Songs are a part of life. When I think back to things I did in the early sixties, and throughout my life, I remember the songs I was listening to at the time. Here is a list of some of my favorites in the order they came to me. Back in 1964, when I was very young and just getting into Rock and Roll, Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders released “Game of Love.” This was way before I ever played that game myself- However I did think the sisters Robin and Paris down the street were pretty cute! As I recall the song jumped around a lot and had short guitar and then drum solos. Also, as a little kid, I loved the part when Wayne yells, “Oh Yeah!” “Aint No Sunshine” was released by Bill Withers as the B-Side to “Harlem” in 1971. You’re right, I don’t recall ever hearing him sing “Harlem” either.  At that time, I had become aware of how to play the game of love, I just wasn’t very good at it. On a side note, there are some that will tell you I never did play that game well.  I hope that those who will point out my faults will admit that I was a pretty good C and then B league 16″ softball leftfielder! Man! Could I track down those long fly balls…. Oh well, I guess that’s a story for a different time. “How Can I Be Sure?” was released in 1967 by The Young Rascalls. It was also released by Randy Jackson and Dusty Springfield, but I liked the Rascalls version the best. The Turtles released their blockbuster hit, “So Happy Together” in 1967. Years later, when I was a cop, I did security for The Turtles at a festival- I think the lead singer was the only original Turtle on stage that day- still very entertaining. While he hit his peak long before most rock ‘n roll bands, I enjoy this guy’s music and used to watch his TV show and his TV roasts. The song I’m thinking about is “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime” the performer is Dean Martin. The song was on the Rock ‘N Roll top 20 lists in 1964, it was written in 1947 by Ken Lane. In 1967 The Mamas and the Papas released “Dedicated to the one I love” and it went to #2 on the billboard top 100. I remember being at a friends house in junior high with a lot of guys and girls just hanging out. One of the girls, Laureen, kept calling her boyfriend and playing that song. She was trying to get him to sneak out of his house and join us. Lou Christie released “Rhapsody in the Rain” in 1966. It was written by Twyla Herbert and Lou Christie, sung by Christie with backup vocals by The Delicates. I was “knee high to a grasshopper” and couldn’t get enough of the song without having any idea as to why it was controversial! “Hey Jude” was very popular when I was in middle school. I had been a Beatles fan since they landed and loved this song as well! Not really Rock ‘N Roll, but I loved the song “Oliver” from the musical of the same name. We didn’t get to many movies when I was a child but, my parents took my little sister and me to see this one in a reserved seating theatre- What a treat! “Key Largo” was a hit song sung by Bertie Higgins. I loved the song for many reasons- I loved Bogey & Becall and all of the references to the 1940’s movies I watched on the late show. Hope my memories brought back some of your good memories. Please comment and share Thanks, Phil    

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As we enter a new year, I reminisce about the changes that have come in my lifetime and throughout history. With The Christmas Season in our recent past, I am thinking about the trends in acquiring gifts for that holy season. It, historically, has morphed from parents making one gift for each child, to parents buying modest gifts at the “Dry Goods” store, to shopping in a busy “Downtown” with many stores to choose from, or ordering from the “Sears, Roebuck and Company Gift Catalog” then came driving to the nearby shopping mall and, most recently, shopping on-line. I used to save one gift purchase for Christmas Eve each year. I enjoyed the hustle and bustle of last-minute shoppers desperately trying to complete their yuletide chores. I have been disappointed the last couple of years because Christmas Eve crowds and the accompanying hustle and bustle, just weren’t there. Telephones are another area where obvious changes have come about, many of them in our lifetimes! Before I was a twinkle in my father’s eye, a telephone call required requesting the operator connect you with the party you hoped to speak to. Next, calls were made by “dialing” the number of the party you wanted to speak with by cranking the rotary dial on your phone. “Party lines” were common back in the 40’s to 60’s.  A party line occurred when the phone company issued two separate telephone numbers a connecting line. This resulted in potential callers putting the handset to their ear to initiate a call and hearing a conversation already in progress instead of a dial tone. When this happened, the second caller needed to hang up and be patient, waiting for the first call to end. The first caller was expected to end their call quickly- this was usually done because of “common courtesy” and the knowledge that they may be the second caller the next time. Pay telephones were common in drug stores, post offices, gas stations, on busy corners and many other locations. Prior to the invention of “cell phones” pay phones were a necessity for people who needed to make a phone call when they were away from their home. The cell phone was invented and this, combined with the propensity of drug dealers to use pay phones as a way to keep their business stealth, ended the use of, and need for, pay phones. Telephones were improved in other ways as well. Pushbutton phones were invented and replaced many of the dial phones in households throughout the country. The next advancement was cordless phones that entered many households prior to the cell phone. The invention of color TV’s came about between 1946-1950. The first color TV broadcast was in June of 1951. When newspapers were the main source of news it was not unusual for a major paper to have a morning, afternoon and evening printing with changes and updates in each edition. Now, many newspapers have folded, and the industry itself is fighting to survive. Cars that started off with “crank start” models morphed through many stages- including a starter button on the floor, then the starter automatically activates when the key is turned. “Any color, as long as it was black” to numerous colors. Automatic transmissions as an accessory- now common; vent windows on the front window, many variations of the vent window, now, it is almost obsolete. Engines have been changed in many ways at many times. I have heard of 3, 4-, 6-, 8- and 12-cylinder engines. All cars, at one time, had drum brakes; those have been replaced by disc, which are more efficient. Car windows have varied from push open, to crank, to automatic. And, amazingly, we are on the cusp of “self driving” cars- WOW!!! We have moved on from full-service to self-service gas stations. Cigarette machines, which were a great gift to 16-year-old kids who had developed a yearning for tobacco, are gone. Typewriters have gone from manual to electric- of course! Hasn’t everything? Thanks for reading. Please comment about what you liked, what you didn’t, or anything you would like to add.

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I have fancied myself as a writer for a long time. My undergraduate degree is in journalism/public relations and advertising. I went to college hoping to follow in my father’s footsteps, but I was sidelined more than once on that attempted journey.

In the summer after I graduated from 8th grade, I rode my bike about 4 miles into the downtown area of my small town, Elmhurst, IL. My friends/classmates/fellow graduates and I had played a marathon softball game (16 inch- it’s a Chicago thing) to raise money for school improvements and I wanted to publicize our accomplishment. As the picture shows, Chicago area 16″ softball is not played with gloves! That makes us different from the rest of the country but, I have been told by friends who have played in national tournaments that the barehanded Chicago teams generally win them.

Chicago softball- no gloves

I went to the main office of The Press Publications Newpaper, our smalltown rag, with a prepared “press release” detailing our great feat. I was allowed to speak to the copy editor and explained who I was and why I was there. He was very generous with his time and his knowledge. The editor picked my brain about what I planned to do with my life, why I had traveled so far alone. He inquired about my family situation, I got the impression that he was impressed that my dad was a writer, and he encouraged me to follow in dad’s footsteps.

Eventually I showed him my article that was about 5 paragraphs long.

The publisher, whose name I can’t recall, asked why I had omitted my name from the article. I explained that I didn’t have as good a game as the stars I had mentioned in the clip I brought him, and it wouldn’t be fair to them to include my name.

He gave me a smile and explained that the newspaper was already filled with articles, but added he could maybe squeeze a couple of paragraphs in. We rewrote my copy together and he suggested that my name be added, since I had come all this way. Lacking the proper amount of modesty and character for a boy my age I obliged him by adding my name and eliminating the guts of the article. The shortened version, below, was published in the next day’s paper.

I was a little embarrassed that I had consented to put my name in and omit some of the real stars of the game when I saw my article in the paper the next day. I was also excited, but concerned about the way my classmates would react.

Dennis Julison told me he appreciated me adding his name, but reminded me that his name was Dennis, not Don- I knew him for 8 years, that was my first official typo! A few of the real stars gave me the “cold shoulder” the next few days at the local pool, but it was all in good fun— I think.

I learned a lot about writing with that article. I learned that no matter how good you feel your article is, an editor can/will amend it as he/she sees fit.

My original article had details about the game, the stars, the key plays and the purpose, to raise money to buy a bench for the school. As you can see, the rewrite gave, as Joe Friday would say, “Just the facts” and not too many facts at that.

I learned what power the press can give. I was not among the top ten best players that day but, since I was the author, I was mentioned.

My dad was proud that I had been published before my first day of high school, so was I.

Thanks for reading to the end. If you have any comments, questions, concerns, or similar experiences, please comment.

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Mother’s Day 2024 was a good day for me. My ex-wife, Eileen, had chosen to take a waitressing shift and let the kids know they could stop by for the brunch special and see her at the same time. Eileen extended the invitation to me also and I was glad to go.

I went after mass and met with my father-in-law, three of my kids and three of the grandkids. My son Sean and his girlfriend Beth had the family over on Saturday so some of the other kids didn’t come to the brunch. I enjoyed a fantastic meal at my son-in-law’s restaurant- as always. If you’re interested, I had scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon and biscuits and gravy from the buffet, then topped it off with pumpkin pie, a brownie and soft ice cream!

The conversation was great and, unfortunately for us, the place was very busy, and the kids and I didn’t get much of a chance to talk with Eileen.

I usually visit my son’s grave on Sundays. He’s buried at the same cemetery my parents, mother-in-law, and a few other friends and family have been interred so, as morbid as it sounds, I usually go “grave hopping” when I make the trip there.

I was still an active police officer when my son, Daniel, died and one of the bright spots of that terrible week was that my department directed traffic at the cemetery and treated us like VIPs.

As I approached the cemetery, about an hour’s drive from my home, I saw the local department had cones up and officers were busy directing traffic. My first thought was sadness thinking some other family was going through what my family is still dealing with; then I realized that it was a Sunday- no funerals on Sundays!

I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I did quickly figure out that they were dealing with a Mother’s Day rush! My thoughts changed from sadness to happiness that so many people were paying respect to their departed mothers. I had never seen such heavy traffic there!

My son’s grave is not far from the entry gate that I used and it still took me about five minutes to get there. My parents graves are on the far side of the cemetery so I decided to go there first to see if traffic was lighter- I couldn’t find a place to park by Dan’s grave!

My parents are buried near my aunt and uncle, and some close family friends. I was able to park there and spent some time. When I returned to Danny’s site it was still busy so I parked a section away and walked.

It was bittersweet to see so many people there. Nice to see so many people visiting. Sad to see so many people mourning the loss of loved ones. As I write this I’m wondering if I am as confused as I sound?

Anyway, it was a beautiful day in Chicagoland. Sunny, the temperature hit 84 degrees. I hit a few golf balls on the way home. I talked to most of the kids during the day!

Win! Win! Win! Win!

Thanks for reading this. Please share it with your friends and comment.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Phil

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Trailers for sale or rent

rooms to let, fifty cents.

No phone, no pool, no pets.

I aint got no cigarettes.

Ah, but, two hours of pushin’ broom

buys an eight by twelve four-bit room.

I’m a man of means by no means

King of the road

Third boxcar, midnight train

destination Bangor, Maine.

Old, worn-out suit and shoes.

I don’t pay no union dues.

I smoke old stogies I have found.

Short, but not too big around.

I’m a man of means by no means

King of the Road

I know every engineer on every train

All of their children, and all of their names

And every handout in every town

Every lock that aint locked when, no one’s around.

I sing, Trailers for sale or rent

Rooms to let fifty cents,

No phone, no pool, no pets

I aint got no cigarettes.

Ah, but, two hours of pushing broom

Buys an eight by twelve four bit-room

I’m a man of means by no means

King of the Road!

Trailers for sale or rent

Rooms to let, fifty cents

No phone, no pool, no pets

I aint got no cigarettes

Ah, but, two hours of pushin’ broom buys…

You might recall I have acknowledged that The Beatles were my favorite group when I was young. This song does not, in any way, resemble anything released by The Beatles. True!

To those of you who are familiar with the song, I hope you agree that most of the songs Roger Miller released bring a smile to your face. They do bring a smile to mine!

So let’s get to analytics, as I promised.

As a child of 10 or 11, I was drawn to songs that told a story. I felt this one did.

The story, by my interpretation, chronicled an entrepreneur who lacked capitol. I came up with that analysis after my dad explained what “means by no-means” meant.

So, I was impressed with the fact that an older person (Everyone seemed to be older than me back in 1965- just as everyone seems to be younger than me in present day) had written a song about a hobo who rented out boxcars. I liked the idea that he would sweep them out and charge “fifty cents” for something he had no legal right to allow people in. – Back in the day we heard a lot about the “bulls” hired by the railroads to keep hobos out of the boxcars. We heard about them beating “freeloaders” and throwing them out of moving trains and worse. The first time I heard this song I thought of the “bulls” and was curious what Mr. Miller would do to keep his “tenants” safe.

I liked the fact that while my older brothers were spending half of their paychecks, from the part-time jobs they held on cigarettes (Around fifty cents a pack in the 60’s) Roger Miller was smoking, “Old stogies I have found..” Since that time, I can’t avoid thinking about that line any time I see a crushed-out cigar butt on the ground.

I also found it amusing that Roger Miller was writing songs about “Hobos,” “Roller skating in a buffalo herd” and “England (He pronounced it EEEN-GA-LUND) swinging like a pendulum do (Which isn’t swinging at all) while The Stones were demanding SATISFACTION, Frank Sinatra was singing of STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT, and The Beatles were hoping to HOLD YOUR (Some unknown girl’s) HAND.

I felt Miller was a nice “comic relief” from the love songs, which, as a preteen, I had limited interest in.

Thanks for reading. Please comment on songs you enjoyed, or whatever you liked or disliked about this post.

Phil

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If you answered yes to that, I have a few ideas as to why that might be true.

One reason is that Boomers are the last generation to be raised with landline phones. These were phones that did not identify the caller and kept ringing until the caller gave up and disconnected. Most landline phones were in the kitchen or the living room/family room and provided little privacy to young people who still lived at home but yearned to have a private conversation with their friends or sweethearts. If you were lucky enough to have an extension phone in your bedroom there were still no guarantees; anyone in the household could pick up one of the extensions and listen in to your most intimate conversations.

When I was dating my future wife, her parents had installed a kitchen wall phone with an extra-long handset wire that allowed her to reach the basement stairs for some semblance of privacy. When we were talking her younger brothers would open the basement door and bother her or, worse than that, sit outside the closed door and eaves drop on our conversations.

One addition to the anti-privacy landline situation was that if someone else in the home answered the phone, they would know who was calling. It was not possible to be assured of privacy when it was necessary to take a call at home (And, with no cell phones, taking a call at home was about the only play) whether it was from a new love interest, a loan consultant, a lottery win (Not so common back then), a doctor’s office, a police inquiry- whatever!

To make a long story short, I contend, that this situation prior to cell phones and even handheld portable landline phones, strengthened our patience, The snoopier the siblings and, sometimes the parents, the more our patience/tolerance was enhanced!

Our TV experience was Black and White only, at least early on. We were limited to four channels, five if your area had a PBS (Public Broadcasting System) station.

Very often TV shows would end with a “cliffhanger”, and the viewer was forced to wait a whole week, sometimes a season, to learn “The thrilling outcome.” If you’re “boomer age” you probably remember the anguish “Dallas” fans experienced when they had to wait over the summer to learn who shot JR! There was no “binge viewing.”

All of the broadcasting stopped every night. I don’t recall it as a set time, but most channels were not broadcasting after midnight or one O’clock am. When the stations signed off, they generally put up a test pattern and played the national anthem. A Facebook friend, Diane, reminded me that with the test pattern there was usually a warning that it was past curfew and, sadly, there were updates on how many soldiers had died in Viet Nam that day.

There were no remote controls on the early TV’s. As my brother-in-law complains to his kids, “We had to walk across several feet of shag carpeting, sometimes in our bare feet, to change the channel!”

All of these TV tests, I believe, helped boomers to learn patience and tolerance.

Another “patience tester” that we faced was that many of the cars in our time came with manual transmissions that were much cheaper than the newly invented automatic transmission option. No such thing as hopping in the car, popping it into gear and going. We had to release the parking brake, push in the clutch (While holding a foot on the brake), put the car into gear and slowly release the clutch to engage the transmission. If this wasn’t done properly the car would lurch forward (Or backward-depending on the gear -1rst or Reverse) and die or, minimally, make a grinding noise that alerted everyone around that you had “missed the gear.”

On the few times that dad was able to leave our only car at home when he went to work, mom would take us on errands and endure one of the four boys in the family saying, “Dad doesn’t make that funny noise” every time she “ground the gears.”

Another point about cars back in the day, it was possible to remove the keys with the transmission in neutral. On more than one occasion, I was aware of cars ending up in the street after rolling out of the driveway when a driver exited their car without putting it in park (For automatic transmissions) or gear (For manual transmissions). 

Learning to drive stick shift cars took more patience than learning to drive automatics, believe me! I learned to drive in a Chrysler 300 with an automatic transmission. I did not feel that was much of a challenge. After I was proficient at driving my brother Pat taught me drive a manual transmission in his 1969 Nova “Three on the tree” (3-speed transmission on the steering column). This car was equipped with a transmission that was much easier to shift than the car my parents drove back in the day. It was designed to make shifting smoother by “synchronizing” the gears.

I still made “That funny noise” a few times in my lesson and killed the engine a time or two. The grinding gears and killing the engine are not good for the car and I thank my brother for allowing me to mistreat his vehicle until I got my timing right.

Four of the vehicles I have owned have had manual transmissions and believe me, they sure do try your patience- especially on a grade at a stop light when the guy behind you pulls near your bumper. Remember, you have to put the clutch in with your left foot and apply gas with your right foot. That does not leave another foot to put on the brake, so the car is going to roll back at least a little. Add a vehicle right behind you to the mix and that results in a “patience building event!”

In an “un-official poll” a couple hundred of my boomer friends and I participated in, it was determined that the majority of us did not live in air-conditioned residences until high school or later. AC was a rare commodity that few stores or public places had until the late 60’s to mid 70’s.

For those of you who have had AC all of your life, try to imagine waking up and knowing it was going to be a hot day because the sheets on your bed were wet with your perspiration? Sorry but that had to be said. Anyone who is scoffing, remember how you feel for those occasional hours or days that you lose your AC.

This definite lack of comfort during our “formative years,” I believe, helped strengthen our patience.

How many of you have ever tried to “re-fold” a paper road map?

In those days of yesteryear, before GPS, a vacation trip required a foldable road map that was usually purchased at the local gas station. This sounds like a simple task- but I assure you, it is not!

Refolding a road map may rank among the most difficult jobs on earth- don’t fact check this; I may be mistaken. 

I was the fifth of six kids in my family. I did not get to sit in the front seat of the car often. My next older brother was usually competing with me and pulled rank whenever he could. Regardless, I put in a request to sit in the front seat any time, and every time, one of my parents pulled their keys off of the rack by the back door.

One of our few vacations was a trip to Iowa. My dad had borrowed a camper trailer from a friend; so, my usual seat in the very back of our station wagon- a seat that faced back- would be even worse because I would not be able to distract myself by looking at cars and scenery behind us.

I campaigned hard to wrangle the coveted front seat, between my parents. I was faced with their probable refusal because my next oldest brother, Paul, protested that he deserved to sit there citing that he was older but still small enough to sit there without anyone feeling uncomfortable.

Finally, a compromise was struck. I could sit there part the way if I could re-fold the roadmap- Ahhh, piece of cake! How hard could it be?

The answer, as hard as it was to face, it is very hard.

Paul shared the duties with my sister Pam, both of them had solved the puzzle of map folding.

My sister Polly and I failed the challenge and were voted off the island, or at least into the backseat!

These are a few of the many trials we faced as baby-boomers. I hope some of you will comment on tests that I have failed to mention, or didn’t experience.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed, please comment with your views on this subject. I appreciate your input and look forward to hearing from you.

Phil

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My brother, I’ll call him Paul because that’s what my mother named him, was my next oldest brother- there was a “buffer” sister between us, and that was probably a good thing.

I’ll try to limit this post, mainly, to one incident or it could easily become a book. I won’t mention the times he beat me up, intimidated me, blamed me for things he did and more. I’m feeling charitable.

The incident I have in mind happened in the summer of 1962 or ’63. I was about 7 and had recently received my first communion, which is a very big thing in my church. My parents invited our many relatives, and I received $24.00 in 1 and 2 dollar gifts. Remember, this was a long time ago and I felt like I had won the lottery (Which didn’t exist at the time)!

Being the fifth of six kids I had only “owned” hand-me-down bikes. I wanted a bike of my own more than anything in the world. I badgered my parents to allow me to spend my newly acquired fortune rather than invest it- the option they were strongly behind.

I scoured the Sears Catalog and sales papers from the day of my First Communion Party.

I fell in love with a red 26″ J.C. Higgins coaster brake bicycle. The negotiations were horrendous since the bike listed for $25.00 and my parents mentioned, more than once, that there would be taxes and the added expense of a lock, which I would have to promise to use every time I took it out.

The fateful night finally came. Mom and Dad took me up to Sears Oak Brook- a treat in itself- and I was destined to make my first “grown up” purchase!

We got the bike home and, even though it was late, I was able to stay up and watch/monitor my dad as he assembled my shiny new bike. I was bursting at the seems! It was only because I had an ounce of common sense that I didn’t insist on taking my new ride out that night, around 10pm.

The next morning I got up early and rode to every friend’s house in the neighborhood to show off my new bike. Most of them were still asleep, but it’s the thought that counts.

I had to go out early because Saturday was the day I went with my dad to visit my Uncle Charlie at his print shop a few miles away. Dad would help Charlie set up and design menus and programs while I kept myself busy doodling on scrap paper- always a plentiful resource in a print shop- and occasionally pestering them.

We spent four or five hours there and stopped for lunch on our way home, which was another treat for me.

The fun of the day evaporated when we got home. My mom dutifully told me my bike had been stolen.

“Out of the backyard!” I exclaimed. “It was locked!” “No,” mom replied, in her best June Cleaver calm voice. “Paul took it to the movies with Rob and some other boys.” “Everyone had bikes but Chip (One of Paul’s friends) so I let Chip take yours.” I was confused, I asked how it was stolen if it was locked. Mom said Paul told her the lock chain wouldn’t fit all of the bikes so mine didn’t get locked.

I was angry for more than one reason, Paul went with my best friend Rob when he knew I would be back soon. It was my lock, and mine was the only bike that didn’t get locked, mine was the newest bike by far. Was he just trying to make me mad?

Later mom and dad agreed that Paul should buy me a new bike with his paper route money because he used my lock to secure everyone else’s bike. Paul argued that he wasn’t to blame and my dad caught me before my hands landed on his throat. Now I realized why Paul wasn’t there when mom broke the news to me.

Once I was safely subdued by my father Paul continued his complaint that he wasn’t to blame.

Later, when we were alone in the room we shared with my oldest brothers, Paul started teasing me about how good the movie was. He could always beat me up and my lunging at him without getting a strong punch in the face seemed to bother him. The moment had passed though. At the time, with the rage I felt, I might have had a chance to beat Paul for the first time in my life. Now, I had calmed down and he was ready for me. I passed.

I’m pretty much over the anger of that day. I think the 50 or 60 years that have passed have softened my heart.

Paul and I are good friends and spend a lot of time together now, but every once in a while, I think about that bike.

Today, for instance, I looked up the bike to confirm the manufacturer’s name and I saw that one J.C. Higgins bike owner is asking $999.00 for a bike similar to mine. I think I’ll call Paul.

Thanks for reading, please comment on like, dislikes, similar experiences. If the comment section is not available, please tap on the title and it should come up at the end. Sorry for the inconvenience, I am working on the problem.

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Our shift ran from 10:30 pm to 06:30. It was about 2 in the morning when I got the call. “Zone 4 (Me) and a unit to back for a glass break alarm at…” droned the dispatcher. NOTE: Dispatchers were trained to maintain their calm when sending officers to anything from a lost puppy to a major violent crime in progress. Our team was good at it, besides, for every “real deal” there were several, if not hundreds, of false alarms. The “Glass break” alarm is a very effective way to alert local police of a broken window or kicked in door entry. Unfortunately, these alarms can also be triggered by a car engine backfiring or any other loud noise.

I responded with my close friend Scott.

The office was in a strip mall. Scott and I met at a spot where we couldn’t be seen by possible offenders inside the building. It was an older structure, built in the 1960’s. A part of our job was, even before this “extra patrol,” to pull-on doors and windows of businesses trying to find any unsecure locations before some opportunistic criminal or vagrant could. The sergeant that was our supervisor that night was known for putting his calling card on doors to encourage us to check them. If we brought his cards back to him he knew we were following his orders.

Scott and I had both located unsecured businesses in this area previously.

I tried the handle of the back door. The handle was locked, it did not turn, but the door was not completely closed, and I pushed it open- very quietly. I called in to alert dispatch, and the other officers, that we had found an open door and would be searching the building.

Scott and I had been to many building search/Active shooter trainings that recommended searching officers move quickly and stay together to limit the chances of a “friendly fire” tragedy (A situation where a police officer accidentally shoots another officer) and also to allow the backup officer to be very close.

For every rule there is an exception.

This office presented several challenges. It was much larger than it appeared to be from the outside. There were several “half walls” that prevented us from moving freely within the office without being seen by a potential assailant hidden in a different room. It was very dark inside and certain areas were cluttered with boxes, magazine racks and other obstacles. For this reason, Scott and I agreed to break from the protocol and separate.

I worked through exam rooms on the East side of the office while Scott was doing the same on the West. I observed no signs of a break in such as open cabinets or drawers, items of value moved or missing, or valuables piled in one area. There was a lot of searching left to go. I had not gotten to the office area or the areas where a criminal might hope to find drugs.

Scott and I couldn’t communicate because we had not secured the building. We had no way of knowing if we were alone. The safest thing to do was complete a thorough search and either confirm it was safe or locate and arrest an offender. At this point chances were, as they say, “Six of one, a half dozen of the other.” We could be on another false alarm; the rest of our shift might be consumed with action followed closely by reports.

As I approached the office area I found a door with the doctor’s name on it. The door was closed, but not locked. When I opened it I would, momentarily, be illuminated by the soft light behind me. I needed to get through that door as quickly as possible, while spraying the room with my flashlight to, hopefully, temporarily blind anyone waiting to attack me and to allow me to see what danger might be waiting in the darkness.

I flung the door open while keeping my body close to the wall and moving quickly. I did not leave my flashlight lit. I blinked it on and off to give me an idea of what I would have to deal with while trying not to make myself a target by leaving my flashlight on.

To my left, the direction I was moving, there was a large heavy desk- easily large enough to hide a large man (I’ll have to move fast and check that out I thought). Moving my gaze around the room as I was seeking cover there was a bookshelf, continuing a scan to the right there was the silhouette of a large, dark-skinned male wearing a sleeveless t-shirt/jersey and shorts, I saw the couch next to him but I was already raising my gun to attempt to control that man while I yelled, “Get down and put your hands behind your head! Do it now! I was about to yell for the man to put his hands up again when I realized he was smiling. His expression hadn’t changed at all!

Is he crazy? Is his accomplice behind the desk? Does he know I’m about to die and my orders mean nothing?

Scott was coming into the room now, he was yelling, “What have you got? Where is he? We realized together that my suspect was a cardboard, life-size, cut out of Michael Jordan.

Training, and my guardian angel, stopped me from shooting. I was assessing the situation as it was unfolding and made the right choice not to shoot. I was also very embarrassed when Scott started to laugh as he took out his handcuffs and read Michael his Miranda rights.

Thank you for reading. Please comment below. If a comment section does not come up please tap on the title and it should. We are working on that problem, sorry for the inconvenience.

I hope you enjoyed the story.

Phil

The post THE NIGHT I ALMOST SHOT MICHAEL JORDAN appeared first on A Boomer's Thoughts.

As a child, hoping to be in an opening day line-up one day, it meant the long winter break was over and I could start cheering my Cubbies on again. Maybe this would be “The Year!” EDITOR’S NOTE: I didn’t make my high school baseball team and was never invited to a major league camp.

I had been born into a loyal Chicago Cub fan family well into the penant drought that had started in 1945 and lasted until 2016.

I started a streak of going to at least one Cub game every year in the early 1960’s, when my father decided I could sit through all nine innings without fussing. This was not a decision he made lightly. I didn’t realize it but he had evaluated my ability, and willingness, to watch the baby bears on TV. The year before I was authorized to make the pilgrimage to the Northside baseball temple, I had opted out of sitting and watching Jack Brickhouse (Longtime Cubs announcer) call the game on Chicago’s very own channel 9 TV. Later in the year I caught my dad and older brothers sneaking out of the house and I yelled, “Hey, wait for me, I wanna go too.” My dad said, “No Phil, we’re going to the Cubs game.” I argued that I was old enough and my dad said, “Maybe next year. You can’t even sit through a game on TV in the warm house and it’s going to be chilly out there today.” Once I was given the green light I went every chance I got. I didn’t break my streak until I was married with children of my own.

My grandfather, father, Uncle Charlie and other assorted family members passed the Cub history on to me by telling me stories; many, many stories, of the fabled franchise by the Great Lake Michigan. It was much like Indians in the area had passed their history on to their offspring.

I remember sitting in the left field grandstands with my father and Uncle Charlie while they were reminiscing about games they had been to together. Charlie brought up a time they went in the late 1940’s. My dad and mom had just become engaged. Mom asked dad to take her brother-in-law, my Uncle Tom, who was visiting from New York. to the game. Dad was glad to. Tom was a big New York Giants fan and they happened to be the opponent’s that day.

The Cubs were beating the Giants and dad and Uncle Charlie were enjoying it immensely. Tom was not! Finally, Tom, who my dad had just met, voiced his anger that my dad and his brother had invited him to a game and then were loudly rooting against his Giants. For the last few innings of the game my dad and his brother, two of the biggest Cub fans in the history of the franchise, were sitting in Wrigley Field rooting for the visitors. Charlie was laughing louder than I had ever heard him laugh as he recalled that day.

One of my favorite stories of the Cubs past happened even further back in their history. Back in the very early days of baseball the Cubs were a dynasty.– I’ll wait for you to stop laughing.– The Cubs won the 1906, 07, 08 and 10 National League Pennant. The New York Giants were usually the number two team. Franklin Pierce Adams wrote a poem from the viewpoint of a NY Giants fan about the Cubs double play combination he titled “That Double Play Again.” I’ll let you read the poem and see if you can figure out the names of the hated Cubs it immortalizes.

These are the saddest of possible words:

“Tinker to Evers to Chance”

Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,

Tinker to Evers to Chance

Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,

Making a Giant hit into a double (play)-

Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:

Tinker to Evers to Chance

Gonfalon is a pennant (flag indicating league championship). I didn’t know that when I first heard the poem. Tinker played shortstop, Evers played second base and Chance completed the double play combination at first base, I did know that. These guys weren’t really a great double play combination by their numbers, they just buried the Giants with a lot of twin killings in 1910 to take first place in the National League.

The Cubs won today so they’re in first place, maybe this is the year! That’s one of the wonders of opening day, you start the day in first place and your chances are even to stay there.

Thanks for reading, please comment.

Phil

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Here is a little bit of how I remember Christmas past and why I wish we could return to those simpler times.

All talk of decorations, advertisements and items related to that festive time started the day after Thanksgiving, and not a minute sooner! Sure, our parents did not have the power to stop what we were thinking, but they were very successful in postponing the lists and begging that now start a little before Halloween. It seemed to me, as a kid, that the “adults” had conspired to banish that “Most Wonderful Time Of The Year” until after all of the Thanksgiving dishes were washed, dried and put away.

The Friday after Thanksgiving (Now known as Black Friday) opened the floodgates for toymakers to inundate children’s shows with commercials for GI Joe, Barbie, Silly Putty, Play-Doh, Chatty Cathy and so many others. For those 5 weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas we watched TV for the gift ideas as much as the shows. When we weren’t watching we could be found with our noses in the Sears Catalog, maybe circling items or tearing out pages so Santa could see exactly what we wanted.

I remember salivating while lying on the area rug in front of our black and white TV during the early 1960’s. It was at least three years in a row that I made the #1 item on my list a replica car dashboard that included a steering wheel, horn, speedometer, blinkers (Turn Signals), rear-view mirror and windshield. I pictured myself “helping” my mom drive by clipping my dashboard to hers and acting as co-pilot. If you’re curious, I never did get it. I was the 5th of 6 kids and often Santa’s budget eliminated the more expensive gifts. Or, it could have been the simple fact that my mom had enough distractions driving 6 kids around town in our 1959 Mercury Montery that she chose not to add a co-pilot to her challenges.

Back then it was acceptable not to get your top picks. My parents, especially when they got down to kids five and six, were fairly adept at explaining why Santa chose not to go with our wishes. There is a funny, I think, story related to that:

When my oldest brothers were toddlers, they asked for big Tonka Toy trucks for Christmas. My parents, always on a budget, bought them smaller trucks that fit within their Christmas allotment. It was our family tradition to go to the city for holiday parties. That year mom and dad took the beginnings of their family (The first three boys) to my dad’s side of the family. Dad was several years younger than his nearest sibling and, for that reason, my three oldest brothers were the center of attention, they were the only small kids there. Everyone at the party asked them what they got from Santa. My brothers answered in unison every time, “An itty bitty dump truck and an itty bitty fire engine.” My mom and dad were more than a little embarrassed and sad feeling they let their children down on Christmas Day. My dad’s family meant no harm but, as the story goes, everyone who entered naturally went to the littlest kids and asked, “Was Santa good to you this year?” And these little kids, having no idea they were throwing mom and dad under the bus, vented about their recent disappointment!

Back in the late 50’s and early 60’s indoor shopping malls were very rare. According to Google the first one was built in 1956. I remember the bulk of our Christmas purchases were done in downtown shopping districts or an outdoor shopping center near our house.

One of my favorite Christmas time memories was a shopping trip with my dad. He took all six kids out into the dark, cold midwestern night to shop for gifts for my mom (As an adult, I do believe this gave mom a chance to wrap our presents undisturbed). I was about five years old. Dad parked on the street and started bringing us from store to store to allow each of us to pick out their present for mom. I remember it was cold, the streets hadn’t been cleared snow was still falling. There was about 5 inches of slush accumulated in the gutters. Dad was trying to shepherd six kids ages 3-12 safely across a busy downtown street when I was poetically struck by the scene. There was the typical hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers, car horns honking (Probably at us), corner Santa Clauses ringing their bells collecting for charity, snow falling peacefully, Christmas lights hanging from the streetlights and adorning all of the stores. I thought it was a beautiful scene so I stopped to soak it in. Granted, the middle of the intersection was probably not a good place to do that. Dad grabbed me under my arm and pulled me from the path of a car whose driver might have been taking in the scene also (rather than looking for little boys standing in the street). When dad scooped me up a bunch of the slush went into my boot, but I realized it wouldn’t be prudent to complain immediately after he saved my life and after I stopped in the street as he was saying, “Hurry up, it looks like this guy isn’t going to stop.”

Speaking of boots that is another memory I cherish. Does else anyone remember the rubber boots that fit over your dress shoes? They were the “Uniform of the Day” every day of the winter in my grade school years. My dad had a pair too. The only difference was I had buckles and he had zippers.

Visiting our Chicago relatives during the Christmas season would always take us on trips down side streets. Inevitably we would see several “Polk Brothers Santas.” Polk Brothers was a local store that gave plastic Santas out with the purchase of and appliance. I would beg my dad to get one every year and he would never commit. I know it was my own fault- I just couldn’t close the deal and convince him to buy an expensive appliance just to acquire the “FREE” Santa. I did mention the budgets earlier, didn’t I?

The best part of Christmas past for me, the part I miss the most was the attitude, the joy it brought. From Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day most people said, “Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year to you!” instead of “Hi” or “How are you?”

This attitude of joy would build from Thanksgiving and get louder and stronger as each day passed. I pumped gas when I was in high school, and The Christmas Season was the best time to be working. I’ve already mentioned the bad weather. Believe me, the cold, snow, slush… made it difficult, the happiness of the season made it beautiful!

Even the sourest of customers would crack a smile when you said, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” It felt good to say it too, I miss it.

I believe no longer saying Merry Christmas is one of the many things we do in our society today that is initiated in the name of that ominous “ONE PERSON,” but hurts many more people in the end.

“If only one person is offended we shouldn’t say it.” “If only one person could be infected we should all wear masks” “If only one person is uncomfortable going into a restroom designated MENS or LADIES we should add non-specific restrooms or allow people to go in whichever restroom they choose to. I have touched on this subject before and will again but for now I’m drifting off topic- sorry.

I would like to end with, “MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU! May 2023 bring you health, happiness and success!”

If you liked this article, please share it with friends. If you would like to, please comment and let me know what you think.

Thank you for reading to the end.

I MISS THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS PAST.

The post I MISS THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS PAST. appeared first on A Boomer's Thoughts.