected to the Internet. After I told him about my little device, he got real excited about it but was also a little Leary about my claim. I told him that I would build him a unit and have him try it out.

The day after giving Paul a clone of the device that I had built for myself, I received a telephone call from him. He was very, very excited. "Tom, I can't believe this - I can stay connected to the Internet!" I was happy for Paul. It was then that Paul suggested to me that maybe I should build a bunch of my devices and sell them on the Internet. I immediately responded with all of the reasons that I couldn't do that. I didn't know how to market a product, I didn't have a Web site nor could I afford to have one created for me, and I sure didn't have any way to accept credit card payments for Internet transactions.

Paul had planted a seed though in my mind though, and that seed sorta' just took off on its own and started sprouting real quick! Before I knew it, I had taught myself how to build a crude but workable Web site, I had signed up for a credit card merchant account and I had started selling my filtering device for which I had given the name of "The Modem Shark". If you click here you can see an archived version of my original Web site.

You know, I sold those suckers to people all over the world. To Saudi Sheiks, to movie stars, to the U.S. government, to rural telephone companies, and to thousands of people all over America who had lousy telephone lines. Eventually I even got some national exposure for the device. Popular Science magazine did a small article about the Modem Shark in their July 1999 issue. Sales of that device paid our bills for a number of years and opened lots of other doors and taught me a great deal.

Here are some of the top lessons that I learned:

1. Get a patent when you invent something.
2. Hire a bookkeeper.
3. Make sure you pay all the right taxes to the I.R.S.
4. Realize that bulk orders to oversees customers are probably scams and you'll never get your money.
5. You get what you pay for in advertising.
6. Make good use of business deductions.
7. Your company's success is directly proportional to what you put into it.

I closed the business down around 2003, it was way past due for it.

Hot off the press....

Everyone is always asking me when I'm going to publish my next book, well - here it is!

This book is Volume One of my new "Devos to Go" series. It is entitled "The Mountains Declare His Majesty". If you click here you will be able to read more about this new series of devotions, preview part of the book for free, and best of all - order yourself a copy!

I appreciate your support.

P.S. By clicking here, you'll be able to read a little bit about all of the books that I've published so far.

When men were men...

Growing up, my brothers and I liked watching those old black and white westerns on television. The hero always came through and he spent a lot of time protecting innocent women and children from the "bad guy". My father was as big a hero to us boys as John Wayne was to the rest of the world. He was a military firefighter and a Judo expert. He taught his boys how to respect others and how to be gentlemen. He instilled in us that we should avoid a fight if we can, but that we should always stand up to those who would bring harm to others.

In the early 1970's, besides being in the military, my father worked a 12 hour night shift on Friday nights at an Exxon gasoline station that sat along Interstate 20 as it ran through west Texas. On those nights, my brother Tony and I would go with him, helping around the station and doing some cleaning, we were both pre-teens at the time. We thought it was a great thing to be with our dad and to stay up all night!

One evening, just as it was getting dark, a pick-up truck rolled into the station parking lot - it had a flat tire. Out popped two very drunk cowboys and they asked my dad if he could fix their flat. He immediately began to work on the truck and tire. As he was working, he gave my brother and I a look - it was quickly interpreted by both of us that we should stay clear of the two men. Suddenly one of the cowboys started cursing about how long it was taking my father to fix the tire (only 5 minutes had transpired actually). Then the other cowboy starting telling dirty jokes to the other guy.

My father stopped working and looked up at the two tall cowboys and asked them politely if they would please watch their language because his boys were present. The two guys stopped talking for a moment, gave us two boys a look over and then went back to cussing and carrying on. My father, once again - very politely, asked the men to stop. This time they completely ignored him. Tony and I watched my father intently to see what he was going to do.

"Dad" quickly finished repairing the flat and after removing the tire from the machine that he used to put it back on the rim, picked up the tire and began walking toward the guys and their truck. Just as my dad reached the men, he lifted the tire and rim above his head (with one arm) and stepped right into the faces of the two drunk cowboys.

"You know, I've asked you both nicely, two times now to watch your language. So now I'm telling you that if you do not shut up, I'm going to ram this tire down both of your throats."

That is all my father said.

The two men immediately shut their mouths and stepped back away from the truck. The entire time my father spent reattaching the tire and rim to the truck, the cowboys never even made a "peep". My father stood back up and turned toward the men, one of the guys put some cash in my dad's hand and the then the two jumped into the truck and quickly drove off.

Tony and I will never forget that night.

50's Rock-n-Roll...

Although I spent most of my childhood in the 1960's and 70's (I was born in 1959), I must truly be a child of the 50's. Why you may wonder? It is because 50's Rock-n-Roll is about my all time favorite type of music.

So you can imagine how exciting it was for me to receive a telephone call in the mid-1990's, from a 50's rock-n-roll legend. Not only did I get to speak to George Tomsco on the phone, we eventually met for dinner at (get this) a 50's type diner!

George was living in Raton, New Mexico which is in the northern part of the state. A friend of a friend of his had mentioned my name to George in reference to building a Web site for the famous music group "The Fireballs". The group had formed in the 1950's - in Raton.

George was one of the founding members of the group and he and some of the guys were still traveling and performing around the country. The Fireballs had several big hits in the 50's and 60's - one of them, and one that even young people today might easily recognize was "Sugar Shack".

I eventually did build the very first Web site for the Fireballs but it has since gone through several changes and remodels since then.

Curfews and Book Reviews...

I found this really awesome book review site this weekend. It combines the power of the Google search engine with the massive databases of the top book review sites on the World Wide Web.



Okay, I have a confession to make - I created the "BookTango" Web site. Google said I could, so I did it. And now it's after midnight and my wife is going to come look for me soon and I'm going to have a hard time getting up in the morning, and.....


Please, go check out my latest endeavor will you?

Life in Boggyville...

I first set foot in Okaloosa County, Florida in the spring of 1973.

My father, Tom Jr. - was in the U.S. Air Force, had just returned from Southeast Asia, and - after “reclaiming” his family in North Carolina, reported for duty at Eglin Air Force Base. My love for the area was immediate - no hesitation whatsoever. I loved the scenery, the water, all of the fun things to do; and the people. I had spent most of my young life feeling like a total outsider, a perpetual tourist - but not in Northwest Florida, I was home.

But this posting isn't really about me and my wonderful experiences as a teenager in Okaloosa County. No, my ”Boggy” roots actually run much deeper than that and I didn't even know it until a few weeks after we arrived in the area. It was when my father casually mentioned that he, his sister and his parents had lived in Niceville for a short time, in the mid-1940's - that I received my education in our family ties to the area.

My education was then further enhanced upon the arrival of my father's mother, who came for a visit - she easily recalled the location of the home that they lived in, and a number of other landmarks in Niceville and on Eglin. Not bad considering that it had been a good thirty years since she had lived in the area. My father's parents were from Pittsburgh, Pa. and so that is where they lived and gave birth to their children (Tom and Gale). The year was 1945, during the heat of World War II - my grandmother, Naomi Ruth DiFrancesca had a sister, who was married to a man that was in the Army Air Corp, stationed at Eglin Field.

My great-uncle Danny Mills and his wife Beryl, were so pleased with the Niceville area that they invited my grandparents to come live with them and to check-out the community. It really didn't take much persuasion for my grandparents to leave Pittsburgh - the noise, the pollution, the constant smell of oil and diesel were all daily reminders of just how industrialized Pittsburgh had become. Niceville must have felt like a primitive paradise when my grandparents, father and aunt stepped off the bus.

As far as my father can remember, there were no paved roads; just white sand trails leading everywhere. My father's aunt and uncle lived in a small house on Bayshore Drive - in fact, that house was still standing and inhabited until just a few years ago. The house was quite crowded but Sicilians are known for their closeness and strong family ties. There was no bathroom facilities inside of the house. I was really surprised to find out that the bathroom consisted of an outhouse, which was located on a dock that jutted out from the backyard - and over the water of Boggy Bayou.

My grandfather, Salvatore or “Sal”, as most folks called him, was quickly able to secure a civilian job at Eglin Field - he was hired as a firefighter. Since neither of them owned a car, my grandfather and his brother-in-law traveled to work every day by boat. They would tie-up somewhere in the area of present day Postal Point on Eglin Air Force Base. There are times, in these past thirty years, that I have stood on the banks of Boggy Bayou and have imagined seeing my grandfather and great-uncle slowly motoring across the bayou as they headed toward Eglin Field.

I also used to stand on the water side of the Valparaiso Inn, then uninhabited and in serious disrepair and imagine how it must have stood out like a majestic palace. In fact, my grandmother told me just that - it was the hub of activity in Niceville and Valparaiso. I was terribly disappointed when the Inn burned down in the late 1970's and quickly faded completely into history. I don't believe in ghosts but it seemed like a supernatural thing happened to me just prior to writing this article. My father had just recently come across an old picture of his cousin Joyce - she was fishing from a dock in Niceville, during the 40's. I volunteered to restore the photograph as best as possible in order to send a copy to Joyce - as a surprise. It was to my surprise that after enlarging the photograph I was able to see the top of the Valparaiso Inn, on the other side of Boggy Bayou. It was an eerie feeling.

My father was in one of the very first classes at Edge Elementary School, he has very fond memories of his short time there. He also remembers walking home one day from school, when he and a friend came across a number of piglets that were running loose, which was normal in the area back then. He and the friend decided to play chase with the piglets. Apparently, they never considered that the piglets just might not have very good endurance. As my father was chasing one particular swine, it just dropped dead from exhaustion. My father felt really bad about the situation and even much worse when my grandparents found out what happened. He never did tell me exactly what his punishment was.

Life in “paradise” for my father and his family came to an end only six months after arriving in Niceville. Because of the war and because of the shortage of laborers, my grandfather was told that he had to go back to Pittsburgh to work in the shipyards there. Apparently, he was supposed to have checked with “someone” prior to leaving Pennsylvania. My grandfather, being a patriotic American, quickly returned to Pittsburgh with his family.

My grandmother also went to work in the shipyards there and became a riveter - there have been many stories written about the women who did that job during World War II. If my grandfather had not been recalled to Pittsburgh, he and his family would most likely have remained in Niceville - they were extremely happy there. They did eventually return to Florida after the War, but ended up in Miami - and that, is another story.

Do you watch many movies?

I've had a busy weekend. Besides having a very annoying and excruciatingly painful wisdom tooth extracted - I built a couple of customized search engines.

If you are like me, you watch quite a few movies every month; either at the theatre or by renting videos. I often use Google to look up movie reviews and I also have some of my favorite sites that post reviews pretty often. The problem I have is that I get tired of trying to remember all of the good and useful sites that are out there in Cyberspace.

So, what I did was combine the power of the Google search engine and the massive databases of all the top movie review sites on the Internet. Sure, my new search engine will need "tweaking" once in a while - but it's off to a real good start already.

Click here to visit - MovieTango.com!

Tony the Tormentor...

While I was growing up, my younger brother Tony terrorized me daily.

In fact, he terrorized my entire family and some of our neighbors. My earliest memories of my brother inflicting his demented sense of humor on people goes back to when he was just seven years old.

Early one morning, just before my mother was to come into our bedroom to wake us up for school, my brother quickly arose and then arranged the bed to look as if he was still sleeping in it. He then slid underneath and patiently awaited the arrival of my mother. I was sleeping soundly in the top bunk and was totally unaware of what my brother was up to, until that is, I heard my mother's voice shrieking in the still hours of the morning.

I was so startled by the noise that I fell out of bed and plummeted to the floor, almost landing right on top of Tony arms as they extended out from underneath the bed. His hands were still tightly grasped around my mother's ankles as she continued to scream. I had really wanted to laugh right along with the evil little troll that I shared a room with, but I felt too bad for my mother at the time.

Ten years down the road, things weren't any better. Tony had developed a habit of sneaking up to me in the morning as I slept, getting up real close to one of my ears, and then yelling "Wake-up" at the top of his voice. I had developed a habit of instinctively swinging one of my arms in his immediate direction as an attempt to inflict upon him with as much pain as possible.

One morning, Tony made his move and then I made mine and I successfully made a good solid contact. Suddenly though, I felt intense pain in my right arm. The pain was excruciating. As I opened my eyes and rolled over, I found Tony standing a few feet back from the bed. His insane laughter echoed throughout the bedroom and from underneath my new motorcycle helmet that he was wearing on his head.

A few months after the helmet incident, I had an opportunity to exact revenge on my brother. I tried not exacting revenge on him very often though because it always meant double the retribution on me sometime later on down the road. But on one particular morning, around 4:00 a.m., the perfect opportunity arose, and I could not deny it.

Tony had volunteered to help me that morning to deliver newspapers. I had a big motor route that covered a lot of miles and it included both houses and apartments. After arriving at an apartment complex and parking in the parking lot, I asked Tony to remain in the car and to continue folding newspapers while I made my deliveries on foot.

After completing my deliveries I made my way back to the car and could hear the stereo blasting away. As I slowly moved closer to the passenger side of the car, I noticed through the partially rolled down window that Tony was totally oblivious to my return. In fact, he was singing along with the music on the radio at the top of his voice. I squatted down and eased myself closer and closer to the window.

Revenge was at hand. My heart was racing. I slowly and cautiously reached through the window and grabbed the top of my brother's head. Tony's high-pitched scream reverberated throughout the still night but then it suddenly stopped. My brother had passed out on the front seat of the car. He wasn't out long though and quickly awakened and began screaming again. As I fell backward onto the parking lot pavement, I had to hold my sides from the pain of the intense laughter that wracked my body.

My revenge had been sweet and I tried to savor it for as long as I could. If Tony hadn't been so afraid of the dark, he would have walked home that morning.

I wish I could say that Tony was broken of his horribly bad habit that summer morning in Florida, but I can't. A few months later he volunteered to assist me once again on the paper route and foolishly I agreed. We arrived at one of the apartment complexes and I began to make my deliveries on foot and as before, Tony remained behind in my car.

As I was making my way across the top floor of a two-story building, I heard the blood-curdling scream of a woman in distress. The hair on the back of my neck went straight up and my heart started racing. I had to do something and so bravely but quite apprehensively I dropped my bundle of newspapers and ran towards the stairwell from which the scream had come.

As I descended the stairs I could hear a woman sobbing. I could also hear the voice of my brother. Apparently, while I had been making my rounds, Tony had taken up a spot right below the stairwell and had placed a grotesque rubber Halloween mask on his face. As he had heard footsteps coming down the stairs and had assumed that it was I, he had suddenly jumped out in front of the stair landing.

And so, there with the mask in his hands, knelt my brother on the ground in front of a very distraught woman. He was profusely apologizing to her and begging her not to call the police. She was mad, she was upset; and the look on my brother's face was priceless. It was only because I knew the woman; and I proceeded to earnestly intercede for my warped little brother, that he did not go to jail that morning.

Did that incident break my brother from tormenting people?

No, not at all, in fact, a few years later, he and I ended up in the same barracks in Coast Guard boot camp and he continued to exact his torture on me there.

And that my friends, is a whole other story.

Encountering the Dynamic Duo...

I was 7 years old when the prime-time television show "Batman" premiered. Boy was my little brother Tony and I excited. We just couldn't hardly wait for the next week for a new episode to air.

Between shows we'd pretend to be Batman and Robin, taking turns with the roles. It wasn't long before masks and costumes were available at the local department stores and so we constantly started pestering our parents until they finally gave in and bought them for us. We even got to see the Batmobile in person and that was a REALLY cool thing since we were in Fairbanks, Alaska at the time.

Although the television show only lasted for two seasons (1966-68), it immediately went into syndication. My brother and I watched those shows over and over for the next several years until we eventually grew up and left home.

In 1984, I took my family to a car show in Evansville, Indiana. I had heard that the original Batmobile from the 60's would be there and I had wanted to see it. Much to my satisfaction, the car was indeed there. I very much enjoyed telling my little boy Christopher about seeing the car when I was just a little older than he was. As we were examining the Batmobile, I suddenly realized that two men dressed in the original Batman and Robin outfits were sitting at a table a little off to the side of the Batmobile display.

My son and I walked over to the table to get a closer look and I immediately recognized that Adam West and Burt Ward, the original actors from the T.V. show were the ones in the costumes! There must have been a lull in the activities at the car show for no one else was around the table. The lull therefore provided an opportunity for Chris and I to actually speak face-to-face with the REAL Batman and Robin for almost 15 minutes.

We had a great visit, the two actors were very friendly, and they autographed pictures of themselves for my son. From that point on, whenever the original Batman show would air on a cable channel, my son would get real excited and tell me that my "friends" were on television.

I'm just a Teddy Bear...

My father and mother listened to a lot of Country and Western music when I was a child. For awhile there, I must have thought that was the only kind of music that existed.

In 1972, when I was 13 years old, a song entitled "I Wish I was a Teddy Bear" hit the top of the C&W charts and then crossed over to the pop music charts much to everyone's surprise. I can remember singing along with the song whenever it was played on the radio or on my parent's record player. I even ended up singing the song in my head without any external stimuli - it was scary!

I can remember looking at Barbara Fairchild's picture on her many record albums and thinking how pretty she was - I ended up with a slight crush on her to say the least. I remember thinking to myself "Gee, I wish I really was a teddy bear and then I'd let her squeeze me!" - that was my teenage hormones kicking in I reckon.

Well, back then, little did I realize that I'd actually ever get to meet Barbara in person - but I did. Thirteen years later, while stationed temporarily in Puerto Rico with the U.S. Coast Guard, I was lucky enough to be able to attend a concert performance by her. Old memories of my childhood quickly flooded back into my mind as I listened to her sing that night.

At the end of the concert, it was announced that Barbara was going to be signing autographs so a line quickly formed in front of the stage. I patiently waited my turn and after about 20 minutes finally came face-to-face with a still very beautiful Barbara Fairchild. "I'm sorry, I've run out of pictures to autograph. Do you want me to autograph something else?"

I stood there for a few seconds, my mind reeling.

"You know, I'd sure rather have a hug from you than an autograph."

I couldn't believe those words had slipped off my lips. I felt so embarrassed. My shipmates started making funny noises and laughing at me.

"Well, you just step right over here and you've got your hug."

My shipmates were caught off guard, so was I.

I got my hug that night, and I got to tell Barbara about listening to her music with my parents and about my early teenage crush on her.

It was a very enjoyable and memorable evening if I say so myself.