I hate bike creeps...

It had been a terribly hot day delivering the mail. All I wanted to do was to climb into my truck, kick the AC on to high and enjoy the ride home...

I was driving down Penn Avenue in North Minneapolis when I saw him. He was on what I am sure was a twenty nine speed racing bike of some sort. Dressed in his silky looking, skin tight bike riding suit, wearing a helmet that made him look like a mushroom, he was weaving into the traffic like a mad man. I slowed so I would not hit him. The last thing a person wants to do on a hot day is to run over a bike creep. The police would have to be called and they would make me stand in the hot sun while they took down my answers to their questions. Nope. I did not want to run this guy over. I noticed, like many bike riders, he would stay in the lane that was meant for cars. Of course, he had his rights. All bicyclists do. At least in their mind...Not mine. We approached a red light. I was going to stop and then make a right turn. I began to do just that when all of a sudden, here came Lance, right thru the light. I guess the rules of the road only apply to him when it seems fit. I almost hit him. If it were not for his Bendix brakes, he would have been nothing more than a smudge in the road. I looked out the window the creep was okay. Everything seemed in order. I rolled down the window and apologized ( even though I felt it was not my fault!). He began screaming like a fool. Instead of going straight like he had planned, he decided to go the same direction as I and yell at me all the way. With his stupid helmet sitting at a cocked angle on his head, his mouth moved like a jackrabbit. What he did not know, was just up ahead, was a car parked on the side of the road. As he hit the trunk of the car, things seemed to happen in slow motion. His front wheel bent and broke upon impact and his body hurled up and over the roof of the car. His now helmet-less head slammed into the top of the car and he, for what seemed to be a short micro second, made one of the most blood curdling screams I have ever heard. I almost let out a smile, but realized I must first make sure the rider was okay. He was and the last thing I saw of him was how he was mumbling about the price of a new rim....

It had been a terribly hot day delivering the mail. All I wanted to do was to climb into my truck, kick the AC on to high and enjoy the ride home....


Joe

That's a deep ditch

I was only sixteen. I had just gotten my drivers license and Dad was going to allow me to go on my first real solo mission. I was to take the old yellow Dodge pickup and bring some empty barrels to my brother-in-law Arvin's house. It was a 1971 Dodge 100. Bright yellow. We had nicknamed it "The Wild banana". A 318 Hemi motor powered it and it was a three on the tree stick shift. So, here I was, with a load of fifty five gallon drums going to Arvin's. What he ever wanted with those was a mystery to me. Still, the excitement of driving to St. Francis, a town twenty miles to the north, had me pumped. We loaded the truck and Dad gave me the keys and some final instructions. "Take Hiway 47 to Mau's store and turn right one mile. You can't miss it" he said. I think he forgot who he was talking to. What I found out was that despite making that trip a million times with the folks, I never paid too much attention to where I was going. I didn't have to. I wasn't the driver on any of those trips. Now I was and it would turn out to be quite a day.

I drove for what seemed forever and finally decided to stop and get a soda. I pulled over at a small store and made my purchase. I climbed back in the truck and continued north, never noticing the sign on the store said"Mau's Corner Market".

After another half hour or so, the AM radio was losing it's reception. I played with the tuner and tried to find a station. Nothing. "Man, the road sure seemed bumpy all of a sudden" I thought. I looked up and discovered I had driven off the road and was now headed for the ditch. I did the only thing I could. I shut my eyes. I heard trees slapping the windshield hard and was thankful the window was not down. The truck soon slammed to a stop. My head hit the steering wheel hard. I opened my eyes and looked around. It was very quiet. It was very quiet because I had found myself in a very deep ditch. It was winter and the ditch was full of ice and water but the Dodge had done me proud. She had broke thru the frozen water like an ice-breaker on Lake Superior. The bad news was that the water was even with the windows and was starting to come in thru the bottom of the doors. I used an old Burger King cup to scoop the swamp water out. It was a losing battle. I would have to call Dad. Now keep in mind, this was pre-cell phone days so I had to walk about a half mile to an old farm house to use their phone. I called Dad and he soon showed up with Arvin. They both had garden shovels in their hand as if they were going to dig me out. I began to chuckle. "What's so funny?" asked Dad. "Where's the truck?" he said. I told him he had to get closer to the edge of the road. It was sort of down the cliff. It took two tow trucks to haul the Dodge up and over the edge. The entire muffler system had to be replaced as the trip back up the cliff the hill ripped it off. It never ran the same and for some reason, when ever we used it after that, there was a strange smell of frog crap.....

It was quite sometime before Dad let me out on my own again....I was only sixteen.

Joe

My new pants...

Jewel-T. I hated it. Jewel T was a brand of low budget clothing that was best described as an early ancestor to "Fingerhut". This company allowed families to buy clothes on credit and pay horrible prices for things that in my mind were very ugly. I didn't want Jewel T shirts and I most certainly did not want Jewel T pants. What I wanted was a pair of Levis. I wanted to be like everyone else. I didn't get them. Until one day. I decided to join the drama team at Fred Moore Junior High in beautiful Anoka. The drama team allowed me to get in a few plays and get up in front of an audience. It was great. One day I was cast as sort of a hippie charachter. Mr. Varner, the instructor, asked me to wear my Levis. When I told him I didn't have any, he brought me to the costume department and found a pair. It was like a dream. They fit perfectly. The play soon came. I don't remember anything about the performance except I had a cool pair of pants and not a soul in the audience knew they were not mine. The production came to an end and we were all required to turn in our costumes. When I went to the costume department, I still had on the pants. The lady who was checking things in took what I had in my hand and told me to leave. I had my pants. And they were Levis. I think I wore them the rest of the year...

Joe

No such thing as a free lunch....

The free lunch situation followed me into high school. There still wasn't a lot of money at home, so there I was each first of the month, standing in line for my monthly batch of tickets. What I didn't like at all about how this was handled was that those receiving these much desired pieces of paper had to stand in line, under a huge sign that let all who walked by know that we were free and reduced lunch kids. Better yet, the geniuses put the table where we had to wait right in the main hallway where all could see. Now when you get to high school, there is a certain level of coolness that we are all supposed to be at. I knew where my level was. I was below the football players and cheerleaders, but I think I was above the motorheads and fish in the science labs.

After numerous questions from my friends about why I had to stand in line and why didn't my folks make enough money, I had had it. The remedy was simple. I would pretend to be sick each first of the month and then the second day I would get my tickets. The line was just a few kids long and I got the lunch tickets in minutes instead of the usual ten to fifteen minute wait.

This worked fine until one day. The head cook was Ruby. On that day she glared at me and said "it's because of people like you Tanner, I have to sit here two days in a row and waste my time".

There really isn't anything funny about this story except the old bitch died ten years later. I still remember seeing her obituary in the paper. It said "Ruby Martin of Anoka, age 93 died suddenly at her home". "Suddenly?". It should have read "Ruby Martin of Anoka, age 93 died FINALLY!"

Joe

Home run classics

Brother Tim and I were always trying to create our own fun. One of the games we came up with was something called "Home Run Classic". Our backyard was full of trees so we needed to get a little clever on just how our whiffle ball diamond would be set up. With huge trees down the leftfield side, we would need to become left handed hitters. The idea of the game was that each player got two outs. You had one pitcher and one batter. The ball was pitched and when you hit it with the sawed off broomstick, either it was a pop out or if it it made it into the tall grass, it was a homerun. Simple rules. Well, after a long summer of numerous games, Ma decided we were wrecking the lawn and declared our league defunct. The remedy was easy. We just waited until she went to her job at the nursing home and would play then. We always asked Dad and he gave us the nod. The only problem was that when she got home, she would inspect the grass in the yard and discover another classic had occurred. One day, she left as usual and we asked Dad to allow us to play. He did. So our game began. Then the phone rang. It was Ma. I heard Dad answer it and rat us out like a fink in the detective's chair under a bright light. He sang like a canary. What the heck? He gave us permission and now he's turned on us? A minute or so later, he came into the backyard and demanded that the game stop. Ma had given him a direct order and he being the good soldier (or the suck-up) had to follow it. Younger brother Corey was his back-up. All of a sudden Corey picked up the broomstick and ran. I gave chase and yelled at him to drop the stick. He did, but instead of just dropping it, he sort of threw it and it acted like a spear and drove into the ground. With luck being no where around, his head and eye ran right into the end of it. Six stitches later, I received a beating for what I had done to the baby. Yeah, like it was my fault. Had the little suck butt stayed in the house like he was supposed to and had Dad not squeeled like an ungreased wheel, none of this would have happened...

I have since married and now encourage "Home Run Classic" in the backyard anytime the boys want. I just don't tell my wife....

Joe

I didn't know you did that...

It was sometime after my sister Cindy had passed away. Ma was still not feeling like her old self so Dad thought it might be a good idea to bring her out for a drink and try and cheer her up. My folks never drank much at all, so this was new to me to see this happen. I didn't know they did that. I was with my friends when Ma called to see if I would come up the Anoka VFW and help her get Dad home. It seemed that despite him not drinking a whole lot, he still had the taste for blackberry brandy. Well, it turns out his taste for that at the VFW that night was a little powerful and he had a few too many. I walked in and there was Ma and Dad waiting for me. Dad was in a happy mood and asked me to sit down and have a drink. Well, we had a couple and then it started. A man was sitting at the bar with a cowboy hat on. Dad stood up and said in a loud voice "Joe, do you know who that is?". "No" came my reply. "Why, that's Snake Bealer". Of course it turned out that the man's name was not Snake Bealer but was actually a man named Gus, and after a few heated exchanges with Dad, Gus gave me the look that said "take your Dad out of here before I punch his lights outs".
Between me and Ma, we were able to get Dad into the car and went home.

I never did figure out if she was cheered up or not. Something tells me it really didn't help. Sometimes I think losing a child cannot be forgotten with a bump of brandy..

Joe

Ooops. I caught your ear...

Kramer's Resort Big Swan Lake in Dassel, Minnesota was a usual vacation spot for our family. Due to my sister Cindy's health, we tried to stay close to home and Dassel allowed us just that. The cabins were fun and offered a lot of room for everyone. The swimming was great and the lake offered many varieties of fish. One day, Dad and Mr. Kramer were on the dock casting for Northerns. A Northern is a big fish that would have most likely pulled me into the lake had I ever hooked onto one...

I watched the two men throwing their lures time and time again. I decided I wanted to be a Northern fisherman too. Armed with my eight foot long cane pole, I began casting. Or maybe a better word is "throwing" my lure of nightcrawlers on a hook into the water.

After a few attempts, Dad warned me to stop. I was going to catch someone with the hook. What did he know? With that, I leaned back to hurl the worm into the dark, murky water. I tried to make my cast but it seemed I was caught on something. I heard a scream. I turned and had hooked Dad in the ear. Huh, what do you know, I laughed. The old man was right. I did hook somebody. I did the only thing I could. I ran. All the way back to the cabin and into the bed. I shut the door quickly and put a chair against the door. This would keep him out. The only problem was that the door opened the other direction and Dad entered the room quite easily. I received my beating and the next scene out the window was Dad breaking my canepole into a million different little pieces.....

He and Mr. Kramer never did catch their Northern...


Joe