Bob's World

California and Me

2012-01-20T18:36:00.034-05:00

We are lying in bed. Normally I would have said laying in bed, but I just finished a book on the plane coming here by former talk show host and Yale University spelling expert Dick Cavett. He and my English major (Hampshire College in Amherst Ma) daughter Kezia would kill me for saying that. Is it he or him? It is early morning. It is foggy. I am back in CALIFORNIA, lying in a really comfortable bed, in a bungalow, next to my esposa, in the southern coastal part of the state. Then it starts.

Here we go
Here we go
Round again
Round again

Won't stop
Won't stop
Won't quit
Won't quit

Never die
Never die
Why?

I let my mind totally relax, and the cadence comes back to me. Well, it has been awhile. Like 47 years if you, like, happen to be counting. That was my very first time in CALIFORNIA, 47 years ago. How is that possible?

My Uncle Sam decided to send me to CALIFORNIA to a Navy Seabee Construction Electrical School. I flew First Class in my Navy blues -- the very first time I had ever flown. Boot Camp at Great Lakes in Chicago was a long train ride from Pittsfield, Massachusetts in 1965. It can be cold there.

I kept to myself on the plane and just observed what was going on around me. I think it was Yogi who said, "You observe a lot just by watching."

As we crossed the Mississippi River, the businessman sitting next to me pointed it out. We probably talked before we landed at LAX but I don't remember that part. So we pulled up at the gate and he said to me, "Stick with me and I will help you get out of the airport."

At 19, what did I know? I stuck with him. Hey! It was different back then. He made a phone booth call to his wife and the next thing I knew was I was at their beautiful home, which overlooked the city, staring at the lights that went on for miles. I had never seen anything like that.

That night they drove me to my next duty station, Port Hueneme. (Why-KNEE-me) Port Hueneme is sixty miles north of LA. You know where Oxnard is? Only kidding. You do? One of our Liberty towns was Santa Barbara.

They wished me well. I thanked them profusely. I hoisted my sea bag over my left shoulder and walked toward the heavily armed Jarheads at the Main Gate. That was a very nice introduction to CALIFORNIA, but it was only the beginning of my good luck.

That is me gaffed in with Elmer Berky from Oregon on the crossbars.

My best luck was when I met her for the very first time at age 15. (Frankie Avalon was singing "Venus." It was at the high school gym. Call me sometime and I will tell you the whole story.) I knew right away. She didn't. (Or stop over and we can share a michilada or two. It is a lengthy story.) Engaged at 19 and married at 21. We had to. You could not live together before marriage if your parents were Polish and you grew up in the little town of Adams, Massachusetts.

No, we weren't pregnant. Back then there was no living together. People called it Shacking Up. I guess today you should live together and see if it is meant to be. If we can hold on until this September, it will be 45 years for us, not including the six years we dated.

We had the same exact wedding that everyone else did in our little town. Four hundred guests, mostly chosen by our parents. First there was a Stag and Shower at the Polish Hall on North Hoosac Street, with a live Polish band on Saturday night. Mom said, "Well, we were invited to THEIR daughters wedding, so . . . “

Then the following Saturday (it was always a Saturday) the 400 guests, mostly chosen by our parents, and the wedding at Saint Stanislaus Kostka Polish Church, followed by more food and drinks and dancing to a live Polka band at the Polish Hall on North Hoosac Street. If you want to revisit our wedding, simply watch the movie "The Deer Hunter.” That was our wedding, only ours was in Massachusetts not Pennsylvania.

Did I mention that we are Polish? My Mom was a Lemanski. My wife, Alexandra, was a Zabek. I only added all of the above because of where it will lead next. And I wanted you to get to know us.

We did get to choose our own honeymoon, and back then, we thought we were original in choosing CALIFORNIA -- Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm, San Diego, Tijuana and San Francisco. Well, it WAS the Summer of Love.

If you’re going
To San -Fran- Cisco
Be sure to wear
Some flowers in your hair.

Sandy had beautiful, blonde hair and I had none. Isn't it fun how some song will just take you right back to where you were and who you were with?

We were headed for Alaska next but decided instead to take the leftover $400 from the wedding cash and come back to our apartment and buy a color TV. Hey, it was a color TV, and it was a big deal. Back then you had to get up to change the channels or the volume, but who would want to change Bobby Orr and the big bad Bruins, or the Red Sox and Jim Lonborg? Tony C., Rico Petrocelli, and Carl Yastrzemski. Jose Tartabill pulled in $14,000 that year. WOW! How about Laugh-In or The Smothers Brothers? I just read that Bobby Orr is a grandfather. He still lives in the Boston area and I find that wicked awesome.

Tony C.

Remember when we first met, when I mentioned Port Hueneme? Well, after school, our DI -- Rumsey -- would form us up into platoons and we would run the palm-tree-lined base in our work clothes and combat boots, shouting,

Here we go,
Round again
Here we go
Round again

Won't stop
Won't stop.
Won't quit
Won't quit.

Never die
Never die.
Why?
Why?

Whiskey
Whiskey
Women
Women

PT
PT
Rumsey
Rumsey

PT is physical training.

One day Rumsey announced that we were at war in a place called VietNam and asked, “Who wants to volunteer?”

It was the very first time that I had ever heard of that country.

Everyone but me and my friend from Massachusetts took one step forward. “Sir, Yes Sir.” If you don't think that it is possible to be brainwashed, as my Dad would say, "Then you have another thought coming." Dad was a Seabee and saw action at Okinawa during World War II.

At the end of the Class A Construction School, my friend from Massachusetts got orders to Reykjavic, Iceland, and I ended up at a Naval Air Station in South Weymouth, Massachusetts.

Inside Hangar 1 at South Weymouth Naval Air Station

As far as I know, everyone else went to Southeast Asia. Rumsey ended up doing three tours of 'Nam. The last reported sighting of him was on the tarmac at Da Nang. He was standing like General Patton, firing his .45 in the open, as if he was wearing one of those Lakota Ghost War shirts that bullets or shrapnel could not penetrate. I believe it was there, at Port Hueneme, that I was first diagnosed with the sometime fatal "I need to run today" disease. I would like to be diagnosed someday with "natural causes."

Running, I have logged 54,000 miles plus, including two tries at Western States 100

About thirty miles into Western States 100 (WS), at the top of Elephant's Trunk, just before Red Star Ridge in 1996. Guess where? CALIFORNIA.

Six hours after the Vermont 100 race. Brian, my brother in law, was my handler for the whole 29 hours.

I also did many 24-hour track runs. And a few 50s. That sounds insane, doesn't it? Track runs, I mean. But on tracks, there are no hills, mountains or valleys. When it gets dark, you can't get lost. You don't need to carry a hat, packs around your waist, flashlights, extra socks, Vaseline, sunglasses, gasoline, (only kidding), gloves, food, water, water, water, energy bars, or a change of clothing. Your feet don't get wet from plowing through streams. So it is much easier. It is mostly mental. Mind over matter. I know this to be true because sometimes I overhear my wife telling people that I am mental.

I am a purist and NEVER run listening to music, except track runs. You need to keep your energy up and you need to keep motivated. A non-running friend, in frustration before my first try at 24 hours said, "When was the last time that you even stayed up for 24 hours straight?" That was a very good question.

Back then, in trail running, the Eastern Mountain Sports store didn't even have a flashlight that would last 8 or 10 hours, so when the batteries ran out, you would need a second flashlight to change batteries. You needed to carry a second flashlight anyway. Once a flashlight bulb blew out on me when the batteries were still working and I was off the trail, in the dark, digging in my pack and feeling around for my second light.

They hang green glow lights low in the trees on the mountain trail run courses. They are few and far between, and sometimes you get religion and pray to see the next one. Especially if it’s raining. Do you know what it feels like to know that you are off the trail at mile 72 on a mountain in the pitch black by yourself? I do. I was running with a woman once, around 10 pm, and she said out loud, "My friends are at the opera and here I am at mile 68 of a 100 miler."

If you try an Ultra, once or twice on the trail you will take a spill. When you do, and if you happen to break something, just lie there and wait. Do not get off the trail. At WS they have a sweep crew come through on horseback to haul you out. At Leadville, Colorado you are pretty much on your own at 14,000 feet. Most Ultras have three or four hundred runners, but spread out over 100 miles, you don't have company often during the 24-36 hours that it takes for completion.

Once I ran with a guy for the first 70 miles, but that is rare. At 70 miles you are awarded a "handler" who will see you through to the finish. The rules are that he can't carry anything for you. That is called muling. Once a runner ran WS with ski poles and was disqualified. The race director said the poles made the race too easy.

WS starts in Squaw Valley, near Lake Tahoe. The first mountain you hit is at 8,800 feet, and usually in late June it still has snow on it. No I did not just make that up. Have you ever been to Truckee, CALIFORNIA?

I was lost twice in the Green Mountains of Vermont, and once right after mile 70 in Forestdale, heading to Auburn, CALIFORNIA, by way of the Rucky Chucky River crossing. At the crossing, you go hand over hand on a cable, chest-high in the icy water. There are no rivers or streams to cross at a 24 Hour Track Ultra.

I was a lousy marathoner but I held my own in Ultras, especially on the track. I am starting to sound like a professional, but basically I was always a bandit or a back-of-the-packer. I never even qualified for the BAA. Believe me, por favor.

I ran my 8th Boston Marathon (it was my last Boston ever, #8 being my favorite number) while training for the WS100 in the Sierras in CALIFORNIA. There is that name again. After my first WS 100 try, Sandy and I and our two daughters, Kezia and Marnie, traveled down the coast of CALIFORNIA for 17 days. It is too long a story for here, but the highlights were picking strawberries, Kezia purchasing fifty two used books in Berkeley, Muir Woods, Alcatraz, Steve and Sue's casa, Hearst Castle, meeting with a former member (almost) of the Kingston Trio, and Marnie sleeping in a trash bag and in closets along the way. But call me!

My biggest running claim to fame was running home after a wedding in Western Massachusetts. It was Sandy's cousin Terry's wedding. Terry was Nancy and Gary's brother (you’ll hear more about them later). Are you still following me? That one, by myself, was a 200-miler across the state. In the movie "The Magnificent Seven," when Steve McQueen is asked why he is about to do something crazy, he replies, "I once met a cowboy in Abilene who took all his clothes off and jumped into a pile of cactus. When asked why he did it, he replied, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ ”

I did my last Boston sixteen years ago this April 2012, in preparation for WS. I was 30 pounds lighter for my second WS100.

I would like to take this moment to introduce you to my grandson, Abel Arcturus Bernstein. I hope that he takes to running.

One of my best friends, Tom Egan, once my next door neighbor in Marshfield, spent 20 years in CALIFORNIA. Together we have hiked all over the Southwest and West.

As a matter of fact, Tom's wife Jeannette was born and raised in CALIFORNIA. Her Mom and sister live in Laguna Niguel, and we drove through it to get to Casi and Jason's house. Laguna, of course, means lagoon and Niguel was the name of an ancient Juaneno Indian village that was there long ago, near the creek. Thirty years ago Jeannette taught Sandy how to make her family recipe for fideo (Mexican soup). Now we think of it as our family recipe. Sandy made some last night and let it simmer, because today we will have an 11-degree high temperature. Jeez, maybe Jeannette was named after the Indian village. Jeanette also was making homemade taquitos way before they ever hit the supermercados. Hers are superior.

Of all the national parks, Yosemite in CALIFORNIA is still my favorite. On the way home from one particular Yosemite hike, Tom Egan of Rhode Island via CALIFORNIA via Massachusetts and ending, so far, in Pennsylvania, took me to a wonderful Mexican restaurant in Burlingame, which was just south of the airport. Friends flew out to CALIFORNIA for our friend Steve's 50th in Lafayette. We ate at the Mexican Restaurant in Burlingame.

Randy & Donna

Randy and Donna, my NYC marathon friends, were going hiking in Yosemite. I told them about the restaurant. They went upon arrival and also on departure. If they could have gotten a room, they would have.

My Ultra friend Mike and his girlfriend were going to San Francisco. It is in CALIFORNIA. During the trip, Mike said to Lori "Would you like to go tonight to a REALLY good Mexican restaurant ?"

Lori said, "You have never been here before. How do you know where there is a REALLY good Mexican restaurant?”

They eventually married in Vegas and I think it was Elvis who married them in some small chapel.

Billy Thibideaux, a Navy Seabee VietNam Vet friend, was going to San Francisco. I told him. He couldn't find it. He finally asked someone. They told him that it had finally closed after thirty-some years. It was called La Piñata. Did you ever go there? I don't recommend it anymore.

So back to the beginning of this yarn. The bed we are lying in is in Laguna Beach, CALIFORNIA. Here is a letter that I was asked to send

Hi Dennis and Cheryl ,

This past week my wife Sandy and I stayed at your bungalow in Laguna Beach. Along with Sandy's Cioci (Polish for aunt) and her cousin Nancy and husband Jack. We are all from Massachusetts.

Cioci's Granddaughter, Nancy and Jack’s daughter, Casi, was getting married to Jason at the Montage. Casi asked me if I would write a critique about your bungalow. I looked up the word critique and it seems to mean to be critical or to find fault. So I cannot write a critique because everything was perfect. I also looked up bungalow and found that it originated in India and meant a one-story house, longer than wider, with a really great front porch or veranda. My Grandmother Hattie called it a piazza. What ever it is called, we certainly enjoyed sitting in the sun, rocking in the rocking chairs, every day. You have bumblebees in your flowers in January?

We loved the location. We could walk to the beach, liquor store, cafés, shops and restaurants. It cost me $11 to top off the rental car when we left. When we saw the house, it was love at first sight. We felt as though we had been there before. Sandy and I slept in the first bedroom with the cowboy hats, and had our own bathroom. The bed was really comfortable. I believe that you have the hottest bath water I have ever experienced. By the way, I own the very same cowboy hat as the ones on the bedposts. I bought mine in Upstate New York but it is exactly the same hat. They have rodeos up there. You can't make this stuff up.

The bungalow -- I love saying bungalow -- was very homey, WICKED clean, and warm (as they say in Boston), comfortable, and the perfect size for five or six people. We will come back someday with our friends. Maybe things won't go as well next time, and I will get to write that critique.

Sandy and Bob Bacon
Marshfield , Massachusetts

Some images from the bungalow . . .

Jack and me on the porch

Sandy

Nancy

Interior

So yes, we are in CALIFORNIA for a wedding. Nancy and Jack, Casi's Mom and Dad, are there, of course, as are Nancy’s brother Gary and his wife Jean from Oregon. Let's all say it together kids Orre-gunn -- not Ore-GONE. We all spend an afternoon at Gary and Jean’s friends’ rental casa, just south of the Montage. It is a gated community, very nice, but there are signs posted, indicating that someone’s Porsche has been stolen. (Not “Porsh;” Por-Sha. Thank you.) After our beach walk inside the gated community, we go back for drinks at Jean and Gary’s, where Jean forces me to drink Margaritas. I make the best of it. We catch up on the familia stuff and it is really sweet to reconnect and spend time together. Well yah, Babci Flo is there. She leads the beach walk.

I have a morning ritual that involves coffee and donuts and my pickup truck. The first day in CALIFORNIA Sandy and I walk downtown and find a really nice little café near the bungalow. Didn't Jim Morrison take his girlfriends to his bungalow?

Where the little girls
In their Hollywood bungalows

On the way home, we stop for groceries and Drambuie. Have you ever had it? Drambuie, that is. We bring a bottle to Jason and Casi's. I know it is the first time that Jason has ever had it.

This is the very first time Sandy and I meet Jason. I like him right away, and not only because of his voice. We are Cajun /Zydeco dancers and one of our instructors from Rhode Island is Ed Slattery. Louisiana music is very big in New England. You can't make up stuff like this. One year Dewey Balfa and his fiddle came up from Louisiana to play at the Newport Jazz Festival, to start this craze off. Dewey is gone now but his music is still here. How many of his recordings do you have? So the guy who reminds us of Jason has hair in a ponytail turning white, wears glasses, and dresses like the artist he is. He and Jason have the same voice. As if it has been severely strained at some point. It is distinctive. I like it and we like Jason right away because of it. That is good because he is about to marry Sandy's Godchild.

Godchild -- does that sound weird to you? If you are raised Catholic, you just accept it. like the man hanging off the cross in your kitchen or over your bed. I have to hang from a doorway from time to time to stretch out my aging spine, don't you? It hurts after a short time. It is a terrible punishment. “Godchild” means simply that you will take over if the parents die -- say in a bungie jumping accident -- and you have to raise then Roman Catholic. Sandy did not think twice before accepting this responsibility with Casi.

We had a three year old and a six month old when Sandy went for a fairly simple test at the hospital that turned out to be cancer, with a radical operation right then and there. Casi's Mom, Nancy, showed up on our doorstep with her son and stayed to help out. They came from 180 miles away, so it wasn't a simple or easy thing to do, but we are family and Nancy just took over. I was in as much shock as Sandy maybe. We were totally blindsided by this at age 27. No recurrence in 37 years. I told you were are lucky.

Where was I? Oh. So we are buying things at the liquor store on the Pacific Coast Highway or Route 1, and we ask how far it is to Dana Point, because we want to go on a walk later. There are three walkers standing near us. One has overheard our conversation with the store owner and wants to add his two cents. As it turns out, he is from Marshfield, our hometown. We know many of the same people. Of the 1,181 in-ground gunite swimming pools that I designed and built, two are on his street. The bent-over guy with the Coolie hat is a former Marine officer and warms to me right away because in the field we dressed in the same uniform. Seabees would build the airfields and barracks and furnish the electricity to keep their Jarhead beer cold. I did not catch where he was from.

The three of them have us cornered and are peppering us with local facts as well as questions. The third guy’s name is Sherrill. He has on a Tour de France tee shirt so we talk a little about that.

Our traveling couple friends have done the tour (sorta). We will meet them in Mexico at the end of this month. It will be our 24th vacation together. Obviously I like numbers, but our traveling friend Tom really likes numbers. One time we were on the Mexico/Belize border and some guy, out of the blue, asked Tom what latitude he was from. Tom shot out "42" or something like that.

Eileen & Tom on Isla Mujeres

One of his friends calls him Charlie Babbitt, who was Dustin Hoffman’s character in Rain Man. Whoops, lost again.

Then Sherrill invites all of us to dinner later at Gina's Pizza Restaurant with them and their wives. The next morning we see them again, but one of the walkers has been replaced by Sandy and his dog Beyoncé. Well it isn't really his dog, but the neighbor asked him to care for it for a week or ten days. Sandy is into his third year with Beyoncé The Wonder Dog. Years ago, Sandy had shipped out on a large sailboat for an around-the-world trip as a common seaman. He saved his money, and when the trip was over, he went to law school in LA. He was originally from Greenfield, Massachusetts, just over the next mountain from where everyone staying at the bungalow was born and grew up. He knew the HairPin Turn on Route 2, Dead Man's Corner, Shelburne Falls, the Bridge of Flowers and the Hoosac Tunnel (quite a marvel for its time – it went under a tall mountain and eventually got you to the coast and Boston.) “Small world but I wouldn't want to paint it.” Comedian Steven Wright said it.

One of the places recommended by our new friends was Crescent Beach.

Crescent Beach

Sandy, Flo, Gary, Jean, Nancy

We spend two hours there, high on the hill, just watching the surfers and looking for whales and sea lions. A whale pod had been spotted there recently. People are way more friendly in CALIFORNIA than they are in Boston. They actually walk around smiling as though something good is about to happen. And they will say Hello. What is with that?

While scanning the coast, a woman tells us her story. She was on the beach there, sitting on a blanket by herself, years ago. She was pregnant. A sea lion came out of the water and sat next to her. The sea lion rested its head on the woman's shoulder and took a nap in the warm sun. Then, a little while later, it awoke and toddled off, back into the Pacific.

Laguna Beach is an artist colony. If you go there to live with your wife, you are each given a small dog with a person's name. There are no Spots or Rovers or Rin Tin Tins there. You are given a dog, even if you are just visiting. Bette Davis probably had dogs. Her mansion still stands there.

Warren Buffet had two homes on Crescent Beach. Woodrow Wilson went there to recuperate and once FDR. was seen riding through town in a convertible, waving to everyone. Probably there are many celebrities who have homes there. The bartender at the Montage agreed but would not volunteer any names. Close-by towns are San Clemente and San Juan Capistrano. I don't have to explain them, do I?

Oh! “How was the wedding?” you ask.

Magnificent would be a perfect word and quite accurate.

Jason and his family

Casi and her parents

The average temperature there in the month of Enero is 64 degrees, but Casi willed it, and for the wedding it was blue cloudless skies and 84 degrees. It was held at the Montage Luxury Hotel,which is just off the Pacific Coast Highway. The Montage only opened its doors in 2003.

One of the first differences that you notice about CALIFORNIA is the automobiles. So many Porches, BMWs, Ferraris and Mercedeses. It is like Friday night on Federal Hill in Providence times a thousand, but with fewer Italians. All the cars there are in immaculate condition. All the valets seem to be college students from Yale or Harvard or Columbia University. You should check out the cars that come in.

Sandy and I agree that The Montage is one of the most beautiful hotels we have ever seen.

The Montage

I strike up a conversation with a waiter. I ask him if I could get a job here. He promises to get me a job application. He said that he had six interviews before he was hired. He started out as a towel boy at one of the swimming pools and worked his way up to waiter. I ask where the bathroom is, and I am walked to it. Not pointed to it, walked to it. At the end of the night, I ask to see the manager.

"Certainly, sir."

Here he comes -- I can tell it's him by the way he walks with confidence and a big smile. He seems to know that I do not have a complaint. David introduces himself with a great handshake. He looks me square in the eye. Why do people only look you square in one eye?

"What can I do for you, sir?"

I compliment him on the first class service that we have been enjoying all day. It has been a while since I have seen it, but I love when they serve dinner and all eight plates get set on the table at exactly the same time. In between courses the waiters stand at attention and never at parade rest. All waiters, just like in Greece or Turkey. No women allowed. The wine glasses never go empty. (Jason said that we drank up all the red wine they had on board.) Someone has taught them attention to detail. David says he very much appreciates the compliment and he will pass it on to the staff, and that my job application will be considered. Not even once did we hear, "What can I get you GUYS?"

The Montage was originally a trailer park. It was first called Treasure Island. “Kidnapped” by Robert Louis Stevenson was filmed here. Do you remember the movie "The Long Trailer?" It was with Lucy and Ricky and it was in color and filmed in 1953 or 1954. Fred and Ethel were not in it. Some of the "I Love Lucy" series were filmed here also. The two palms down by the restaurant on the Pacific, over to your right, are called Desi and Lucy.

Did you meet my wife at the wedding? She did a reading. She is a redhead because of Lucy Ricardo, but she was blonde when I met her. Real blonde. Polish blonde. To me, she is still a classic beauty.

As the fairly-short ceremony was going on, people were coming up from the beach or just strolling on the sidewalks. They would stop and look, then smile. Every single one of them.

There were only 26 people at the wedding. Including Jason's Mom and Dad and sister. Jason and Casi have really awesome friends. I think I met most of them. At $30,000 a plate you cannot invite everyone.

Actually, I do not know what it cost, but I bet it was more than our wedding in Adams, Massachusetts, 45 years ago, but we did have a Polish band.

This wedding’s guest of honor was probably Casi's 86-year-old Babci.

Casi and her Babci

“Babci” is Polish for Grandmother. One by one, Casi and Jason's friends would go over and tell her that they felt as though they knew her -- and that they loved her. I would say that Babci had a good time. When we left even the valets said “Buenos Noches, Babci. Have a good night.” Her quilting friends in Adams will think that she is making things up. I believe it was Babci's first time in CALIFORNIA.

Nearly every thing I said here is true ,

Bob Bacon, or if you please, Roberto Tocino

Thank you to the Sealunds

2012-01-18T13:44:00.005-05:00

Sandy and her brother Brian in front of our apartment in Rockland.

In 1967 Sandy and I got married while I was still in the Navy. The First class Petty Officer, Jimmy Hughes, from Alabama -- who I worked for at South Weymouth Naval Air Station -- had a second job as manager / janitor at some apartments in Abington. He got us an interview with the builder from Marshfield, who was just about to finish a second set of apartment buildings in Rockland.

Sandy and I got an apartment and the caretakers job. Two bedrooms, brand new apartment, all electric , utilities included, for $139 per month. Eventually we took on new apartments at the end of the street and got our rent down to $16 per month. The owners' names were Carol and Roger Sealund.

As I mentioned, Mr. Sealund was a builder from Marshfield, and a few years later, we bought some land from him. My brother Mike and my Dad helped me clear it, with axes, to make room for a house. I dug out the stumps by hand. Then we asked the Sealunds to built us a brand new house.

In our new-ish kitchen (circa 1975)

That was thirty nine years ago. We are still here.

Grampa and Abel, the maintenance crew.

They really gave us a huge head start in our brand new marriage -- and in life in general.

Carol passed on way too early, but Roger is still working at the company he started, working for his son. He must be somewhere in his eighties. I saw him at the bank a while ago. He hadn't seen me in years.

I said, "Hi Mr. Sealund. How are you?"

He said "Great! How's Sandy?'

His daughter Karen was a steady loyal client of Sandy's at Alexandra's European Skin Care Salon in Duxbury for years.

Sometimes you feel that what you have accomplished in life, you did it all by yourself. But then when you look back, you realize that you had a lot of help.

Thank you, Sealunds, for the wonderful start.

In The Heart of the Sea

2011-12-23T14:42:00.005-05:00

I have been holding off reading "In the Heart of the Sea" by, of course, Nathaniel Philbrick. I thought that it would start off positively and then go downhill from there so I stalled by reading some other books first.

The first one was about a couple who fix up a house, a castle really, in the western end of Sicily.

Next was a biography of A.P. Hill, a Confederate General from Alabama who had a major role at Gettysburg.

Numero tres was a book about Edward Sheriff Curtis, who photographed all the Indian tribes in the West. The book set was financed by J.P. Morgan, all because of President Teddy Roosevelt’s backing.

Curtis spent a lot of time in Canyon de Chelly with the Navajo, and at the three mesas in Arizona with the Hopi. He personally interviewed and took photos of three very famous chiefs: Red Cloud, Geronimo and Chief Joseph. He rode with three of Custer's scouts to the Little Big Horn: White Man Runs Him, Goes Ahead, and Hairy Moccasin. At the start of the book there is a glorious photo of Curtis with six Indians.

No one knows who the Indians are, or for that matter where the photo was taken. Curtis is the white man. My guess is that it was taken at Glacier National Park. It could also be the Tetons, but these Indians are dressed more like Blackfeet or Sioux. I own a deerskin Sioux warrior shirt very much like the ones they are wearing.

And then last night I started In The Heart of the Sea. OMG! I am only on page 12. Of course the story of the ship Essex inspired the climatic scene of "Moby Dick." Moby Dick was written on Holmes Road in Pittsfield Massachusetts, about one hundred and fifty miles inland, by Leonard Cohen I think.

Page xii
He soon realized that it was a whaleboat -- double ended and about twenty five feet long -- but a whale boat unlike anything he had ever seen. The boat’s sides had been built up by about half a foot. Two makeshift masts had been rigged, transforming the rowing vessel into a rudimentary schooner. The sails -- stiff with salt and bleached by the sun -- had clearly pulled the boat along for many, many miles. Coffin could see no one at the steering oar. He turned to the man at the Dauphin's wheel and ordered, " Hard to helm."

Under Captain Coffin's watchful eye, the helmsman brought the ship as close as possible to the derelict craft. Even thought their momentum quickly swept them past it, the brief seconds during which the ship loomed over the open boat presented a sight that would stay with the crew the rest of their lives.

First they saw the bones -- human bones -- littering the thwarts and floor boards, as if the whaleboat were the seagoing lair of a ferocious man eating beast. Then they saw two men.

Tom and Eileen know all this because they lent me the book. But did they know that Captain Coffin had a daughter in Nantucket named Kezia?

Thanks to Tom Egan we all read Philbrick’s "Mayflower" and then "The Last Stand," about the Little Big Horn. Only twelve pages into this book about the whaler ship Essex of the island of Nantucket and already I am captivated.

Second Mate
Robert Bacon

Happy Times in the OR

2011-12-09T07:17:00.002-05:00

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

They're back! The kidney stones that is. Ultra runner Roger Welch drove me to South Shore Hospital for my surgery this morning. It is raining but he leaves me at the door for the trapping he has to tend to today, even in the rain. Sandy will pick me up at the end of the day. This is the second time in eight months for the dreaded operating room. Am I out of time yet? In our Ultra Running Club at meetings you can only talk about your health for a minute and a half.

So the nurses dress me up in those silly hospital clothes then wheel me down for an x- ray. Now I am in the bed waiting for the doctor. First the anesthesiologist talks to me, followed by two nurses who will assist at the operation. One hooks me up to an I.V. for whatever reason. We discuss the stones and what is about to happen. Not the Rolling Stones. At the end of our talk, Doctor Luke tells me that I should drink water laced with lemon juice from now on. I regale everyone with my discovery last year of the Mexican drink "The Michilada," which contains a lot of lemon juice as well as Goya sauce, hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, and a bottle of cerveza all served together in a large glass filled with ice and rimmed with salt and black pepper. Hmmm. They laugh then they all walk away.

The operating room is next. I wait for their return. I am starting to get cold and a little antsy. Another warm blanket from the dryer would be nice. My feet are getting cold. Why are they not coming back?

Every once in a while a nurse walks by and checks the machines that I am hooked into. She says nothing. Where are they? Finally I look over at the clock. It reads 1:30 pm. The nurse then says, "Would you like something to drink?" Then it dawns on me. The operation has been over for an hour.

In 1960 . . .

2011-12-07T08:18:00.000-05:00

I met a cowgirl who changed my life.

Corpsman

2011-11-03T19:52:00.003-04:00

Today on a dark and rainy early morning I threaded my way to the Veterans Administration in Brockton. It is an hour drive cross country from Marshfield. At Boston commuting time, you do not go on Route 3 north.

I know Brockton having spent six months there driving Yellow Cab for six days a week and twelve hours a day. My "handle" was Mustache. I wore a brown corduroy casual sport coat. It was perfect, being comfortable and warm, having many large pockets, and concealing the heavy shoulder holster and pistol that we all needed for protection.

Probably drivers today wear flack jackets. It is an even tougher city than it was forty years ago. Why I took this detour in my life still is not clear to me.

It is pouring rain but a veteran is prowling the parking lot, driving Marines and Seabees and even Army to the main building, #3. I am due for a pneumonia shot, tetanus shot, flu shot, and some blood and urine work.

The office is full. We are a bunch of smashed up old people, some with no legs, many in wheelchairs, but all glad to be alive. I take a number, like at the supermarket. Much to my surprise, the line moves very quickly. Fast and efficient. And friendly.

The corpsman asks, "Name and service number?"

"Sir, Bacon R.F. 693-10-63, Sir."

Eighty days of Boot Camp at The Naval Training Center at Great Lakes, near Chicago, never really leaves you.

"Did you fast?"

"Sir, Yes Sir."

It just seams proper to address the corpsman this way, although he is an enlisted man.

"Mr. Bacon, for having fasted, we are authorized to give you a breakfast chit for $3 dollars."

Chit? I haven't heard that word since 1968, when I got out. As I leave, I compliment him on his speed, friendliness and professionalism. I tell him if I was at my primary care doctor, I would still be checking in. He smiles.

Thirty minutes and I am back on Liberty and I can do whatever I want to do for the rest of the day.

I love the V.A.!!

Bacon CEW2 USN Seabees

Snow on the Pumpkins

2011-10-31T14:46:00.009-04:00

The only message I got on my cell phone while on vacation in Istanbul was from my friend Ray. Because of the expense, my phone message said, “Please don't call me while I am away in Europe."

Ray asks, “Can we meet them for dinner around October 30th? It is Maggie’s sixty-fifth birthday.”

What an honor to be invited. It is just the four of us. The Risleys married the same year as us, 1967. Shaun was born two days later.

I am two weeks older than Ray. He calls me sometimes for advice. So many of my closer friends were born in Abril. We have been friends for forty-six years. You can't make this STUFF up. We met while serving together in the Navy.

“Which restaurant?” Ray’s message said only, "Mexican." They live three hours away. It has to be El Sarape or Casa Romero.

Eventually we find out that a Casa Romero business card on a Bob's Mail prompted this wonderful idea of Ray’s.

We leave Marshfield with an hour to travel. The dashboard says that it is 41 degrees. The weather report calls for " Unusual New England Winter Snowstorm." No one would have had to tell the local Wampanoag Indians that, just because of two facts. The oak trees shed no acorns this year, and secondly we are unusually buried heavily in pine needles.

It is black out and raining hard. Six o'clock dinner reservations. Hey! We have been friends forever and at least it isn't four thirty for the Early Bird Special in the great state of Florida.

South East Expressway. 39 degrees. Off at Mass Ave. That’s Massachusetts Avenue to you out-of-towners. Right onto Boylston. Back Bay. Park near the Hynes. 37 degrees.

Walk to Hereford Street where the Boston Marathon takes a hard right off Commonwealth Avenue very close to the finish line. 2012 will be the 116th running. Wow! My last one was the 100th.

The wind always seems stronger and colder in a city doesn't it? How many times have we done this over the years? For many years it was Charlie’s Eating and Drinking Saloon after shows. Do you remember? The waiters in black, with those large, long, old-fashioned white aprons. Male waiters. No female waitresses. Exactly the way it still is in Prague or Athens or especially Istanbul. A far cry from the Charlie’s of today. "Can I help YOU GUYS?"

Look down the one way street for the small red lit-up sign with the words in gold, “Casa Romero.” Interestingly, many Pittsfield brides-to-be hold their bridal showers here. Here being 150 miles east of the Berkshires. "The Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of that frosting, with 10 miles behind me and . . . “ Oops, sorry. Couldn't control the James Taylor moment.

My ungloved umbrella hand is freezing. This horrid weather came about because Tomas Donovan bought a snow blower a month ago. Three messages on Facebook tell about the approaching storm. Leslie in New Hampshire says it’s really coming down. Stephanie Egan says the snow in Pennsylvania was pretty until the branches, many still with leaves, started breaking (her photos on Facebook show a lot of snow and downed trees). Kathy Stroll said New York was getting hammered (her Facebook photos look even worse). Thank you so much, Tomas.

Sandy and I have been patrons for more than twenty-four years at Senor Leo Romero's house. As usual it was Sandy's idea to try out this Mexican place in Boston. An advertisement in Boston Magazine prompted it. I must admit she has good ideas. She asked me repeatedly to marry her, even on the very first night we met. Did I ever tell you that story?

It was here in 1987 that we first heard about a special little Mexican Island from our Mexican waitress. I asked, "Where do Mexican people go on vacation?" This Febrero will be our 24th trip south of the border.

I had my 50th birthday here at the restaurant. Just my male friends. I don't know why. I just did. OK? Get over it, Jeannette and Donna. I have the photo in my office. We were so young and looked so good back then.

Mr. Romero greets us. This is the oldest continuously-operated restaurant in the Back Bay. Thirty seven years so far. He looks dapper and very well indeed. Uncle George would say. "He has fine carriage."

At first he says that he was originally from Merida, but later says Mexico City. If you ever find yourself in Merida, riding the local bus past a Catholic church, be prepared to do the "Sign of the Cross," as every Catholic person does there when they pass a church. I guess it is the same in Italy.

His food he calls Mexico City style. Please order something other than a burrito or taco when you finally come here for comida, por favor. It would be an especially fine idea if you invite me along.

He says that he first visited Isla Mujeres when he was just ten years old.

It is beautiful and warm here and the Casa is just starting to get busy. Maggie and Ray are waiting at a nice cozy table in a corner.

Ray and Maggie posed for this photo years ago.

The conversation picks up right where we left off the last time we got together. Maggie gets a phone call from her son. It has snowed one foot so far in Pittsfield, and it is still coming down hard.

In Worcester, it is snowing with many power outages. I try not to think about the ride home with the temperature dropping.

The margaritas are so good. We choose the one called "Perfect" and it is. Ray says to be careful of the verde sauce.

The Risley family is a throwback back to the old ways, the old days. What a great family life they lead! They have four (soon to be six) grandchildren compared to our one.

Ray has a gift for Maggie, a very pretty necklace. Hey? You do not stay married this long by accident.

Maggie puts the necklace on. Almost on cue, the lights dim and the tune Happy Birthday plays, as our waiter brings over a flan with a candle in it, with “Feliz Cumpleanos” written in chocolate on the plate. Everyone applauds.

The spirit moves me, and I get up and demonstrate the famous Mexican Hat Dance. Remember? Da da dada dada da dada. I bow at the end. Patrons shower me with pesos. The total surprisingly pays the bill and even the propina. Or maybe it was RayRay who paid. Everything got kind of blurry towards the end of the evening.

As we are leaving, eight people come in and bring the cold with them, as if they have little A/C units installed on their person. You know what I mean! Their bill will be probably four hundred dollars plus propina I would guess.

North on Boylston it says still 37 degrees. The blinking signs on the Southeast Expressway say, "Please stay off the highway so we can keep it clear." Even though there is no sign of snow yet. Unusual winter storm watch indeed.

Route 3 south towards the Cape, and the outside temperature warms to a balmy 41 degrees. I guess the worst will hit after midnight. We miss the snow and wind in Boston and Revere by two hours.

Our casa is warm. I have been burning oak and cherry wood all day and it is not even Noviembre yet. Thanks for listening. You did not interrupt me, not even once.

Your Friend,
RobertoTocino

T. S. Eliot said, "April is the cruelest month. Except for the chocolate bunnies."

Just so you know, Sandy and I will take a warm meal with old friends in any month.

Hora

2011-10-31T14:09:00.004-04:00

On the Greek island of Serifos is the hilltop town of Hora. The whole island has a total population of around one thousand people. You can get there by ferry or sailboat only. It has been governed by seven different countries and attacked by numerous pirates.

Sandy and I sailed to seven islands. Perhaps this was our favorite. We took a bus from the harbor to the village. Then we walked to the top where the white washed church is. As you can see this view was just breath taking.

Our sailboat was docked in the sheltered harbor to the right, where you can see all the masts sticking up.

We rewarded ourselves with Ouzo at the square in the little village of Hora.

re: Welcome Home

2011-10-09T22:16:00.003-04:00

Wednesday, October 5

Dear Barb Cerri,

Danke schoen. I mean thank you.

Sandy and I arrived at Logan 2:30 AM (our clock) today, this morning, via Lufthansa 3360 miles from Frankfurt to Boston. Don't care to hear German for a while. Watched 3 movies on the way. Woody Allen's latest about Paris, “Roman Holiday" with Gregory Peck and introducing some one named Audrey Hepburn, and then "Bad Teacher."

B-Mail went in the postbox this AM. I am NOT a slacker.

The vacation album will be awesome. A blog maybe sometime. I took 30 photos just with my telephone. I will ask Kezia to send the phone ones out in three sections. Greece, Istanbul and Czech Republic. The phone pictures should be on Facebook this week. Kezia, KEZIA !!!

Have heard absolutely no news for three weeks. Friendly’s Ice Cream?

Having Czech blood YOU need to go to Prague !! OMG
Giovanni needs to go also if only for the Pilsner beer. OMG OMG!

My paternal Great Grandmother was Bohemian. Her name was Anna Agnes Boudo/Bacon. In Czech they pronounce it Ianya. She was born in Bohemia (Czech Republic) in 1852. I wonder if my eyes took in what she saw when she lived there before she emigrated to the United States of America. I hope so.

From,
Robert Francis Bacon Bachand Lemanski Tocino

Anna Boudo and George Washington Bacon

p.s. Musica.
We heard "Love her Madly" in Istanbul at the bazaar. “Tally Me Banana” by Harry Belafonte on the sailboat in the Greek Islands, along with "Green Onions" by Booker T. and the MGs. "Low Rider" while sitting along the river drinking Pilsner in Prague, looking up at the castle. “Rockin’ Robin” as we were leaving Old Town in Prague for the last time. Well maybe not for the last time. Gipsy Kings in a shop in Athens. And of course, Frank singing "My Way" from the restaurant on top of our hotel in Istanbul, while eye balling the Blue Mosque. You can't m u s l this. I conclude that the people of these countries love us but especially our musica and movies. CHIFLADOS !!

Celebrating 44 Years of Marriage

2011-10-09T18:28:00.002-04:00

Two views from our hotel in Istanbul.

Above, the Bosphorus Sea leading to the Mediterranean.

Below, The Blue Mosque, holds 60,000 Muslim worshipers.

21 days, three cities, and the Greek Islands. Ten take-offs and ten landings. Perfect. Wait till you see the photos.

He Loaded 16 Ton

2011-09-13T15:02:00.002-04:00

Over the past two weeks I have wheelbarrowed 367, 20-inch or so lengths of firewood up three hills from my neighbor’s yard next door. Sometimes I can get three into the wheelbarrow; sometimes one is plenty. For fun, I weighed one and it was 119 pounds. Some are lighter. Some I cannot lift. Some I need to split so I can load them. But I will have to wait until they dry. I guestimate four cords of white oak and a little cherry.

367 x 119 pounds = 43,673 pounds of too-soon-to-burn firewood -- maybe for 2012; for sure for 2013.

I haven't felt the need for exercise during this time.

Come for a visit this winter. You will not need a sweater. Come next year too, when these logs are dry and stoveworthy.

Deaths in the National Parks

2011-09-13T14:59:00.001-04:00

I read the books" Death In The Grand Canyon" and" Death at Yellowstone" and most deaths were really the result of stupid actions. I remember Yellowstone was mainly being out on Yellowstone Lake in the afternoon when the storms came in, and you ended up in 45 degree water. Grand Canyon was dehydration and getting too close to the edge for the perfect photo.

Fiery Furnace

My friend Tom Egan and I hiked to Delicate Arch at Arches National Park in Utah years ago. It is my second favorite National Park. We especially enjoyed the Fiery Furnace Hike. When we reached the top of Delicate Arch we started to break our food out of our knapsacks. A man came over to us and asked us to please NOT have lunch there. It just stopped us cold.

Delicate Arch

Then we looked over and saw that his wife was sobbing. Their son had fallen off the edge on their last visit. So we didn't eat, but just sat there quietly until a group of Cub Scouts came up and started running all over the place.

There is a rocky but flat pitch to the edge and if your water bottle gets knocked over it rolls very fast and will go over the edge before you know it. We got really nervous that one of the Cub Scouts would go over the edge, so we got up and left.

We followed the couple who lost their child down off the high part of Delicate Arch, "the one on the stamp." They took a right, going to the spot where he landed, we guessed, and we continued on to the trail head.

On the TV show "Hill Street Blues," the sergeant, after muster, would always say, "Be careful out there."

- Tocino, Believer of All Written Words

Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em

2011-08-24T08:52:00.002-04:00

The speeding car pulled into the Rexhame Beach Grocery Store parking lot way too fast, even for 7 in the morning. I watched in amazement as two females exited the run-down car, followed by plumes of cigarette smoke. One reminded me of Mom right before she got the cancer. She was thin and had those drawn-in smoker's cheeks. The other woman was a blonde with the biggest thigh tattoo I have ever seen . . . and I was in the Navy for four years! But what happened next was amazing. The blonde opened the trunk of the car that they drove up in, and with what seemed like a foot-long cigarette between her lips, pulled out a gasoline can and proceeded to put the gas into what obviously was her low-on-gas car. I thought of reasoning with them but instead I just waited for the explosion . . . but it never came.

I had turned in $32 in cans and bottles and thought about buying four packs of cigarettes but I didn't. But maybe I will put it towards a tattoo. Even without the explosion it was still a good day and who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Tocino

Hi Fi Phono

2011-07-25T07:56:00.003-04:00

Man did they let it blast! We went to see Boz Scaggs and Michael McDonald last night, in the round, at the South Shore Music Circus in Cohasset.

The previous day we had tied a Boston record for heat with 104 degrees at Logan Airport. Inside the tent was pretty warm. Boz came on first with his standards: Jo Jo, Georgia, Low Down, We’re All Alone, Harbor Lights, Miss Sun, Some Change and a Fats Domino tune, " Sick and Tired," that I love. "Before you go to bed I even brush your teeth."

We have seen him four times now. He has never done my very favorite, "Fly Like a Bird." Do you know it? He is accompanied by an accordion on that one. When am I going to learn how to spell it? No, I know how to spell “it,” but have trouble with the word “accordion.”

Accordions certainly have become a large part of my musical and dancing pleasure. Someone said that the definition of a gentleman was someone who knew how to play the accordion, BUT DIDN'T. Or what is the difference between a fiddle and a violin? Answer: the violin doesn't get beer spilled on it. Boz almost always makes the list for the Bob's World annual CD.

After the break, Michael McDonald came on stage for the second half of the show. They share the same band. I remember the black gospel singer from shows past. Her name is Miss Monet. He did some old Doobie Brothers songs and “I keep Forgettin’.” For some reason I thought he was formerly part of Chicago. We own all of Boz's stuff but not even one Doobie Brothers. "It Keeps You Runnin’."

Sandy has a facial client whose Mom and Dad originally owned and operated the South Shore Music Circus. Back then they would actually put the performers up at their house. Consequently the daughter never knew who she would be having breakfast with -- Perry Como, Zero Mostel or even Liberace. I hope she writes a book.

Looking back, we have seen: Arlo Guthrie, Everly Brothers, Four Seasons, the Cowsills, Captain & Tennille, Chuck Berry, Lyle Lovett, k.d. lang, Bill Cosby, Tony Orlando & Dawn, Neil Sedaka, Linda Ronstadt, Tony Benidetto, Art Garfunkel, Martha without the Vandellas, Diana Ross without the Supremes, The Monkees , Sha Na Na , Bobby Ryderelli and Fabian Forte and Frankie Avalone all at the same time. And Susan Tedeschi. And that is just of the top of my head. The very first show we ever saw there was in 1967. I got free tickets for my young bride and I while in the Navy, from Special Services. The show was “There's A Girl In My Soup” or “Guess Who's Coming To Dinner” or “If It is Tuesday It Must Be Belgium.” Maybe it was even “Hair.” I forget. Let me give my brain a rest and maybe it will come to me. Oh! “Something Happened On The Way To The Forum.” 2011 is the Music Circus's 60th year. Wow!

Surprisingly, the people attending the Music Circus this time were boisterous; some stood and danced, obstructing those sitting in their seats. I complained and explained to one of the young attendants that my generation would actually sit in their seats to watch a performance. With no one wearing backward baseball caps. The attendant seemed flabbergasted over these statements.

They allow beer into the tent now, which could have been a reason for all the chatter during the performance. Years ago, if you stood, someone would come over immediately and tell you to sit down. The attendant that I spoke to did not even realize that he had the right to do that. A female attendant who was listening walked over to the drunken or drugged woman and asked her to sit down. She did so, but later on turned around and acknowledged us with her middle finger.

The South Shore Music Circus has gotten lax. Rumor has it that next year they will allow casual sex during the performances but will try to curtail all the chatter.

At the finale, Boz came on to sing with Michael. Michael introduced the first tune as "maybe the best love song ever written. It was “Hallelujah." That is the second reference to L. Cohen that I have heard this week. The other was in an interview with Kris Kristofferson in Cowboy and Indian Magazine’s September issue, saying that he and Leonard are indeed close friends. You still subscribe to the magazine, I suspect. Kris is seventy five years old.

After “Hallelujah,” Michael got up from his keyboard and strapped on the infamous red and white keyed accordion. Boz introduced the tune as one from New Orleans, written by Chuck Berry, the performer, Boz said, who influenced him the most in his career. We saw Chuck at this same Music Circus years ago. We went with my old Navy friends, who are our age, Maggie and Ray Risley. When Chuck came down the aisle, Maggie blurted out LOUDLY that "She didn't know he was black!" You can't make up stuff like this. Chuck turns eighty this year.

Anyway, the second song they sang was Chuck’s "You Never Can Tell," which is another one of my all-time favorites.

It was a teenage wedding and the old folks wished them well
You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle

We even danced to it at Martha and Paul's wedding in D.C. It was twisted to by John Travolta and Uma Thurman in the movie Pulp Fiction, and it even made the Bob's World CD one year. I prefer the one by Chuck, as opposed to the other very good one by the Aaron Neville.

All's well that ends well. C'est la Vie, I guess.

A Night at Water Fire

2011-07-20T22:12:00.002-04:00

Last Saturday evening Sandy and I drove to Water Fire in downtown Providence. We mainly went to dance outside to the Rhode Island based Cajun band, Magnolia. There was a food wagon just like Haven Brothers but with really good food. It was like an English bus. A double decker -- and you could bring your food topside and watch the dancers. Planet Zydeco from Vermont finished off a perfect dancing night.

Check out this video from Michelle of Magnolia (see link below). Look for us! Sandy is wearing a long white dress. Something was wrong with the video because it looks like I have a bald spot.

What a wonderful way to spend the night. It looks like fun because it was. Have you ever been to Water Fire?

Chiflados !!!
Tocino

Charles says it means SPARKS in Spanish. Sort of like holy cow !!

WELL yah we went to Federal Hill after.

LINK
http://youtu.be/xVE-2eOv5U0

A Special Fence Sale

2011-06-08T13:24:00.003-04:00

1971. The Reliable Fence Company’s sales manager called me into his office. Would I mind driving to Lynnfield for a very special fence customer?

My sales area was Hull to Abington to Manomet. This was indeed an exception.

I said yes and got to meet Ken Hodge of the Boston Bruins.

Johnny McKenzie was just finishing up a visit and he mentioned Esposito.

Those were the days . . .

2011
-
1971
-------
40 years – yikes!

You Will Never Last!

2011-06-06T16:14:00.002-04:00

Just booked our 44th wedding anniversary trip. Two weeks in September 2011. It starts in Athens. Not Georgia. Our first hotel is Hotel Polis. Go figure. From the rooftop of the hotel restaurant, we will see the Acropolis all lit up.

Then to Santorini for a week of sailing the Greek islands. Fifty foot sail boat 8 passengers. My favorite #. Maybe we will even stop at L. Cohen's island of Hydra, where he wrote “Marianne” and “Bird on A Wire.”

Santorini at the Hotel Pelicano and hopefully a lot of Ouzo, then on to Istanbul, Turkey for our anniversary on September 30th. Janis, our travel agent/friend says, "There is a bridge where you can walk into Asia."

On the announcement of our engagement, Sandy's Mom, Frances Zabek, asked in 1962, "When will you get married?”

We were 19 and 18. “In five years,” we replied.

She said, "You won't last that long."

Sandy’s Dad was more uplifting. He lowered his North Adams Transcript and said, “I hope you know what you’re doin’.”

Then he raised the newspaper back up.

His Mom, Babci Zumbek, always liked me. She knew that it would work. I don't know why. We never even had a real conversation. She only spoke Polish, you know, from the old country. Well I am one half Polish. Lemanski is certainly Polish. Nora's maiden name.

Hattie Fontaine Bacon, my Dad's mom, “From France not Canada," she would say, gave me her diamond that Frank originally gave her . . . to give to Sandy.

Mom and Dad Bacon said, "Don't let her get away."

I listened and I didn't let her get away. Lucky me!

We met when we were 14 and 15. There was a dance. The waves parted. The red sweater. Girls should always wear sweaters.

Everyone knows the story by now. Frankie Avalone was singing " Venus."

We had Kezia's name picked out even that far back, when we were 14 and 15. Sandy knew. I was clueless. Everyone at Adams Memorial High School knew. I was clueless. Hey! I am a guy.

So it really is 51 years. Sometimes you just get lucky.

I wish you our luck and happiness. Just like Romeo and Juliet. You can't make up STUFF like this. Thank you for listening again and again.

Mexellent

2011-05-26T06:44:00.008-04:00

Martha's husband Paul was coming to Marshfield from George Washington D.C. this past April 18th to run Boston for the first time. The B.A.A. gives you a lot of STUFF in your goodie bag. One of the items is a very nice long-sleeved running tee shirt that says Boston Marathon on it. In my years of running, I found them kind of useless. Too warm for hot runs and not warm enough for colder runs. When you wear it as a layer, you hide all the text on it. But when you wear it out, people know that you "Ran Boston" and that is a good thing.

Sandy and I volunteered once. I still have a Boston Marathon volunteer jacket from 1990. It is yellow, very thin, and perhaps the only poor quality one that the Boston Athletic Association EVER gave out.

My friend Tom Donovan volunteers at Boston every year. Every year he gets a better job. This year he was responsible for getting the wheel chair racers/runners to Hopkinton, among other responsibilities. You can count on Tom. As my friend Roger says, if I am combat, I want Tom in my foxhole. He has access to B.A.A. memorabilia such as volunteer jackets. He gave me this one.

We both wore them on a crisp, 55-degree, sunny, September early morning at the start of the Kaibab Trail at the Grand Canyon. It is in Arizona. Tom came up with the idea of hiking down to the bottom to Phantom Ranch along the Kaibab, and then back up the Bright Angel Trail at 5AM the next morning. It was still 80 degrees on the river, even at that time of the day, when we headed back up. I have very fond memories of that day. Tom said it was the best day that he had in all of 2006. You can read all about it in my blog. I called it “Business Cards On The Kaibab.” Part of the story even made the Boston Globe.

I ran Boston 8 times because 8 is my favorite number and I was training for my second try at the Western States 100 mile Trail Run (Squaw Valley to Auburn, California) -- and especially because it was the historic 100th running of the Boston Marathon in 1996. I had my best marathon run ever that day, because I had lost 35 pounds and I was doing 150 mile week training runs, including 40-mile outings on Sundays in preparation for W.S. So the 100th for me was truly a lark and I enjoyed every minute of it. 38,708 official runners came for the 100th Boston – its largest field ever.

I was very attached to my 2006 volunteer jacket. It was a gift. You don't give away gifts, especially when they mean so much to you and a close friend gave it to you. But I thought that Paul should have it. I asked Martha about my idea and she was cool toward it, I thought. I asked father-in-law Flaco about it and he didn't really express an opinion either. So I asked Paul, and he was really laid back about it also. Also is what Dad called me especially when he was upset.

So I gave Paul the jacket the night before the marathon. He did REALLY well and came in 366th out of around 40,000. There is no telling how many bandits ran. The very next day he went to work wearing his Boston Marathon jacket and I knew that I had absolutely done the right thing and a good thing. It is truly better to give than to receive.

Paul crossing the finish line.

Tom Donovan totally understood my thinking on the matter, even though I was giving away a gift from him.

Epilogue: Last night Tom came to my house because we were attending the book signing by Nathaniel Philbrick at the historic 1699 Winslow House. He brought along Philbrick’s book "The Last Stand," which I had lent him -- and a shiny new/old Boston Marathon Volunteer Jacket. Not just any old jacket but the one from 1996, the 100th running of the Boston Marathon. The one that runners are willing to PAY $300 for.

My 8th, my best Boston Marathon run, and my last Boston. Tom also feels that it is better to give than receive, and am I ever happy about that.

MEXELLENT

Abuelo Tocino
May 17, 2011

Duke’s Pond

2011-05-16T23:19:00.009-04:00

It seems to get swimming hot only in the month of July in the Hoosac Valley. The wind or breeze is blocked by Mount Greylock to the west and Savoy Mountain to the east, and the town of Adams Massachusetts bakes. If you live here you are 200 miles from the nearest ocean beach. But that’s OK because nestled just over Savoy Mountain is Duke’s Pond. Just drive up Orchard past the Polish cemetery, past where Danny Alibozek used to live. Stay straight through the Gulf past the dairy farms and through Savoy. You will go down a long decline and right there on your right you will see the sign. It’s in West Hawley, near the Windsor border.

It isn't a huge pond but it is warm. It is not freezing cold like Sand Springs in Williamstown or Anthony's in Adams. Here is where Dad took us one hot , steamy night after work to learn how to swim. He simply took my brother and I out over our heads and we had to swim back. Duke’s is also where I first canoed. The east end of the pond is where the dance pavilion and barroom were. Once you got off 116, the roads were just gravel.

White Birch was another area on the pond -- at the bottom of the hill and on the right. It was a very nice picnic area, with picnic tables and a stone fireplace at each site. It was first come, first served. Maybe you had to pay. You must have had to pay. Dad liked it because they had a small barroom nestled in the birches. You could get an ice cold beer, but you had to be 13.

The Bacon family would go up after church at Saint Stan's. My mom, Nora, would always buy the Polish rye bread at the Polish Bakery just across from the church. It is a pizza place now. I remember all of this mostly from old photos.

My mother and father would take their parents along. Much of the time Walter Lemanski (my mom’s dad) came along. His children referred to him as Pa.

His wife, Alexandra, had passed by then. They came from Poland, "the old country," they would say. Alexandra came first and alone. She was pregnant with her first of 9 children. She was 19, married to Walter who was drafted into the Russian Army. She walked for two days to get to the steamship that would take her first to Ellis Island. From there she traveled up to Adams Massachusetts where she had a sister living. What did she carry? How did she communicate? What was it like to see her sister in the United States of America? What type of transportation did she use to get to her sisters? Maybe the train? I don't know.

What did she think of Adams? If she stayed in the Polish section of town, she would have no problems. She would not have to learn the language and she never did. Sandy's Polish Grandmother never did either. You just didn't need to.

Alexandra was called Alice by her friends. There must have been a promise of employment. Hoosac Valley needed factory workers for the cotton and woolen mills. The Polish people filled that need.

Alice Lemanski 's favorite movie star was Buster Crabbe. In her heavy Polish accent, she called him Bustum Crap. You can't make up stuff like this.

My mother would dust our little squeeky clean house on Howland Avenue every Saturday. Part of her ritual was to take down her mothers photo, polish it in a circular motion, kiss it and put it back on the shelf. This is the photo of my Polish Grandmother in a wheel chair at Dukes Pond. I remember my mothers ritual clearly as if it happened yesterday.

It was March 19, 1944. The World War was raging. The five daughters and their mother were sitting at the kitchen table on Commercial Street, talking, when someone knocked on the front door. Oh my god, Billy was home from the war! But when my Aunt Steffie got to the door, no one was there. The very next day a letter came from Mr. Roosevelt. William Lemanski was missing in action over Italy. Rumor says it was over Austria. He was a tail gunner in a B-52 bomber airplane -- the one with all the glass, with the turret that swiveled. The next day, another letter. Billy was killed in action. Alexandra couldn't take the loss and had a stroke climbing the stairs.

It reads:

IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF

STAFF SERGEANT WILLIAM LEMANSKI, A.S. 31284582

WHO DIED IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY

IN THE NORTH AFRICA AREA , MARCH 19, 1944

HE STANDS IN THE UNBROKEN LINE OF PATRIOTS WHO HAVE DARED TO DIE
THAT FREEDOM MIGHT LIVE , AND GROW, AND INCREASE ITS BLESSINGS.
FREEDOM LIVES , AND THROUGH IT. HE LIVES-
IN A WAY THAT HUMBLES THE UNDERTAKINGS OF MOST MEN.

Franklin D. Roosevelt
President of the United States of America

Oh, you want to know why the name of this story is Duke’s Pond? Here at our house in Marshfield, we have almost no grass. I did that on purpose. We would spend all morning mowing the grass in Zylonite at Mom and Dad's. But I do have a strip between the old house and the pool fence. I would always advise my swimming pool customers to put some grass in their pool area for color. A landscaper told me I could never grow grass there but I did. It has been damaged periodically, with all the additions that we have done, plus house painting and new roofs. Finally the additions have ceased and I brought up beautiful thirty-nine year-old compost from behind the pool near the garden, and seeded, and the grass is finally coming back in -- very well, thank you.

Between the bar and the driveway is an area where you cannot grow grass for two reasons. It is too shady there, and the water from the long driveway swales right through there like a flood when it rains. We had pachysandra there for awhile, but it got trampled during my big fiesta. I decided to fill the area with round, smooth Rexame beach rocks. Then I dug a very crooked path through it for the water to flow. Abel and I named it Snake River.

Abel and Teddy, Abel' s best friend who lives across the street, love to play in Snake River. When it is not raining and dry, we run a garden hose at one end and the river comes alive. So much for all my water barrel and water pail conservation efforts. I enjoy washing the cars with rain water. Doesn't everyone?

There is a large rain barrel on the other side of the bar with a roof gutter running right into it. It is always full. Abel came up to me, covered in mud, with those big blue eyes, and said, "Grampa, would you mind if I turned on the spigot and made a pond, and then connect it across the lawn to Snake River?"

“Abel,” I said, “That is a great idea.”

Then he said, "We will call it Duke’s Pond."

I was kinda stunned. Sandy and I have been to Duke’s Pond only once in forty-four years. He's never been there.

Today he and Teddy found a dead chipmunk in a pail of rain water, and asked me what to do with it. I said, “We will bury it, but not right now.” Next thing I knew, they had dug a hole right in the middle of my new lawn! We had a little service, and bid the chipmunk -- and my new lawn -- farewell.

Your Friend,
Abuelo Tocino

Holbox Vacation 2011

2011-02-21T15:12:00.019-05:00

Isla Holbox (whole bush) was pretty neat. It is located on the Gulf of Mexico so the sea is not as blue as the Caribbean. Yah it looks like Isla Mujeres did, but maybe eighty years ago, not twenty as we were thinking before we went there. No cars. White sand streets with grande slippery puddles when it rains.

Almost no TVs in the houses. None in the hotels. No cell phone reception for Americans. Great restaurants, pizza, Argentinian, Italian, Mexican.

Here is an interesting note. In the 10 days in Mexico we never had a Mexican meal. Chips and pico de gallo and guacamole for sure, but NO Mexican.

Israeli, Spanish, Italian and Mediterranean and Asian but no . . . There was incredible sea food, or so I was told.

Our hotelita was a knock out. It is very new and run by an Italian mother and daughter. It had one of the most beautiful pool areas that I have ever seen. And I have seen a few thousand.

I think there are 7 hotels on the twenty six-mile-long island. Isla Mujeres is only 5 miles long.

Our hotel was rated by Trip Advisor as #3. I can't imagine any hotel on Holbox being better than the one we stayed at. Not much shopping, but when you did shop, there was NO pressure. No "take a look" or "where you from." No vendors on the beach. Way more bird life and way more shells. We have only seen more stars at night once on a vacation, while in Montana. Quiet. Not many Norte Americanos. Population of Isla Mujeres: 10,000. Population of Isla Holbox: 1,600.

Found a new drink for me there that I really enjoyed. It is called a Michelada. Soy sauce, worcestershire sauce, Goya sauce, salted glass with rockes (ice cubes) add ice cold beer. I had Modelo. You cannot drink it fast. Mine lasted for up to two hours. Three would be too many. If you like a spicy drink, this Bud's for you. I mean this Michelada is for you. Mr. Google says that it was concocted in the 1940s and that roughly translated it means "my cold beer" or mi chela helado.

Marshfield Hills Civil War Memorial Lecture

2011-01-28T07:43:00.000-05:00

135 Marshfield men signed up to fight in the Civil War. All of them were farmers or cobblers. In 1860, Marshfield's population was 1713.

27 names are on the monument. They are referred to as “fallen.” 21 deaths, 5 discharged. One, Lucius Carr, born in 1840 - ? We know the missing soldier’s name and birth date only.

It was 30 years before the memorial was dedicated. During the years after the war, there was a serious depression. And, as in any war, the combatants just wanted to forget the war and get on with their lives.

Eventually, granite from land in Quincy Massachusetts, owned by the famous John Adams family, was used for the memorial. The statue on top is that of a full-sized soldier at parade rest. He is carrying a Springfield musket. These were made 100 miles away in Springfield, Massachusetts, for the war. He wears a full mustache, which was common for the time. He is dressed in his Winter Blue uniform. This granite was the best money could buy. Marble would be less. Then limestone, followed by cast iron. The granite statue weighs 167 pounds per square foot.

The first STATE REGIMENTAL monument at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania was from Massachusetts. Now there are over 300 memorials, showing exactly where the particular state regiments were during the battle.

There was eventually a draft of men between the ages of 20 thru 43. For $300 you could pay someone to take your place. Rich kids didn't need to go. Sound familiar? The North, eventually running out of men, paid many Germans and Irish to fill the ranks. The speaker at the lecture I attended said, “without the foreigners we would not have won.”

The small, older crowd many times broke the tempo of the speaker with questions. “Don't stand in the hallways, don't block up the halls.” Many times they presented their own little facts. Hey, maybe next week YOU could do a lecture. Would you interrupt Nathaniel Philbrick? “Hey Abe! What do you mean by four score?”

The memorial service in Marshfield Hills, Massachusetts, in1895 cost $432.
240 children of Marshfield were there, all dressed in white. The Plymouth band also was present. Half the cost of the service was for food. $22 went to a man with his buckboard who brought most of the children. Lastly there was a $5 charge for the use of someone's horse. According to the Boston Sunday Globe, “Rain came at one point but it laid the dust nicely.” A grand time was had by all.

I Did It Tom's Way

2011-01-07T07:44:00.010-05:00

When you look back on your life do you think, like Frank Sinatra, that you did it your way?

That's what I thought until I analyzed my life and discovered, much to my surprise, that I Did It Tom's Way.

Characterize me if you will. Civil War buff, Cajun/Zydeco dancer, National Park lover . . . yup. But none of these were my original ideas.

Tom took me on a tour of Gettysburg. After a while I looked at him and said, "We were here," to which he agreed. I don't know why I said that, but I believed it and still do. Tom even looks like General Thomas Jackson aka Stonewall Jackson, a name that he earned at First Manassas -- or Bull Run, as the Union forces called it.

Go ahead, compare the photos. Am I right? What an amazing resemblance.

I always thought that Tom looked great with a beard. The story goes, he took his two young sons to the movies and a woman said, "Isn't that nice that Grampa is taking his grandkids to the movies." He went home and shaved the gray beard off and we haven't seen it since. I have wanted to shave off my white beard, but Sandy won't let me. She says I would look like Gramma Walton from The Waltons TV show. Not Grampa Walton. Even John Boy would probably agree.

Cajun/Zydeco dancer. Not my idea. Tom took us to our first festival in Rhode Island, the state where he was born, and Sandy and I were hooked. That was a long time ago, at Escoheag, and it changed our lives.

Speaking of Rhode Island, every Mardi Gras Ball we end the evening by going to Haven Brothers for hamburgs and fries. Did you think that was my original idea? As a kid Tom was a regular there, and he took us there the very first time. Federal Hill, Point Judith, Ninigret and Rhodes on the Pawtuxet. None of these were my idea originally, but thanks for thinking it was.

National Park lover. It was all his idea. First we hiked Yosemite, then Arches, then Canyonlands, then Tetons and Yellowstone, then Rocky Mountain National Park. I don't think we are done yet. He showed us Virginia City and the trails and lakes of Tahoe. Truckee California too. Tom lived in California for twenty years. He hiked Yosemite many times with the Sierra Club.

The first time we went to Yosemite we ate first at a Mexican restaurant called La Piñata. It was just south of LAX. It was awesome. When Sandy, Allan Sylvester and I went to Steve George's 50th birthday party, we of course ate at La Piñata. When the Adamses went to Yosemite they enjoyed the place so much they went twice. Mike Coleman from the Ultra Running Club was going to California with his Lauri. I told him about the restaurant. During the trip he suggested a GREAT Mexican restaurant. Lauri said, "You have never been to California before, how do you know where a great Mexican restaurant is?" They went to the restaurant in Burlingame and loved it. Bill Thibideaux, a former Navy buddy, was going out to California. I told him. He couldn't find it. Finally he asked someone and found out that, after 37 years, it had closed.

Tom and I have many other connections. He and Jeanette built a house on the lot next door to us here in Marshfield in 1980. One day Sandy and I were in the back yard. The Egan casa was under construction. We met at the fence. As Tom remembers it, I said, "Do you own a dog?"

They said NO.

I said, "We will get along just fine."

We did get along fine. That same night we went out for Mexican. We have been friends now for 30 years. Not around 30 years -- 30 YEARS.

Jeanette, a southern California girl, even taught Sandy how to make Mexican fideo soup. Now we think of the recipe as ours.

Through the Egans, we became fast friends with the Sylvesters and the Georges. Tom worked at a company in Boston with Allan Sylvester and Steve George. We were only friends here in Massachusetts for 5 years. But it is a strong connection. The Georges moved back to California. The Sylvesters moved to Vermont. And the Egans moved to Pennsylvania. When they all lived here, we had great fun. Mexican pool parties, New Years Eves, etc. We still get to see each other. We all show up for a son or daughter’s wedding, or one of our special birthdays, and we have been on vacations together.

Tom Egan and I have many other things that connect us. To start, we were born in the same month. Tom grew up in the projects and I grew up in a mill town.

We both love old western movies. Lonesome Dove: he called me the first night it was on and we were both hooked. Hell, most of America was. Anything that Robert Duvall does is OK with us. If I told you once, I have told you twice: rent Assassination Tango. We may be the only two people on the east coast who loved the movie Heavens Gate.

Lake George New York has a lot of history for both of us. We still vacation there. Around Boston no one knows Lake George. Well it is Yankee territory.

Telephone call one night. Bob. Tom. Best western gun battle ever. Open Range. End of conversation.

Tom is an avid reader. We pass each other books at Christmas and birthdays. It was Tom who let us all know about a great book that he had discovered. It was to be my Christmas present, but he couldn't wait and sent it in July. It was called Mayflower. It had a major affect on my other friends here in New England. The author, Nathaniel Philbrick, came to the Winslow house for a reading. It was so packed that people outside were trying to listen to him through the open windows. Most people were turned away.

I have read everything that there is to read on Buffalo Bill Cody. We swung off the exit near Denver once after visiting Leadville to see his gravesite. Tom had been there years ago with his father. I was overwhelmed with the place and ended up buying this Buffalo Bill jacket at Longview Point.

Bill wanted to be buried at Cody Wyoming, a town that he started. The city of Denver offered his wife $10,000 if she would bury him there instead, so she did. They didn't get along all that well. Once she showed up unannounced at a hotel where Bill was staying. The desk clerk told her the room number where Mr. and Mrs. Cody were registered. Bill was a ladies’ man. Even late in life he was something to see.

Cody cowboys threatened Denver that they would come and dig Bill up and bring him back to Wyoming. Denver responded by reburying Buffalo Bill under 20 feet of concrete. You can't make this stuff up.

When Tom and Jeanette visited Russia, he bought a Russian Officers cap from a little old lady down a side street. Jeanette said, "Tom, WHAT are you going to do with that hat?

Tom said, "It’s for Bob.”

Jeanette said, “Oh!”

My Polish grandfather was in the Russian Army.

What else? I ran 54,000 miles. Tom hockey skated 54,000 miles.

Later in life, Tom became a story teller while I became a story writer (sort of).

I cracked up when I received this mail recently and it sparked this blog. That's me as a project teenager at age 14. I can't wait until the royalties start pouring in.

As you can see, Tom has become a great storyteller. Even the famous Jay O'Callahan of Marshfield believes this. Check out all of Tom's other accomplishments. He is quite a guy and he is my friend.

I really think that T.P. has influenced me more in my life than anyone, and I wanted you and the rest of the world to know.

Bob Bacon

The Bees Knees

2011-01-04T11:48:00.004-05:00

You of course remember that Walter Casimer Zepka, the Polish florist, had a place on Orchard Street, where he grew many of his flowers for his florist business, which was on Victory Street in Adams. Just down the street from St. Stan's. It recently closed after 101 years. If you got my Christmas e-mail on it and didn't hit DELETE you already knew that. It was just past Cherwinski's and across from Alibozek's. The Alibozek in that house was a Petrowski girl. She lived on East Hoosac Street. Do you remember her? Her father worked at G.E. in Pittsfield (this is how older people in Adams talk). Anyway, he died. You hear that a lot also. But did you know that Walter also kept bees?

The Polish Cemetery is also on Orchard Street. It is about two miles from Walter's gardens and bee hives. Two people told me this story at separate times while I was in Adams this weekend so it must be true: this summer as they were lowering Walter into the ground, swarms of his bees showed up for his send off.

Do you remember what Club Bacon's motto is? You can't make up STUFF like this.

Bobby Lemanski Bacon
I married a Zabek girl.
The family lived on Grant Street.

My (Former) Little Town

2010-12-24T23:05:00.003-05:00

Without fail, around Christmas for the whole 43 years of our marriage, Walter Zepka of Zepka Florists would call at 7 or 8 at night and ask for Alexandra Zabek. Sandy would come to the phone.

"Alexandra do you want poinsettias at St. Stan's midnight mass in memory of your Dad, Jimmy Zabek?"

She always answered, "tak, dobry dobry," and then dziekuje (yes and thank you) gin koo yah. You always say good twice. I don't know why. I am only one half Polish.

"How are you?"
"Dobry, dobry."

Zepka's closed this year. I know because we never got that phone call. Sandy's cousin Joan Brodalski confirmed it when she sent us the little newspaper clipping stating that after 101 years, Zepka's was no more.

Here is a photo that our son in law, Chris Bernstein, took of Saint Stanislaus Kostka Church. You called it the Polish church if you were from the little town of Adams, Massachusetts.

The Sharp Shinned Hawk

2010-12-06T13:28:00.003-05:00

Never seen one? It is a hawk with short wings and long tails. 10-14 inches. Blue Jay-size, but thinner. A larger, rarer, Coopers Hawk has a rounded tail tip.

Last winter a sharp-shinned flew into a large window of our sunroom. Otherwise I would never have seen one. They are quite beautiful.

Range: Alaska; MacKenzie, British Columbia; and Newfoundland. Newfoundland -- I was there once for two weeks, climbing telephone poles and running telephone lines with the Seabees. Also sharp-shinned hawks can be found south to Florida and northern Mexico. Don't you find that amazing?

I saw one again today as I was cutting wood in the front of the house. It preys on warblers and sparrows, small rodents and insects. It flies low and rapido. Like five-feet-or-so low. The sparrows were chirping away, so I guess he was after them. He landed for a few seconds in a large rhododendron that our neighbor Teddy and grandson Abel call “The Sloth Cabin.” He had no luck today.

Sharp-shinned hawks are intolerant of civilization and have become scarce as breeding birds in more settled areas.

The Wampanoags said that when you see a special animal, you will be blessed for that day -- and I was. It was a good day. A really good day.

Russell Rene Roulier

2010-11-19T10:41:00.010-05:00

Here is a photo of him.

This photograph made my mind reach back fifty six years to 1954, when I was nine. Growing up in extreme western Massachusetts was wonderful. Right or wrong, all of our parents let us run pretty wild. Loose reins as my grandfather Frank would say. I was sort of the leader of a small band of boys, mostly because I was the oldest. There was Michael Burke, John Louis Lawson, my brother (three years younger) Mike Bacon, Bobby Gamache (called Little Bobby, as I was Big Bobby) and Russ Roulier.

As a teenager, Russell really looked a lot like Elvis.

(Left to right: John Louie, Russ, Michael Burke, Mike Bacon)

John Louis lived two houses north of us. They rented. Most people in Adams did. No one thought anything of it. His mother, who was from Belgium and spoke with an accent, would call out to him, “John Louie, come here, dinner!”

I remember my mother saying, “Go holler for your brother.” No one hollers for you any more.

They were the first family that I knew that had a television. I would go there occasionally -- climb to the second floor, knock on the door, and ask Mrs. Lawson if I could watch their TV. I thought nothing of it. She would always say yes.

We received our TV signal from Albany, New York, and we needed large outside antennas. I remember being hooked on the “Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color” television shows especially. The Lawsons’ TV was black and white -- and being in a valley, the reception was lousy. Remember SNOW and the picture going sideways?

“When Knighthood Was in Flower” was my favorite. By the time Superman came to television all the families had their own TVs. Or so it seemed. I have no idea how or why I remember that, but when I saw the photo of Elvis Presley everything came back to me clearly. Google will back me up that I have the years correct.

Now you have to wonder what my parents were thinking when I would disappear for hours at a time. I don't know. They would not think twice about letting us load up our gear and camp for the night in the foothills beyond Gamache's cow pastures, near the old Georgia Marble Company. You know where I mean -- off of old Columbia Street. People from Zylonite referred to it only as “the back road.” I wonder if the spring is still ther? Zylonite was a plastic that was produced there with the help of the Hoosac River, which ran through Adams. This part of town, full of mostly first- and second-generation Italian families, came to call this section Zylonite. It’s funny, but none of the small group of boys I ran with were Italian. But the boys my age had last names such as Bongiolatti, Smachetti, Ballardini, Dellagelffa, Volpe, Tomasini, Malioni, Monchecci, Carnazola, Chicceti, Sondrini, and Bianchi. These original families all came from north of Pisa to work the limestone quarries and they still do to this day.

We boys, all around the age of ten, would set up camp beyond Split Rock, to the north of the old quarry. We would return home in the morning and I do not remember anyone asking us anything about our night in the woods. I know for sure that they never checked on us. That’s just how it was.

After grade school, in the cold snowy winters of Berkshire county, we would cut through Gamache’s farm, past the haystacks, and walk up to Georgia Marble on the old white limestone road, then slide down it on our Flexible Flyer sleds. No one ever said after school, "I'll meet you there." We just did. It was a long walk up, and at the most you could only get in two slides. Then it was a long, snowy walk back in the dark, along the path that you cut earlier on the snow-covered pasture to Mom's warm kitchen for a nice hot supper.

There were no streetlights on the back road. It was a long, snow-lit walk past Gamache's farmhouse lights to finally reach home. It could be especially long if the wind was blowing down Mount Greylock via the Thunderbolt Trail. We would leave our wet clothes and boots on the front, unheated porch. If we forgot to bring them in later, they would be frozen as hard as boards in the morning. I recall that sometimes we couldn't get our boots off because of the ice-covered laces. Before supper Mom would always have a shot of grappa ready for her boys. OK, so I made that part up. I didn't know if you were still following the story or not.

We played pick up baseball. You would just show up in the summer at the ballfield behind the Howland Avenue school and play. It was always hardball. Boy did we have fun! We also played War.

(That's John Louie's house to the right.)

Adams is very much a fishing and hunting town. John Louis’s father and grandfather were French Canadien AYE! You could always tell when it was deer season. Dad put a picture window into the north side of our house and from it you could see the deer hanging off the clotheslines of the Lawsons’ yard, two houses away. Playing War, we would dress ourselves in the World War II helmets and canteens of our fathers and uncles, carry toy rifles and backpacks, and go at night to the swamp near the back road. We would crawl up the dry ditch that ran under Howland Avenue and pretend we were on patrol.

Forward to June 21 1967, Quang Nam, South Vietnam.

A message was left on the Vietnam Memorial Wall. It was from Wayne Gregory who called himself "A Marine Brother In Arms."

“Russell was an M-60 machine gunner. We were together on this hill in Quang Nam when he was killed in action. Russell was an outstanding Marine, handsome sort, quiet and intelligent. We were attacked in the early morning hours under the cover of darkness and Russell's gun hole was out on the flank. He is remembered and respectfully loved by his fellow Marines.”

When looking up Russell's name on the wall I found these additional facts.

The largest per capita loss of any town in the United States was Beallsville, Ohio --population 475. Six young men killed.

Highest state casualties: West Virginia with 711.

The Marines of Morena -- They led some of the scrappiest high school and basketball teams that the little copper town of Morena (population 5,058) had ever known and cheered, in the state of Arizona. They enjoyed roaring beer busts. In quieter moments, they rode horses along the Coronado Trail, stalked deer in the Apache National Forest and in the patriotic camaraderie typical of Morena's mining family; the nine graduates of Morena High School enlisted as a group in the Marine Corp. Their service began on Independence Day 1966. Only three returned home.

Robert Dale Draper, 19, was killed in an ambush.

Stan King, 21, was killed less than a week after he reached Vietnam.

Alfred Van Whitmer, 21, was killed while on patrol.

Larry J. West, 19, was shot and killed near Quang Nam.

Jose Moncayo, 22, was part of an entire platoon that was wiped out.

Clive Garcia, 22, was killed by a booby trap while leading a patrol.

The youngest American soldier killed was Dan Bullock at age 15.

The high school with the highest number of casualties: Thomas Edison High School in Philadelphia -- 54

The oldest, Dwaine McGriff at 63.

Killed on their very first day: 997

Killed on their last day: 1448

Most casualties in a single day: January 31, 1968 -- 245

Number of brother (pairs or more) killed: 38

Number of fathers and son pairs killed: 3

Chiseled on the Vietnam War Memorial is this:

RUSSELL RENE ROULIER MC CPL E4
BORN December 16, 1946.
DIED JUNE 21, 1967 QUANG NAM, SOUTH VIETNAM
HOSTILE, GROUND CASUALTY, EXPLOSIVE DEVICE
BODY WAS RECOVERED
PANEL 22E - LINE 33

And this is on the Virtual Wall at http://www.virtualwall.org

Russell Rene Roulier
Corporal

PERSONAL DATA
Home of Record: Adams, Massachusetts
Date of birth: Monday, 12/16/1946

MILITARY DATA
Service: Marine Corps (Regular)
Grade at loss: E4
Rank: Corporal
ID No: 2221013
MOS: 0351 Antitank Assaultman
LenSvc: Between 1 and 2 years
Unit: K CO, 3RD BN, 7TH MARINES, 1ST MARDIV

CASUALTY DATA
Start Tour: Not recorded
Cas Date: Wednesday, 06/21/1967
Age at Loss: 20
Remains: Body Recovered
Location: Quang Nam, South Vietnam
Type: Hostile, Died
Reason: Other Explosive Device - Ground Casualty

ON THE WALL Panel 22E Line 033

Sadly, there is no photo.

My boyhood friend, Russell, was the only young man from Adams, Massachusetts to die in Vietnam.

POST SCRIPT:

From Facebook: Lorraine sent you a message.

January 11, 2011 at 3:45pm

Subject: Bob from Adams, MA?

If you are the Bob bacon from Adams who has a blog then this will be relevant-if not please disregard. A friend who is in Africa right now came upon your blog and sent it to me-it was the one about Zepka's and then Russ Roulier. Russ was not the only young man to die in Vietnam from Adams. Here is a link to the town's veterans was dead.

http://www.facebook.com/l/6c3cfAz8kdTB9GrqiCYB5du6k8A;www.town.adams.ma.us/Public_Documents/AdamsMA_Veterans/warlist

The website lists two other Vietnam War casualties from Adams, Massachusetts:
Robert T Goyette
John R. Hartlage, III

I obtained the casualty information off THE WALL in Washington D.C. website and obviously according to Lorraine K. of Adams and the public records of Adams Massachusetts it is incorrect. So the story is even sadder.

From a friend in AFRICA ? You can't make this st ...... There has to be a connection with Joy Sylvester who just got there recently.

That Adams public records web site says 19 men from Adams died during the Civil War.

The Ancient Path

2010-11-01T16:02:00.024-04:00

If you leave our casa and take a right you will come to the Old Colony Railroad bed. There are no rails left, but occasionally I will find a railroad spike. The last time a train ran here was 1939. Founded in 1844, it ran from Provincetown to Boston. If they decided to relay the tracks, they would go right through my casita, behind the swimming pool.

Walk straight, all the way to the end of the roadway/railway, and you will hit Careswell Street. Careswell was the name of the house that was built in 1699 on the present Careswell Street by Isaac Winslow, the grandson first governor of Massachusetts. The house still stands.

Local legend says that this cottage on Careswell Street belonged to a train conductor.

At the end of the trail is Black Tom Pond.

Did it get its name from a slave or freed man from the Winslow, Thomas or even Webster house? I don't know, and neither does Google.

The photo above shows Black Tom Pond on the right, and a cut-off, smaller pond on the left. It also shows how much they had to fill to make a railroad bed. This was way before bulldozers -- or as my grandson used to say, “Bull Sodas.” This little pond is where I see tons of turtles sunning themselves on old logs . . . and the only place where I saw a beautiful green heron . . . but only once.

Crossing the trail I walk is the Pilgrim Trail, signified by granite markers.

It ran from the Plimouth (not sic) Colony to Greens Harbour (not sic again), which was named for the First Mate of the ship Mayflower, William Greene. He fished here and ran a sea salt business.

The Pilgrim Trail goes over the hill and down through a neighborhood area named Wampanoag Woods -- which is indeed where the native tribes camped while fishing at Brant Rock during the summers. As the crow flies, it is only one mile to the beaches. Carbon tests from their ancient campfires confirm the fact that they camped there.

Above, Wampanoags from Cape Cod playing drums at a pow wow at the Marshfield Fairgrounds. The bare chested drummer told me his great grandfather taught him how to play and they are keeping the tradition going.

The French explorer Samuel de Champlain noted the natives fishing off the Gurnet in their dug-out canoes in 1605. The North River, close by, is where archeologists have found many such campsites. They were always situated on the south side of the river, to take advantage of the sun. Hundreds of years ago, the North River was a major travel route, just like Route 3 is now. This waterway still can take you all the way to Taunton.

I own some arrowheads and even a spearhead taken from swimming pool excavations nearby.

I started running on the railroad bed in 1977. It was the first running mile of a 10 to 30 mile training run. Now I walk. I hike the trails off the railroad bed. I find the pine needles way easier on my legs than the 54,00 miles of blacktop and concrete that I ran on for 23 years. I try to walk every day for an hour and a half. Freshly falling snow might be the best time to be out there.

On my walks I have encountered owls, hawks, turkeys, swans, ravens, a green heron, and a great blue heron.

Plus turtles (painted, box and snapping), geese, raccoons, bald truck tires, coyote, opossum, skunk, muskrats, fox and deer -- and even a human suicide. It is a full story on its own.

I haven't seen a fisher cat yet. But I know they are out there.

My trapper friend called the other night. He asked a simple question. Do I see any raccoons along the side of the road lately? “Gee I haven't.” That is because the fisher cats are killing them. In 2009 he trapped 20 fisher cats. In 2010 he trapped 40. Who knew?

Someone dammed up a stream for the deer to drink without being disturbed. It is working. One day I watched them drink for a long time. The wind was right and they never heard or smelled me. Almost always they do, and bound away.

Above, my favorite view from the trail. This waterway is actually the Green Harbor River, where it forms a pond adjacent to a cranberry bog. The river runs into Marshfield from Duxbury, then under Webster Street and finally into Green's Harbour and the Atlantic. It is here that I see the swans and the great blues, and the beautiful sunsets.

I burn firewood in the winter to heat the house. You can take the boy out of Adams, but you can't totally take the Adams out of the boy. This year I didn't know where I would get my wood. I have never bought a cord 8x8x4 ever.

The trails are covered with rock-hard dead wood, both on the ground and standing. Initially I took my chain saw into the woods, only to clear the downed trees on the path. If it was 1600, and a tree was marked with the King of England's stamp, I could not cut it, for that tree was to be saved to build the King's ships. If, however, the wind knocked down that same tree, I could take it as " a windfall.”

Eventually I came up with an idea -- to walk the paths and cut the old oak trees into 6 foot lengths. On every walk, I carry one down to the side of the railroad bed and leave it there in a pile. Luckily, no one has seen me carrying a 6 foot log through the woods yet.

Today I drove my pickup truck to the pile 5 times, and here is the result.

There are about 130 logs in this pile, but I still need to go back for more loads -- but not today. I had help unloading them as you can see.

Abel loves to help me work, and he is a really hard worker. A different Abe said you get warm twice with the same wood -- once when you saw it, and again when you burn it. I would add another number to that, for my carrying the logs out.

Stop over sometime and we will have a drink of tea or maybe even a margarita in our living room . . . and don't bother to bring a sweater.

Who said I couldn't handle retirement?

Snow will soon put an end to my hiking with running shoes, but the winter also means snow shoeing the trail -- and I look forward to that.

Guided tours available -- late Saturdays and Sundays.

P. S.

The area has been surveyed. You can see the red and blue markers in the trees and on the bushes. I have been thinking that someone bought the land and will soon develop it.

Occasionally people will ask me, “Who owns the land?” At Marshfield Town Hall this morning, I discovered that this whole area (15 acres) is called Sweet's Hill, and that the town recently purchased it for $400,000, to protect the drinking water wells. No one can ever build here, forever. Hooray!

Glory B

2010-11-01T13:24:00.016-04:00

From: ROBT BACON
Date: October 6, 2010 7:48:51 PM EDT
To: David Chapman
Subject: Glory b.

Hi David,

My daughter Marnie was so happy to meet you in the Berkshires recently.

As you do, I also have an interest in the Civil War, but Marnie may have overstated mine. I have only been to two civil war battle sites -- once to Gettysburg and twice to Manassas or Bull Run.

Reading Killer Angels certainly set me off.

A tour of Gettysburg by a friend from Pennsylvania clinched the deal. The fact that a friend from Connecticut does tours there didn't hurt either.

I have read quite a few books on the subject, especially biographies or autobiographies, or some simply on particular places.

Stonewall Jackson, Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Diaries, Balls Bluff, Mount Vernon, Lee's Arlington house, Savannah, John Mosby, Fort Sumter from Charleston, Fort Pulaski, scores of books on General George Armstrong Custer (he married Libby Bacon), Booth, Kit Carson, Robert E. Lee and Nathan Bedford Forest.

I have visited the house where General Grant died. It is in upper New York State. And Ford’s Theatre, where Lincoln met his end. Also I went to Joshua Chamberlain’s house in Maine.

Do you remember in the movie Gettysburg, where at the end of Little Round Top, Chamberlain holds his sword to the neck of one of General Oates’ officers of Alabama -- for his surrender – at the same time as that officer pulls the trigger pointed at Chamberlain’s head . . . but his pistol is empty?

Later in life, that officer actually visited with Chamberlain at his home in Brunswick, Maine. How weird is that? Mrs. Chamberlain found out that her husband had joined the Union army by reading it in the local newspaper.

In my reading pile, I have General A.P. Hill's book by James I Robertson Jr.

and Gettysburg Requiem, about the life of William C. Oates.

Oh, and then there was The Civil War by Ken Burns.

Wow. My daughter Kezia graduated from the same college as him, Hampshire, in Amherst, Massachusetts.

I have a blog post that I have just finished. I will send it along to you.

Any interest in the French and Indian War or the Revolutionary War?

I have read: The Battle of Brooklyn, Alexander Hamilton, John Adams, Paul Revere, Andrew Jackson, Robert Rogers of Rogers’ Rangers, Sam Adams, John Hancock Brown brothers, Sons of Providence, Jesse James, poetry by L. Cohen, Brooklyn Was, 1776 , . . . to name a few. I have been to Saratoga, General Philip Schuyler's house in Schuylerville, New York (one of his daughters married Hamilton). Martin Van Buren's house, also in New York. Bunker Hill and Valley Forge, Fort Anne, Fort William Henry, Glorietta Pass, Little Big Horn and Fort Ticonderoga.

Living near Boston we have done Abigail and John's house tours a couple of times.

Lexington and Concord, of course. We actually live on one of Daniel Webster's original 1200 acres. His son was killed at 2nd Manassas. Recently on a trip to Lake George, New York, we visited the falls at Glen Falls that figured into James Fenimore Cooper’s book "Last of the Mohicans."

Currently I am reading about Samuel de Champlain.

He was quite a guy. He made twenty eight North Atlantic crossings in a Mayflower-type ship. He sailed past our town’s coast in 1605 on his way to Cape Cod. I thought the Pilgrims were first!

Fort Massachusetts, made of logs, was in North Adams, Massachusetts, where my wife Sandy and I both grew up.

I just lent the movie Gettysburg to Marnie. Now she will be hooked. Because of your recommendation, she has rented Glory.

She did not know of the magnificent bronze piece that sits in the Boston Common, honoring the black Massachusetts 54th Regiment of Glory fame. It is near Cheers. Too bad it starred Ferris Bueller.

Have you read any of Nathaniel Philbrick’s books, Mayflower or The Last Stand?

You probably think by now that I like American history.

And you? Drop me a line, please.

Bob Bacon
(tocino is Spanish for bacon)

From: David Chapman
Date: October 9, 2010 2:21:41 PM EDT
To: robertotocino@verizon.net
Subject: Civil War History

Hi Bob!
Nice meeting you. Hopefully, we will meet in person one day. I met your lovely daughter (Marnie) in Lenox, Mass. She was introduced to me by my daughter (Carla). They are long time friends.

Carla shared with her that I am a Civil War Buff and former Civil War Enactment Cast member with a US Parks and History Production Company. I worked as a US Park Ranger for 30 years as a seasonal.

Marnie and I had a wonderful discussion. It was amazing to me how brilliant she is with knowledge concerning the Civil War era. By reviewing your broad intellect concerning all the books you have read, places you have visited and other involvements, I can see why your daughter is well versed.

I told her about my opportunity to star in the movie (“Glory”) with Denzel Washington, Morgan Freeman, and other stars -- along with my own guys in the 54th Mass Regiment. She was quite impressed. However and unfortunately, I had to cancel, because we were scheduled to depart to South Carolina (the movie site) on March 15, 1989. My Father passed on the 7th and was funeralized March 11th.

The Movie was great.

Anyway, we will continue sharing knowledge.

Take Care,
Dave

In Between Hurricanes

2010-10-28T11:19:00.046-04:00

September 29, 2010

Hey Bruce and Deb, on vacation in Port-u-gall,

Our weather in Abaco was PERFECT and, as Bruce predicted, HOT.

The only day I dried off with a towel from the shower on the deck was the early morning that we left. Before Spell-check did you also believe that you were a good speller? Well, dried is a complicated word.

We had no problems whatsoever except for nearly missing our connection in Newark. It's in New Jersey.

It's so much nicer in the Bahamas, where they load and unload on the tarmac -- so much better than those enclosed connectors!

We have our photos back today. Sandy has a perfect one of your house, late in the day, with the moon in the background. I am sure that Sandy will mail you some.

I have picked out my favorites and will ask Kezia to put them in a blog that I will send to you and the whole world probably next week.

Above, Gumbo Limbo is the name of a type of tree. Ted Williams had them on his property in Florida.

Tomorrow Kezia and Chris will be married for 10 years and Sandy and I for 43. So we are busy. Sandy and I met 50 years ago so it is really longer for us. Sandy says it feels way longer than that. I think she means that in a good way.

/>

There was a full moon when we were there on Thursday.

Only saw one person the whole week on the beach. But we did see her twice. The ocean water had to be in the high 80s, approaching 90. I know water temperature from being in the swimming pool business for 40 years. We have rated the beach "the best white and pink sand beach we have ever seen."

You can see the next cay south, Scotland Cay, in this picture:

Sleeping at night with the wind blowing through the bedrooms was a real treat. We didn't even turn on the fans until Hurricane Igor calmed down with the wind and waves he was creating on his way to Bermuda. We never used the AC.

We listened nearly every morning at 8:15 over that walkie talkie-type telephone, to all the news of the day. We ourselves had a plan of the day (an old Navy term), which never really developed into anything exciting, except we did clean the beach a few times.

Oh yah, and our sand castles were pretty astounding.

Well to us they were. Okay to me they were.

Sunday was Talk Like A Pirate Day and they sure had fun with that, Matey. Arrrrrrrr! Well, shiver me timbers.

We loved the lobster and mahi mahi, until we found out that it was dolphin. My $22 dollar pizza at Grabbers was almost worth it. Love the local KALIK beer and even the Sands Beer, a bargain at $60.00 per case. Wow!

I wish I could have brought back some of Ruthie’s Hot Sauce. The guy in front of me at customs in Marsh Harbor lost his -- and his bottle of rum and his three bottles of sun tan lotion. Do you know the size bomb you can make with Ruthie’s and the sun tan lotion alone? Just Ruthie’s and one shoe could be powerful.

The above photo was taken at Roll's store, the only shop at the Marsh Harbor airport. The airport building itself is not that much bigger.

We cooked in way more than we thought we would, because only Nippers was open all week and the wind from Igor was blowing the lettuce off of our salads. It really was.

We always ate on the screened-in porch, which was lovely and cool.

The bartender at Nippers was married to a girl from Denmark and quit his job. It was a pirate wedding the Saturday that we arrived. This pirate was the groom.

Jackie and her daughter were nice enough to leave the wedding long enough to drive us by golf cart to your hideaway.

The hammica actually had instructions. In all my years in Mexico, I never knew you were supposed to lie sideways, as I am doing correctly in this photo.

Check out the old Panama ship life preserver!

I enjoyed the hammica and tried not to touch any poisonwood trees.

Thanks for the warning.

On the wall, by itself, is a large turtle shell, probably 5 feet long. It must have a story.

The people there are really warm and friendly, but some of the white ones look alike and not in a good way. I talked to at least five black Bahamians and asked them about their family history, which has to be good stuff compared to mine. Only Roll -- at the only place to shop at Marsh Harbor Airport -- knew further back than his grandmother and grandfather. He knew that his great grandparents were slaves and that they came from Africa. I did speak to Sampson, a Haitian who has been there for seven years and knows how very lucky he is to be there.

The couple of hundred black and white feral cats living all over the island all looked the same, and that was spooky.

We have hundreds of questions about how you built the house over a five-year period. The work is impeccable and the house is perfect. REALLY PERFECT.

Where are the shore birds? The frigates weren't flocking. Where were the seagulls, the pelicanos, or the black birds that land on restaurant tables -- like on Isla Mujeres, where they open and eat the white sugar packets but never the azul Nutri-Sweet ones. We did see one plover. We saw one on another day, but I know it was the same one.

Could this be a heron?

I read a book from one of your bookshelves that your Dad gave you in 1983 -- on the Bahamas. Other than a week spent, years ago, in Eleuthera, Harbor Island and Spanish Wells, I knew no history at all and really nothing about the 1,000 or so other islands of your Bahamas. It was an interesting history, especially about one of the cays, Man-O-War Cay, that listed among its vocations ship building, cotton and DRUG RUNNING.

While there, Sandy and I both read a book written by Paul Newman's best friend. Did you know that they both visited Guana Cay -- I mean Key? We enjoyed your library.

We read and napped a lot.

I started to read the biography of the writer from Columbia who wrote 1,000 Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) and was loving it until we had to leave for home.But I did manage to purchase myself a copy for $4.95 from my bookseller in Connecticut.

Any potential renters can call us, and we will praise it to the hilt. What is a hilt? Glad we missed all the rain (5-10 inches on September 29), and NO I don't think that there was a hurricane along with it.

Thank you for renting it to me and my pirate crew: Sea Urchin Sandy, Honest Eileen, Terrible Tom, and meself, Bahama Bob. Arrrrrrrr!

By Bob Bacon

I Love the V.A.

2010-10-06T12:04:00.002-04:00

When you think of the Veteran's Administration of the United States of America you don't get a warm and fuzzy feeling, do you?

I do.

My first time there, in Brockton Massachusetts:

"What's your name?”

“Last four of your Soash?"

“Huh?” Social Security number!

I was weighed. "Same weight as 1963?" And then asked a battery of around 100 questions.

“When did you serve?”
“Where did you serve?”
“What branch?”
“Did you see combat?”
“How much alcohol do you drink daily?”
“More than 5?”
“Do you use drugs?”
“Have you ever been sexually assaulted?”
“Any mental problems?”

Then I had a complete physical. And I mean complete. Up to floor #4 for eight (my favorite number) for 8 . . . hmmm . . . xrays. Down to floor #2 for urine and blood samples. Floor #1 for photo ID and I am at liberty to leave -- but not before hearing at every step of the way, "Thank you for serving."

The whole process took two hours and 15 minutes. I wait that long for my regular primary care physician for one appointment.

I love going there. They do not talk on cell phones. Everyone wears a service ball cap, NONE OF THEM BACKWARDS, showing which branch of the armed services they were part of -- Marines, Air Force, Navy, Navy Seals, Green Berets, Seabees, Army, Army Paratroopers.

Speaking of paratroopers – yah, they jump out of moving airplanes -- my friend Rich Busa, who was a paratrooper in Korea, just had his cataract surgery. At 81 years old he now has 20/20 vision. He was the one who first turned me on to the VA.

With my VA card I save 10% at Lowe’s and Home Depot. We are working on BJ's. Any prescription for one month costs $9. They went up from $8 recently. I overheard one vet say his prescriptions were costing him $210 per month. The VA person responded, "Well now they will cost you $9.00 per month. And you can get 3 months at a time by mail, no big deal.”

I have high blood pressure BUT PERFECT CHOLESTEROL and they are treating me with pills which are creating side effects. My wife Sandy was recently cured of her high blood pressure by acupuncture. I asked if I could be treated with acupuncture. The VA submitted my “outside of the VA” request and now I have 8 . . . hmmm . . . acupuncture treatments scheduled outside of the VA. I love the VA!

Faith restored.
Bacon Robert F. CEW2 USN Seabee's 693-10-63

My service number.
10 signifies the month.
63 signifies the year that I joined up.
It was October 1963, right before President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Where were you? In college?
Personally, I had NO idea what to do with my own life.
Were you in Viet Nam already? You had already served in Korea or even WWII? In high school or not even born yet? Possibly not even thought of yet?

Did I mention that they ALWAYS say, "Thanks for serving?"

The Inn (La Posada)

2010-10-01T11:27:00.006-04:00

One of Sandy’s clients was visiting The Southwest for two weeks. She and her husband were attending a seminar in Santa Fe, and then going down to the three Hopi mesas in Arizona to visit a friend who works on the reservation.

Hopi

The client knew that we had been to this area many times, and asked Sandy what they should do and see, and where to eat.

On their own, they found La Fonda Hotel, Loreto Chapel, Taos, El Morro and Acoma Pueblo. Sandy said, among many other things, "Have lunch at La Posada Hotel in Winslow, Arizona -- and sleep over." Emphasis on SLEEP OVER.

Yes it is the same “Winslow, Arizona” that the Eagles sing about. Experienced travelers to this area always stay a night at La Posada.

Apache

The wife drove while the husband complained about traveling so far out of the way for lunch at a hotel in some small western town. But you guessed it. They were both blown away by the hotel and the food. The husband had to be pulled away to the next destination. They will go back.

Kathy and Charles of Albuquerque, thank you again for taking us to this treasure so long ago. Sandy and I have been back a number of times, and Kezia and Chris, and Tom and Eileen, have been there since. When you go, Bob's World Reader, let us know how much you loved it.

p.s. Santa Fe had a big festival going on, and the travelers kept trying to get into Tia Sophia's for lunch, but the line was always long down San Francisco Street. But did they get to Jackalope? Next time.

Also go to Canyon de Chelly. The Spaniard asked the Navajo "What's the name of this beautiful place?" The Navajo replied, "Chelly (pronounced "shay")," which means "canyon" in Navajo. So the Spanish named it Canyon de Chelly, or in English, "Canyon the Canyon."

Canyon de Chelly. Look closely for petroglyphs of Spanish Conquistadors.

Mini Family Vacation with Wedding & Stop at Manassas

2010-09-08T19:44:00.011-04:00

Just back from a wedding in Virginia. Wonderful time. Kezia's first marriage performance. Martha Heberlein -- daughter of our longtime friends/neighbors Enid & Jerry Heberlein -- married Paul Jacobs.

Neil, one of Enid & Jerry's grandsons, sat with us.

photos by Sandy

Marnie did a 27 person yoga class.

Our 4 year old grandson put on a dancing exhibition at the reception that had everyone howling.

photo by Sandy

When asked where he learned the moves he said they came to him in a dream. By the end of the three-day weekend EVERYONE knew Abel.

A baggage handler at Dulles Airport asked Abel how old he was. Abel answered, and then asked him how old he was.

We even had time to swing over to Manassas before flying back, to show the girls and Chris where Daniel Webster's son Fletcher died in the Second Battle of Bull Run. (We live on one of Daniel Webster's 1,200 acres -- that's why so much interest. Fletcher Drive, down the street from us, is named after him).

Shot through the right arm and chest, Fletcher, a Union Captain, stayed alive long enough to ask a Virginia Rebel soldier to please send his wallet home. Three months later the wallet reached the house on Webster Street in Marshfield.

Members of the 12th Massachusetts hauled a large rock all the way to Virginia to mark the spot where he died during Second Bull Run in 1862 -- or as the Rebels called it, Manassas. The spot is up on Chinn Ridge where the 5th Maine and 12th Massachusetts Infantry, led by Webster, were overrun by Longstreet's Division. The Federals lost both battles.

Nine hundred men died at the 1st Bull Run (also known as First Manassas) and 3,300 at the second. Bull Run is a small stream that still flows north of the battle field. First Manassas is also where Rebel General Barnard Bee said of General Thomas Jackson's Brigade, "There stands Jackson like a stonewall."

It is a beautiful, carefully preserved, part of Virginia farmland where two great Civil war battles were fought. Citizens of Washington D.C. came out in their wagons and carriages to see the first battle in 1861 -- but you can get there in your car in no time from D.C.

All photos © CDB Photography (son in law)except where noted.

Marshfield Super Mercado

2010-07-29T09:55:00.008-04:00

. . . now stocks all the things that the Isla Mujeres (island of women) super mercado has, with the same brand names. But they are in English, not Spanish or Mayan.

Black beans, salsa, mole sauce, rice, chiles (in a can), enchilada sauce and caliente sauce. Sandy couldn't find Sol Cerveza at the Marshfield market. Oh wait! You can't buy beer in a Massachusetts supermarket. You can buy it at the Isla mercado in Centro when you buy your food, but not after 9 and NADA on Domingo. Well, it IS right across from the church.

But we still have to go to Isla Mujeres, Mexico for the homemade tortillas.

We are going again (23rd year) in Febrero, but we will drive two hours north to the island of Holbox (whole - bush) for three days first. There are no cars there and all the streets are white sand. I hear that the water is light greenish, not Windex blue like Isla. Jeez, maybe it has oil in it!

On the drive back down we are going to explore a Mayan ruin, El Meco, that is within walking distance of Puerto Juarez, where you catch the ferry. It certainly must have had a major connection with Isla being only eight miles away by water 1,000 years ago. Puerto Juarez was just a small town on the Caribbean when there was no Cancun.

Mañana,
Tocino

Oh !! I think I have found another Yucatan driving trip. It was in Condé Naste Magazine. It starts in the Gulf of Mexico city of Beracruz and goes west.

I mean Veracruz. Vs are Bs in Mexico. Veracruz is west of Isla Holbox. Check out the article in the latest Condé Naste. Especially the church photo.

Hasta la bye bye.

Custer's Luck

2010-07-28T11:37:00.006-04:00

For Fathers Day Kezia got me "The Last Stand." It is the story of the Battle of the Little Bighorn. I am currently reading it down in the casita behind the pool every night.

On George Armstrong Custer, Mr. Philbrick wrote:

His rise was meteoric. He started the war in the summer of 1861 as a second lieutenant; by July 3, 1863, just two years later, he was a freshly minted twenty- three -year-old brigadier general at the last, climactic day of the Battle of Gettysburg. As Confederate general George Pickett mounted his famous charge against the Union forces, a lesser- known confrontation occurred on the other side of the battlefield. The redoubtable Jeb Stuart launched a desperate attempt to penetrate the rear of the Union line. If he could smash through Federal resistance, he might meet up with Pickett's forces and secure a spectacular victory for General Lee.

As it turned out, all Stuart had to do was punch his way through a vastly outnumbered regiment from Michigan and victory was his. But as the Confederates bore down on their northern counterparts (who were outnumbered by four to one), an event occurred that changed the course of the battle and arguably, the war.

Custer, dressed in an almost comical black velvet uniform of his own design that featured gaudy coils of gold lace , galloped to the head of the First Michigan and assumed command. Well ahead of his troops, with his sword raised, he turned toward his men and shouted, " Come on, you Wolverines!" With Custer in the lead, the Michiganders started out at a trot but were soon galloping, "every man yelling like a demon.

When Custer's and Stuart's forces collided on what is now called East Cavalry Field, the sound reminded one of the participants of the thunderous crash of a giant falling tree. "Many of the horses were turned end over end and crushed their riders beneath them," a cavalryman remembered. The bodies of some of the combatants were later found "pinned to each other by tightly-clenched sabers driven through their bodies." Custer's horse was shot out from underneath him, but he quickly found another mount and was back in the fray.

Soon the Federals had the enemy on the run. As one Union officer later commented, it had been "the most gallant charge of the war." But for Custer, it was just the beginning of a long string of spectacular victories that ultimately prompted General Philip Sheridan to award Libbie Custer the table on which Grant and Lee signed the surrender at Appomattox. Included with the gift was a note: "Permit me to say, Madam, that there is scarcely an individual in our service who has contributed more to bring this desirable result than your gallant husband."

My good friends Tom Egan and Allan Sylvester were at Yellowstone this past week. They just called me from Montana today at four PM. They had stopped at the Little Big Horn. A Cheyenne had just given them his side of the story of the battle. They both sounded very excited. Their cell phone call certainly made my day.

Check out my story on my blog called "Como Se Llama," and even better yet, buy Philbrick’s latest book, "The Last Stand." You thought that you knew everything about the Pilgrims but then you read his book "The Mayflower" and were flabbergasted. He was a finalist for the Pulitzer and he also made the New York Times ten best books of the year with Mayflower. Well I think he is doing it again. Did you know that he has lived in Nantucket since 1986? He came to the 1699 Winslow house for a reading and book signing here in Marshfield a couple of years ago. It was standing room only with twice the number of people turned away. The Cerris, Sylvesters , Donovans and Bacons attended and had their Mayflower books signed. That was a very good day also.

An Evening in Providence

2010-07-26T15:03:00.000-04:00

We went to Water Fire last evening in Providence, Rhode Island. Oak wood fires in the river, gondolas from Italy, Italian opera from Eeetaly . . .

The city was packed. Swing dancing and jazz listening there for the taking. If you have never been to Water Fire you need to go. Maybe you were there but we didn't see you. Grazie, Mayor Buddy Cianci!

It was a steamy night in more ways than one. Last night on Federal Hill the young beautiful Italian girls made me feel old. Some so gorgeous you just burst out smiling. At the plaza some young crooner was singing Frank Sinatra tunes. Giovanni commented on all the beautiful automobiles parked in front of Andino's: Porsches , Ferraris, BMWs and even low riders. You can get a tattoo or a cigar on the Hill, no problem. Helmet-less motorcycle riders cruise the avenue. It is always a shock to cross into Rhode Island from Massachusetts and see that.

John and I were ahead of Sandy& Barb, walking back to the car along Atwells Avenue, when we came upon the best looking girls yet. I doubled back and asked Sandy for my high blood pressure medicine. She and Barb got the joke and just laughed.

The highlight of the night of girl watching for John and me was either the two bartender girls in low-cut black tops and short skirts at the bar at Zooma's, or the black chicks, goin’ out dancin’ , at midnight, in dresses as tight as socks. Their asses sticking WAY out. More than Jennifer Lopez. I burst out laughing at that one. Remember the Supremes? It was quite a fashion show on the Hill last night.

"Makes a young man smile, makes an old man moan" -- lyrics from an old song. How appropriate.

Chet Urbati

2010-07-19T14:18:00.003-04:00

Question from CECS Chet Urbati:
Bob, who first took you to the top of the hangar to the top of the water tower to change the observation light?

Bob’s Answer:
Chet, was it the same Seabee who sent me a baboon skin from his duty station in Ethiopia?

Who got blown up on the tarmac in Vietnam?

Who was stationed on American Samoa?

Who married a girl from Puerto Rico?

Who lied to the Chief about me climbing the water tower at the Hingham Ammunition Dump when he had let me go on liberty early to see my girlfriend?

Do you mean the guy who took me to the bar in west Quincy that had a sign in the window, WE DON'T HAVE A TV BUT THERE IS A FIGHT HERE EVERY NIGHT?

Who took me under his wing when I came aboard South Weymouth Naval Air Station and even brought me to visit his Mom and Dad at Crow Point when I was still a wet-behind-the-ears 19 year old?

Who taught me all about metals, especially COPPER?

Whose wife Carmen I met while dancing Cajun at Mulates in New Orleans?

The guy with the 44 years of hash marks?

His last duty station was Gulfport, Mississippi.

Rumor has it that he made Senior Chief.

That boring guy?

I forget his name.

by Bacon CEW2 693-10-63

Luigi

2010-07-19T14:15:00.004-04:00

I met Luigi at the South Weymouth Naval Air Station in 1965. He was the gardener for the whole base. As far as I know he was the only one. He was a Sandcrab. That is what the Marines and Sailors called civilians working on a United States military installation.

By now you know that I grew up in a very ethnic Italian neighborhood. So naturally I was attracted to the short Italian man who walked with an awkward gait, as if one leg was 8 inches shorter than the other. He spoke very broken English and always chewed garlic, the aroma of which would make your head spin when you spoke to him.

In the service no one called you by your first name. No one but Luigi, that is, and for some reason he called me Bill. Luigi was 83 at the time and I didn't think it necessary to correct him. So I never did.

Ona day hea comea upa to me and he say, “Bill, I hear you gonna getta married.”

I confirmed that I was.

He said, “Bill, whata kind of ah girl you marry, Eetalian?"

I said no. He seemed tripped up by that answer.

He thought it over and he said, "Bill, you marry a French girl?"

I said no.

He thought and he thought, and finally he say in a mildly frustrated way, "BILL, WHAT KIND OF AH GIRL YOU MARRY?"

I replied, “A Polish girl, Luigi.”

That stopped him cold.

He thought and he thought. He rubbed his chin while shaking his head. Finally he said, "She be OK!"

A week later, he presented me with this rug as a wedding gift. As luck would have it, he was correct about my future wife. Maybe because of Luigi's blessing, we will be married for 43 years this September anda si si si she's a been very OK.

Lucky me, Iah stilla hava the rug and I stilla hava the girl.

Sadly we don't have Luigi anymore, but I know where he is.

Written with sweet memories by his friend
Bill Bacon

Hangar 1

2010-07-14T15:25:00.004-04:00

Hangar 1 at South Weymouth Massachusetts Naval Air Station.

Originally built to house blimps.

It was one of my jobs to keep the lights working in the tower on the right. For this I would get a half a day off.

When a new sailor came aboard, it was also my duty to walk him to the top, but only if he wanted to. I on the other hand had no choice. Aye Aye, Sir!

Yah, that's me topside. Look at how much higher Hangar 1 is, compared to the orange and white water tower. You can't make this stuff up.

Bacon CEW2 693-10-63
construction electrician wiring petty officer second class

you NEVER forget your service number

Still Recovering . . .

2010-06-26T21:37:00.000-04:00

from Johnny D's in Somerville last night. We went to see for our first time the all girl band GIRL HOWDY that also has two guys in it. The opening act was non other than ROY SLUDGE and his trio, which from where I was sitting looked to be a total of three people. He is billed as a truck driving, drinking band. Probably during the day he is a brain surgeon. Maybe you have heard of their biggest hit, TOO DRUNK TO TRUCK? Maybe not.

You can't make up stuff like this but they did. The cover charge was $10 and it was worth every dollar.

A Nice Long Friendship

2010-06-25T22:10:00.002-04:00

Last night Sandy and I drove to South Yarmouth to visit old Navy friends, Maggie and Ray Risley, who had rented a house near the beach for a week. Almost everyone there had on a Club Bacon tee shirt to greet us. They have been to every party that we have ever had. Only Marnie and Allan Sylvester still fit in their Mexican Pool Party 1984 shirts. More than likely Randy Adams still fits in his also. Oh ! And both the Heberleins.

We became good friends with Ray and Maggie 45 years ago while in the Navy. He didn't even get mad at me years ago when I drove his Ford off an icy Mass Pike into thankfully a very thick snow drift while being called back to the Naval Air Station to plow the runways. Do you know where the sign is that says “highest point in elevation on the Massachusetts Turnpike?” That is where we went into the snowdrift. “Oh the Berkshires were covered in snow and so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston.” It sure was that night. Every time I hear James Taylor sing that song I think of that very eventful night. Wait a minute. Is that correct? How is that possible? Yup! Forty-five years ago.

When we left Marshfield it was 93 degrees. Just before we hit the Cape Cod Canal it was down to 83. By the time we arrived in South Yarmouth it was 78. That was a 15-degree difference over a 50-mile drive.

Three out of four of the Risley kids were there with their children. Their good friend Sue Keefe was there also. Well yah, she gets Bob Mail. Shaun, Bridget and Katie did all the cooking and drink mixing. Mostly Shaun. He does much of the cooking at home too. Many of our male friends do that: Gene Spriggs, Dick Brown, John Cerri and Charles Gregory, to name a few. I cook twice a week but I do not enjoy doing it. At the Cape, we had shrimp, chicken and beef tacos, Denver style. The green peppers were killers. The green poppers were wonderful. All Sandy and I had to do was to bring dessert and pretend that we were enjoying being catered to. Boy did that feel good. All the Risleys treat us like family. They always have.

Shaun and Rachel came all the way from Denver with their new son, Flynn. Flynn was Margaret Mary's maiden name. No really, Maggie was once a maiden. I know. I was there. Trust me. We attended Shaun and Rachel's wedding in Denver. We have attended all the kids’ weddings and the next one is Katie and Ray's in Pittsfield, Massachusetts on New Years Eve. Ray and Maggie have always been there for us. When Sandy's Dad passed way too early or when Marnie was sick in the Berkshires and Maggie said, "Go on your vacation, I will take care of her."

While at Shaun and Rachel's wedding, someone at our table mentioned that the bride and groom were going to Costa Rica for their honeymoon. We asked them where they were staying and they said MAKANDA in Quepos. We love that hotel -- it is one of our favorites -- and we also gave them tips on traveling in Costa Rica. So that was a really nice connection. Last night we had another nice connection. Shaun proposed to Rachel at another favorite spot of ours, Ojo Caliente Spa, just north of Santa Fe in New Mexico. The state, not the country. And NO! I didn't take any of the potshards from the ancient ruin just above the spa. There were really too many of them anyway if I did take one or two.

We drove back late with a beautiful full moon to look at all the way home, while visions of delicious, ice cold, margaritas danced in our heads.

Alexandra and Roberto Tocino -- still having fun

Charles Francois Bacon

2010-03-08T16:23:00.007-05:00

Date: March 2, 2010 6:31:59 PM EST
To: mail@paulbacon.com
Subject: Re: Charles Frank Bacon

Hi Paul,

So what do you know about your family tree? Is your real last name Bacon? I found out that my great grandfather, Charles Frank Bacon, was really Charles Francois Bachand and he was born in Canada at St. Hyacinthe in August of 1856. I have that family all the way back in France in 1620. We have some Iroquois blood. I am told that in Canada the name Bachand sounds a lot like Bacon. Did he change it on purpose?

C.F.B. deserted his family when his baby daughter, my great Aunt Leda, was less than a year old. He also had five sons: Wilfred, Charles, Frank, John and George.

From: ROBT BACON

L-R: Frank Chelsea Bacon, Anna Agnes Boudo Bacon, Marie Boudo (Anna's MOther), Charles Bacon Jr., Charles Francois Bacon, John Henry Bacon. The earliest photo -- it could have a date on it of 1892 because the baby is John and he was born in June of that year. Interesting to note Anna Agnes Boudo came to the United States in 1875 at age 8. My daughter Marnie has a ring that was my great grandmother's, with a small red ruby in it. But that is the only thing we have of hers. Charles Francois Bachand came from Canada in 1876 at age 20. All I have of him is this one family photo. I remember the day Uncle George mailed it to me from Florida. To have a photo of the great grandfather I was researching was amazing. Especially because I had no idea that one even existed.

His son Frank was my grandfather. At the time, 1900, they lived on Brown Street in Adams, Massachusetts. The building still stands.

No one knows where he disappeared to. There was a big To Do about him hitting his 15 year old son Charlie. His wife, Anna Agnes Boudo, born in Bohemia, walked two miles up street, as we used to say, and turned him into the Adams Police. I could never find that record. He was 44 years old at the time.

I spent the first 18 years of my life in Adams. No one had a clue that the Bacons were really Bachands. Every child turned out to be successful and just “good people” in general. Except for Aunt Leda, they all married well. Aunt Leda never married, but took care of her mother until the end. She lived in Buffalo, New York.

My guess is that this was taken around 1916 because of the age of Aunt Leda, but I could be off by a year or two or three. Both my grandmother and grandfather are in this one. Were they married or engaged at the time? Charlie with both hands on his lap pressed the button that took the photo. I remember Uncle George telling me that. Uncle George gave me this photo. It was taken on Howland Avenue or Brown street in Adams Massachusetts. I think Uncle George said Howland Avenue.
Top: Frank Bacon, Hattie Marie Fontaine, George Bacon, Wilfred Bacon
Bottom: Leda Bacon, Charles Bacon, Anna Boudo Bacon, John Bacon

I was close to George Washington Bacon, my great uncle. He passed in Florida at age 84, before I knew for sure that we had a name change. Aunt Georgina said he was out mowing the lawn, stopped to rest, and died resting sitting against a tree. We should all be so lucky. He really needed to know where his father disappeared to. He remembered him pouring over his books and records. He said CFB was a canvasser or salesman, as they called it at the time. He also said his father was of fine carriage. Cool? I have a family photo of all of them together.

The five sons in their sixties, maybe. Wilfred (1989-1975), George (1895-1979), John (1892-1980), Frank (1890-1956), Charley (1888-1961). Not pictured: Leda Hattie Bacon (1900-1994).

Does that ring any bells? Any possible connection?
Bob Bacon Bachand
781-837-4836

p.s. Hey! I really enjoyed your NYC cop book. The one thing that really stood out was the people throwing things at you from tenements. I don't think I want to be a cop.

Epilogue:

All five brothers and Aunt Leda led successful and respectable lives in spite of growing up without a father. When he deserted his family, the oldest child was only twelve. George Washington Bacon always said that his brother was 15 at the time. Could it be that my great grandfather left in 1903 instead of 1900? In any case, how did they manage? Aunt Leda took care of her mother until the end and never married. The five brothers had successful lifelong marriages and all were very close until the end.

There is a terrible loose end to this tale and it is what became of the father, Charles Francois Bachand. Through their whole lives, these six children and their mother wanted to know the answer. Perhaps YOU will take over and find out?

For all future generation readers. All this information is in three black bound scrapbook style volumes that need serious rearranging -- but at least I took the time to research and collect it all. It also contains my wife’s, Sandy Zabek Bacon -- family tree and history back to Poland. My mother’s, Nora Lemanski Bacon -- Russian/Polish family is also covered. There also is a chart rolled up with a family tree that I have kept and added to through the years. That by now needs work also.

I have the Bacon/Bachan/Bachand family back to 1620, and I feel good about that. Beyond that the Bachans go back to Belgium, but I did no more research. It was interesting to me to find out that my real last name was Bachand not Bacon, and that I had French blood and even a little Canadian/Iroquois .

No one in all these photos knew any of that before they passed. Although in 1976, Uncle George and I had a suspicion. The children their father was originally from Saint Hyacinthe, Canada but never met any of that Bachand family. Also I never heard of any correspondence between Canada and the United States. Charles Francois did speak French of course. I know that from a census that was taken in Adams, Massachusetts. There is a copy of it in one of the black books and it is full of good information.

Another Epilogue:

From: Paul Bacon
Date: March 8, 2010 5:58:26 PM EST
To: ROBT BACON
Subject: Re: Charles Frank Bacon
Reply-To: mail@paulbacon.com

Hello Bob,

Thanks for sharing your genealogy information. I'm afraid I can't
answer your questions. I will pass your message along to my
grandfather. He's done a bit of research into our family tree and may
be able to correspond with you.

Hope you're well. Thanks for reading "Bad Cop."

-- Paul

Going To Heaven

2010-02-12T07:20:00.005-05:00

This September I purchased the book Anasazi while visiting Chaco Canyon in New Mexico. It is a true story about the first white man to discover Mesa Verde in southern Colorado. Richard Wetherill was a rancher from Mancos, Colorado; it was and still is a small Mormon town between Cortez and Durango. Our daughter Marnie lived for a year just north of there in Dolores. Did you know that Mormons are not allowed to dance?

The story goes that he and one of his brothers were out searching for lost cows when they came upon the ancient ruins. The second story was that a Ute Indian showed the ruins to Mr. Wetherill. If you have ever been to Mesa Verde, you would tend to believe the second one. You don't just wander up the mesa.

From the farthest ruin, looking west, you can see down into the desert area of the Four Corners, Mexican Hat, Shiprock and Monument Valley. What do you mean "You have never been?" What are you waiting for?

The book I purchased south of Mesa Verde, at Chaco Canyon, is called Anasazi. It is about the life of Mr. Wetherill. The Navajo called him Anasazi, which means Ancient Ones -- referring to the cliff dwellers of Mesa Verde and the canyon dwellers of Chaco Canyon in New Mexico.

New Mexico is actually a state in our United States. I have actually had to explain that to my neighbor. She asked if Mexico and New Mexico were the same. Richard and his wife actually built a ranch and trading post right in front of the most famous ruin, Pueblo Bonita (which means pretty village in Spanish), at the Chaco. There is no sign of it now. Only the grave of Mr. Wetherill is left inside the horse corral. There are, as well, many Navajo graves there – those who wanted to be buried next to him.

Marietta, his wife, always referred to him as Mr. Wetherill. It was a sign of the times -- although she was twenty years younger than her husband.

While we were there, Sandy purchased the book, Marietta Wetherill, Life with the Navajo in Chaco Canyon. I feel you have to read both books to understand the whole story. The following is an excerpt from Marietta's book.

Both Grandmother Palmer and Grandmother Hoag were religious, the two I was named for, Mary and Etta. Grandmother Hoag was a wonderful woman and housekeeper and was good to everybody. She wanted the words, "I have no enemies." chiseled on her tombstone. All the people she knew were her friends and she hoped to meet them in the hereafter and she was sure she would.

I remember sitting by Grandmother Palmer’s bed when she was dying. I was only twelve then. I told her God had been good to her and he was going to take her right to heaven. "That’s what makes me feel so bad," she said. "I have been a good Congregationalist all my life and I will go to Heaven, I know that, but I'll be so lonesome there."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She said, "Your father's a wicked man, he don't believe in God at all, and your Grandfather (William Palmer), he's wicked too. They would never have him in heaven the way he is. And look at Jess and Corey, they belong to the Episcopal Church, they would never go to heaven; and I won't have anybody there."

I've thought of that a lot. I wouldn't want to be there in heaven, either. Of course, I got my idea of religion from the Indians. The Navajo didn't believe in a heaven after death.

Mr. Wetherill was shot and killed at the Chaco by a Navajo named Chis-chilling-begay. Whether he deserved it or not will be for you to decide once you have read both books.

Marietta as a youngster was nearly abducted into an Apache tribe because with her dark hair pulled back into pig tails and parted down the middle she looked Navajo or Apache. She spoke both languages. Years later she again met the Apache who wanted to take her into his tribe -- at the World’s Fair in St. Louis, Missouri in 1902. His name was Geronimo. I did not make that up. Curiously enough, one of my relatives worked at that World’s Fair as a carpenter -- when he ran out of money coming back from the Klondike in Alaska. His name was Ernest Bachand and he was from Canada. He was 72 at the time.

Marietta Palmer Wetherill said she lived like a gypsy the rest of her life, but she did not refer to much of it in her taped recollections. At first she lived to the east of the Chaco, at Cuba, New Mexico. (If you go through Cuba, stop and eat at the Mexican restaurant called El Bruno's Restaurante Y Cantina. Eating there is worth the whole trip to Chaco.)

Me, with Kathy and Charles Gregory of Albuquerque, in front of El Bruno's.

She moved from New Mexico to operate a small ranch and trading post at Chambers, Arizona, and worked in stores in Utah. She moved to a little house on Peach Avenue in Albuquerque, New Mexico during her later years. She died in her sleep there at age 77, on July 11, 1954. Her ashes were buried near Mr. Wetherill’s grave along the cliff near Pueblo Bonito at the Chaco.

Leadville, Colorado

2010-02-08T07:52:00.002-05:00

South of Denver was quite literally "a field of dreams." From the time Placer miners found gold in California Gulch in 1860, hope flooded the area as high as the ten- thousand-foot peaks. The real boom began in 1877 when silver carbonate beds were discovered, and by 1880 Leadville boasted 120 saloons, 118 gambling halls, 110 beer gardens, and 35 brothels, besides churches, schools, department stores, a plethora of other businesses, 3 newspapers and a gunfighter / dentist from Georgia who arrived by way of Tombstone Arizona. You can't make up stuff like this.

From the book "The Life and Legend of Doc Holliday" by Gary L. Roberts

Mi amigo Tom Egan loves the southwest as much as I do. He showed me around Leadville several years ago. I wanted to have a drink in a real western saloon. We headed for one that had an Irish name that from the outside looked as though it could have been in South Boston or on the Irish Riviera in Marshfield. I said to Tom, "If this isn't the real thing I don't want to stay." WE STAYED. I had told Tomaso of my trip to Tombstone and of going to the Bird Cage for a drink. Because of that yarn, while traveling fairly close by, Tom had driven to Tombstone, walked into the saloon, and ordered a shot of rye whiskey, even though it was only 10 am. Tom is not a drinker, but he just didn't think the Earps, Clantons , McLaurys, Johnny Ringo, or even Doc's woman, Big Nose Kate, would think it proper to order a Diet Coke.

After the burly female bartender in Leadville warmed up to us, she asked us where we were from and what the hell brought us here. I told her that I was a runner and was scouting the Leadville 100 Mile Mountain Race. I don't remember what the Vermont 100 had for elevation, but straight south in Massachusetts Mt. Greylock is only 3,500 feet. Western States 100 in Squaw Valley California starts at an elevation of 8,800 feet above sea level and then goes down. They give you 30 hours to complete that one. Leadville starts at 10,000 feet and never goes lower. Leadville could be the toughest 100 miler in the United States. They give you 36 hours to finish.

Upon hearing that I was an Ultra Marathoner, the bartender simply responded, " Oh, you're one of those," turned and walked away. I am pretty sure she said her name was Miss Kitty.

My Christmas Story (2009)

2009-12-23T15:58:00.012-05:00

Last night Sandy and I drove home in a real New England blizzard, all the way from Providence. 20 miles an hour on RTE 3 ?!?

We have 14 inches of snow this morning but it is still snowing. Abel is happy because Santa will be using his sleigh on Christmas Eve.

It took me an hour just to shovel off the wood decks. The birds came out of everywhere for the seed I put out. Red Cardinals against the white snow.

My cousin from Wisconsin was most enchanted by our Blue Jays when she visited here. Titmice, House Sparrows, Nuthatches, Chickadees, Catbirds, Mourning Doves, Juncos, Woodpeckers of all kinds – Hairy, Red Headed, Red Bellied and the beautiful Flicker.

It made me feel like Saint Francis of Assisi. We even had a red wing blackbird. That usually is a sure sign of spring but not in this case.

I came in for dry clothes and to stoke the fire and to take a break and check my e-mails.

Heard a snow blower and looked out my window and what did I see? Joe Pelkowski, who I had words with yesterday over his excessive power tool noise, is snow blowing our 75 foot driveway. An old fashion neighbor. Imagine doing something like that for someone.

Joe was at my big party four years ago. When the hired bartender left at 2 AM, Joe stepped behind the bar and took over. What is this world coming to?

I am reading my New Mexican amigo’s weekly" Bus Story" blog. Today, Domingo, it is featuring the town Sandy and I grew up in, and especially the church that we were married in 42 years ago. It is a fine story. You can read it here.

Make sure you see all the photos of St. Stan’s. I was wondering how he was going to tie a Bus Story to Adams, Massachusetts. Read it and see. You just could become a regular Sunday reader. So many of our friends have. What a fine start to the holidays. Christmas is looking really good this year!

Hold Your Horses

2009-12-18T08:47:00.006-05:00

We decided to spend the day at La Villita (little village), a very old section of San Antonio. It is in Tegsas. No! That’s how Texans pronounce it, and they should know.

Our friend Charles, of Kathy and Charles, had worked at a hospital here for years and he was showing us around. Not that I enjoy history, but La Villita was where Santa Anna’s soldiers were put up the day before the Alamo siege. Of course you remember THE ALAMO?

When we were there, a Texas Ranger walked over to a tourista and said, “Sir, remove your hat. Brave men died here.” I remember he didn’t say “please.”

Texans are different than Pilgrims of Massachusetts. Sandy and I subscribe to Cowboys and Indians magazine. Doesn’t everyone? Once there was a cowboy boot advertisement in it. There was a beautiful, color, full page photo of a pair of worn boots, with a handwritten letter explaining that the Texan was sending them back to the boot manufacturer for repair. He gushed about how much he loved the boots and that, in fact, his first child was conceived while he was wearing the boots. Well that was too much information for me. So I wrote a letter to the president of the company, J.B. Hill. All I could picture was a cowboy and his wife leaning against his pick up out in the desert, him with his jeans down to his ankles. Way too much information. He wrote me back and said the ad really was working well, and he was real sorry if it offended me. I wrote a car dealer here in Massachusetts once. I was really offended by his ad for Vespa Motor Scooters that in large print said, “Don’t be a gas hole.” In a letter, I asked Herb Chambers if his Grandmother liked the ad. He apologized in a short hand-written note and said I would never see that ad again . . . and I didn’t.

It is November in Massachusetts, and cold, but here we are in shorts and Tevas. We walked down a cobblestone street and came upon a fiesta. There was musica coming from behind an eight-foot stucco walled area. We could see all the different colored lanterns swinging in the breeze. There was a uniformed Federale standing guard in front. As we walked by, the music took ahold of Kathy and Charles and Sandy and I and we preceded to dance in the cobblestone street. A Mexican American mujer from the fiesta came out, looked both ways as if to see if anyone else was coming, and saw us dancing. She said, “Come, join us, por favor.” We all said, “No, no, that’s okay,” but she insisted. So we entered.

The courtyard was full of people. The young girls were all dressed up in those colorful ankle-length dresses. In colors of azul and amarillo and rojo and even verde. They wear their make-up really heavy, with black eyebrows and rosy cheeks and shiny, pulled-back, long hair. It makes them seem much older but still they are very striking to look at. We were escorted to our own table and a minute later one of the fathers brought over a whole case of cerveza just for us. Soon the women who invited us in came to our table to introduce her daughter. She explained that her daughter was turning fifteen and it was her party -- I mean fiesta. Fifteen years of age is very big in Mexico. The Quinceaneras.

Sandy and I got up to dance. Kathy said we fit right in with the other dancers. Well, Mexican, or border, dancing is exactly the same as waltzing or two-stepping in the States, but you hold your partner really tight here. I find it to be much harder than the open position. In the open position, you can steer your partner or even dance in place if there is a traffic jam ahead.

Remember in the movie The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada where the girl walks up to John Travolta -- whoops, wrong movie. Anyway she walks up to John Travolta who is leaning on the bar wearing his big black Stetson, and looking out over the dance floor and she says, “Do yah know how tah two step?” And he replies, “Yup!” She hesitates, and then asks, “Wanna prove it?”

The band is a live one and really good. Everyone is dancing except many of the fathers, who are all over in the corner probably discussing cows or cotton or football, when an announcement is made. “We will now dance the Mexican hat dance. Fathers grab your daughters.” And they did.

You know the Mexican Hat Dance. Everyone does. Dah dah dahdah dah dada dahda. The fathers hold their hands behind their backs and crouch toward their daughters. You dance in a small circle the size of a sombrero. The daughters arch their backs and tilt their heads to one side. With one hand the young girls hold their dresses out as in a fan. It is hard to believe that we are in the United States. Obviously, as a youth, I must have watched way too many Cisco Kid movies, but I am not alone in the warm feelings that I have always had for the Mexican people.

We stay almost to the end, then take our leave, thanking everyone for the invitation, and expressing to our hosts just how much fun we’ve had this evening.

This was a non-fiction story. You can’t make up ...........

Roberto Tocino

Read "Gettysburg Diaries"

2009-12-04T18:17:00.002-05:00

Gettysburg Diaries. It traces the 35 days of two soldiers before a famous Civil War battle. Thomas Lewis Ware a confederate from rural Georgia and Franklin Horner a Union soldier from coal country in Pennsylvania. Both stories follow their diaries. The Rebels enter Gettysburg from the north while the Union soldiers ent...ers from the south. Both men live to tell about it. You can't make up stuff like this.

A Man and His Mule

2009-11-29T21:36:00.004-05:00

For a change of reading pace I ordered from my Connecticut bookdealer "The Moonshine Mule." It is about a present day Englishman who decides to walk from Texas to Manhattan with a mule. No, not a donkey. A mule as in Grand Canyon mule. Why? Because a relative of his did the same thing during the Civil War. YOU CAN"T MAKE UP STUFF LIKE THIS.

Turns out EVEN YOU know the guy, His name was Lieutenant Colonel Arthur James Lyon Fremantle of the British Coldstream Guards. Remember in the movie Gettysburg there was an Englishman observing Longstreet and Pickett and Bobby Lee during the battle? Well, this is the same guy. Small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it.

Robert Haversack Bacon 20th Massachusetts 1861-1865

Jack's Hot Dog Stand

2009-11-06T10:41:00.019-05:00

You just have to go to Jack’s Hot Dogs. It just opened . . . in 1917. Sandy's father Jimmy went there and so did my dad, Joe Bacon. It is on Eagle Street, which is a one way street around the corner from the Mohawk Theatre.

I saw Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier there. Not at Jack’s, at the Mohawk. The real Crockett preferred to be called David.

Sandy and I live 200 miles from there but we went to Jack’s twice last month. Once by ourselves for Sandy's high school reunion trip and the next time with our friends John and Barb Cerri. They wanted a tour of Adams. Go figure. To see the lime stone quarry, Saint Stanislaus Polish Church,

Angelina's Sub Shop, Jaeschke’s (yes-keys) Orchard for apples,

the houses we grew up in , the schools we went to and of course Mount Greylock, the highest mountain in Massachusetts, which overlooks the town of Adams.

The town was named after Samuel Adams because of all the drinking that goes on there.

Jack’s is really small. There are only 13 stools -- the old kind that swivel but do not have backs on them.

Service is fast and efficient. If the stools are full, you just line up against the wall and wait your turn. When you are up against the wall waiting, you can touch the person sitting in front of you by simply putting your arm out straight.

For your drink and if you are a veteran you always say "tap," meaning tap water, instead of soda. In the Berkshires it's soda, not tonic or pop. Water in the Hoosic Valley is delicious. Also, subs there are called grinders. “Aye” is used a lot, as in, "So how yah been, aye?” There are many former French Canadians in North Adams.

One employee only takes take-out orders over the phone. Twenty-seven dogs can be a typical order. Williams College is fairly close by and so is the new Mass Moca Museum, which is definitely worth seeing.

Oh yah, the old North Adams State College (now Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts) is really close by also.

The food is great if you like hamburgs, hot dogs and fries. The cheeseburgers are soooooo hot when they are put in front of you that you will burn your mouth if you bite in right away. I like you so I will tell you this secret. When you are down to the last two bites of your hamburger, order a second one. Then use the same plan for the third one. No really, I know you can do this.

The rolls, oh the rolls, are steamed and piping hot. I always get raw onions on mine but go ahead and have it your way. The slogan "Have It Your Way” was stolen by a big hamburg chain.

Hamburgers are 98 cents and cheeseburgers a little more. We ate like pigs when we went with the Cerris and lunch was $15.00 for the four of us. Barb had a chili cheese hot dog and a cheeseburger and John had a chili cheese dog and two cheeseburgers. Yes of course they shared french fries.

Well they do have a hot dog eating contest. It is in October.

Like the writing on the front window says, "Fit For A King."

This has been a total non-fictional story and thanks for listening.

Bobby Bacon was the winner of the hot dog eating contest in October of 1961

OK . . . really , really close to non fiction

SOME COMMENTS:

Oh my gosh great post...we had Jacks at Baci's last Feb. Uncle Chet turned me on to them. I had a burger and knew instantly why he suggested two or three. I think I could have had five. Mmm good. Thanks for the memory. - Chris Bailey

I may have to start eating hotdogs, Aye? - Marnie Bacon

Great story and pictures. Locals won't be happy when all of Bob's World shows up! About the name of the town though????? - Barb Sylvester

You should make sure Jack sees this!! - Angela Scieszka

This is a great post with great pictures. I felt like I was back in Adams. And if I ever have the chance to return – I’m definitely going to Jack’s. I don’t remember Dick mentioning that place. - Pam Brodalski

Hi Bob, next time I'm up that way I will definitely find Jack's. The area is a great riding destination. Thanks for the blog. - Diane Colligan

War Path

2009-10-06T21:43:00.009-04:00

North up Route 25, west between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico, and west of the Blood of Christ Mountains at the Santa Domingo Pueblo is a National Monument called Tent Rocks. I found it in an article in National Geographic magazine three weeks before Sandy and I were to leave to visit our friends Cactus Kathy and Charles in Bernalillo. (Burn ah leo)

On the way through the pueblo just west of the Rio Grande (it's a river), we saw buffalo grazing. After my Senior National Park card got us in for free, I asked the Indian Ranger why they had buffalo. His name was Chris Joe. He said they were a gift from the Jemez (Hay Mezz) Pueblo, and that they were multiplying, and that they didn't quite know what to do with them.

If you are 62 or older, you can purchase a seniors card for $10 and get into National Parks and Monuments with as many as four people in your car for FREE for as long as you live. What a deal. The National Park series on PBS starts tonight. Have you been to visit the Southwest? Well if not, you should start making plans right now.

Tent Rocks is quite beautiful, as you can see. All the land around it is desert. But watch out for rattlesnakes!

As we were descending Tent Rocks, an easy hour and a half climb through a long slot canyon, we passed a couple heading to the top. They stopped and asked us where we were from. They were from a pueblo (Indian village) on the other side of Tent Rocks, over towards Utah. They had retired to Albuquerque recently.

They asked where we were from and we said Boston. They said they had a son graduate from there as a doctor and they themselves had enjoyed Boston. They also drove the Mass. Pike west to see another son who was playing with the Philadelphia Symphony at Tanglewood. Small world.

Oh! I forgot to tell you . . . they were Apache Indians.

You could try, but . . . you really can't make STUFF like this up.

Roberto "Fat Bear" Baconez

Dos Parties

2009-06-29T15:16:00.005-04:00

It is June 2009. Summer, sort of. New England has set some sort of record for moisture and coolness, going back to 1903.

Jack called on Wednesday from the Atlanta aeropuerto -- it is in Georgia -- to invite Sandy and I to his party the very next Saturday. We met Jack in 1980 through our then-new Marshfield neighbors, the Egans. One year Jack and Jean were at a Beach Boys concert in Cohasset when they remembered that Sandy and I were hosting a party that very night. They came quite late but they still attended. They both just kind of make their way through life, floating around obstacles, always with a smile. They are both very warm-hearted people. The first time Jack Bostwick came to one of my Mexican Pool Parties, he brought a bottle of Pepe Lopez Tequila and our lives have not been the same since.

I checked our schedule and saw that we had the band Magnolia’s 20th Anniversary party the same day. Jack’s was in Wareham and Magnolia’s was in Westport, less than an hour away from each other. In party style, they were a million miles away from each other.

Jack’s summer house is a three-storied affair on the beach. From the top floor, to your left is the west end of the Cape Cod Canal. Southeast sits Falmouth, and straight out, the Atlantic Ocean and Martha's Vineyard -- which was named after Enid and Jerry's third child. Jack has friends from all over the world. He is a party person for sure. He told the same story he always does. The one about falling in love with Jeannette Egan the first time he laid eyes on her. We never get sick of hearing it. I don't think Tom Egan minds. It is like my story of "the waves parting" when Sandy and I first met. Oh, you are sick of that story? Lo siento.

If you are invited to one of Jack’s parties, bring some food or at least come with a full belly to absorb the tequila. Jean and Jack are gracious hosts but not big on food. One year there was a little food, but no utensils. Next year Jack wants me to co-host a party with him. I said, "I don't want to have another party." Sandy and I had them for thirty years. His reply was, "Hugh Hefner stopped having parties at the Playboy Mansion, but then started them up again, even bigger than before." Hugh Hefner is eighty-three this year. Mark off your calendar for next summer. I hope Hugh brings some of the bunnies, especially Miss February, to Jack’s next party.

Magnolia’s bash is held almost yearly at Ritchie and Maggie Moniz's rambling house on the east fork of the Westport River. His driveway is longer than my street. There are parking attendants and porto-potties and a very large, white, almost-circus tent. That must cost them $1,500 at least. There are tables of food and grills to cook on. Lois was there. Her first Cajun/Zydeco dance was last Sunday, down in Exeter, Rhode Island at Bishops Castle. At one point she walked up to Michael, Charles and I, and asked, "WILL SOMEONE PLEASE DANCE WITH ME?" I think she has become a regular with only two dances under her belt.

Dancers bring their own liquor, but mostly they drink water. A cash bar here would be a failure. You can't make stuff like this up. Before a Cajun dance, years ago at the Holy Ghost Brotherhood Hall in East Providence, I asked the person on the other end of the phone, "What does the hall look like? Are there tables and chairs?” He replied that there were some chairs, but PEOPLE COME HERE TO DANCE. Hmmm.

Magnolia brings authentic Cajun music to New England. Most members live in a corner of Massachusetts very near to Rhode Island. When you go to a Magnolia dance, all your cares just drift away. Being at a Magnolia dance makes you feel like maybe it is 1930 and the most exciting things to do are to greet old friends, make new ones, share a meal and dance. That is not a bad way to spend an evening, is it? Louisiana Cajun people call it passing the time.

As Sandy and I waltz counter-clockwise in front of the band, we get warm welcoming smiles from Michelle, on fiddle, and her husband Alan on accordion. There is a break in the music while the host sets off his fireworks over the pasture, before the river. Someone says they are as good as the Fourth of July fireworks at McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket. Everyone agrees.

It has been another great summer Saturday. Dancing has become a major pastime for Sandy and I. The tunes on my past Bob's World CDs reflect it. Dance Me To The End of Love (L. Cohen), Dance, Dance, Dance (Steve Miller Band), At The Hop (Danny & the Juniors), Danse de Mardi Gras (Steve Riley & the Mamou Playboys), Look Who’s Dancing (Ziggy Marley), What I Like About You (The Romantics), Johnny Can't Dance (Ardoin Family with Dewey Balfa), Do You Wanna Dance? (Chris Montez), and Come Dancing (The Kinks).

And when they said COME DANCING!
My sister always did.

Listen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9tVlwycepg

We pass a good time, eh?

Epilogue:

At least two people at the Magnolia party Saturday night told me to search out Bernie David, a musician from Louisiana who was to play his accordion at the Historic Winslow House in Marshfield the day after the party. Why the Winslow House, you ask? It was Colonel John Winslow who was ordered to expel the Acadians from Nova Scotia in 1755. Evangeline, Longfellow, well you remember, don't you? The story of the two lovers separated because of the expulsion. Warren Perrin, author of Acadian Redemption, was to be the speaker. The book is about a Cajun rebel who was almost solely responsible for the Acadians’ decision to live in present-day Louisiana, way back in 1765. His name was Joseph dit Beausoleil Broussard. It was easy to spot Bernie on the dance floor with his big white cowboy hat and alligator cowboy boots. We were all dancing New England Cajun, but Bernie had a cool dancing style that stood out, at least to me.

Sandy and I did indeed attend the lecture. Mr. Perrin was a fine speaker. Of course I bought the book. The day before, he and his wife Mary had attended a Canadian celebration in Leominster. Fitchburg and Leominster, Massachusetts have a large French Canadian population. We spoke to Mary in the kitchen where she was preparing jambalaya for all the attendees. Hey, I don't know how it happened, but there was a mention of a certain band from Louisiana. Mary knows it well. Her brother Sam Broussard is the singing, guitar playing songwriter for the Mamou Playboys. Mary and Sam are descendants of Joseph dit Beausoleil Broussard. I did not make this up. You cannot make stuff like this up. Twitter me with any questions.

Robert Bachant, 1620
Paris, France

Cruising

2009-06-03T14:52:00.036-04:00

Ask anyone from the Class of 1963 at Adams Memorial High School who and what they think of when they hear Dion's song "The Wanderer" and all will say “Bob Bacon and his navy blue Studebaker with the crisp white wall tires.” Lorraine Grocki, Alice Jaworski, Bev Banas, Theresa Cwieczniewic, Bev Katzka, Shirley Alibozek, Sandy Zabek or Judy Turoczy would probably agree. I used to go cruising in my Studebaker, listening to rock ‘n’ roll. Late at night you could hear music from Buffalo New York rather than just WPTR in Albany. Do you remember Boom Boom Branigan? Really late at night, your radio could even get music from Wheeling, West Virginia. I know most Studebakers were not that cool. But take a look at my very first car. It was very cool and way ahead of its time for 1953 or even 1961 when it became mine, was it not? I bought it from my cousin Ernie Garofano, one of Auntie Blanche’s sons.

Percy and Blanche Garofano sitting in a convertible. Blanche was my Mother’s oldest sister.

It cost me $75 dollars. That was five trips, riding shotgun aboard a Comeaus Tractor Trailer to the piers of New York City to unload trucks full of 100-pound bags of lime from New England Lime Company. The Studebaker was a fast looking car but it could barely climb Rte 116, the gulf, up to Dukes Pond, beyond Savoy, with its 120-horse power. I bet I changed flats thirty times with that car. When I joined the Navy, I left the car to my brother Mike. When the brakes failed, he and his friends took it to the Adams dump and beat the roof down to the seats with sledgehammers. Remember the Adams dump up on East Road?You would back your car to the cliff of trash and simply throw everything down the hill. Maybe, if you thought of it, you would look up at pristine Mt. Greylock, the highest mountain in Massachusetts, or maybe not.

A view of Mt. Greylock from near the Adams dump.

If you looked down you saw the Hoosac River, which ran through the valley, south towards Lenox and Tanglewood. They burned everything at the dump and the smoke traveled for miles in the valley. I actually like that smell. In beautiful Bermuda they still burn their trash that way. I always think of my Studebaker when I smell that smell. Isn't it strange the association that comes with the sense of smell? My whole young teenage life was in that car. I don't remember being that upset about its destruction.

Here is a photo of my only brother, Mike, and one of his trucks. He died way too early, at 36.

I was just back from Class A Electrical School in Port Hueneme, California and most of my company, both Marines and Navy Sea Bees, were heading for some foreign place called Viet Nam. Rumsey, our company commander, said we had a war there and who wanted to go. Rumsey ended up doing four tours In Country. I remember thinking that was the very first time that I had heard of Viet Nam, but still most of my company stepped forward. I had my orders already and was heading to cushy stationkeeper duty at South Weymouth Naval Air Station, back in Massachusetts.

Dad was an original WWII Seabee . Here he is sitting on this jeep in Okinawa.

Look at this beautiful set of wheels. It was a black 1935 Chevrolet coupe. Mike Golden from Alabama built it. It was owned by some navy captain and spent most of its life in Hawaii. Mike made it into a hot rod. Goldie was a Seabee mechanic who I was stationed with at Weymouth. It had a tire mounted on the back with its name written on the spare wheel on white canvas, " Mothers Wheels." The engine was a 1963 Pontiac GTO. It was five speed, posi-traction, stick of course, and it ran hot the whole time I owned it. We added a surge tank, but to no effect. It purred like a lion and it was a beautiful car, a real head turner. I sold it to get married. To this day even Sandy admits it was a mistake. Selling the car I mean. Or maybe . . . My Navy friends still ask me about it. “Whatever happened to Mothers Wheels?”

Out of the Navy with no children, we bought this 1967 Spitfire right off the show room floor at Nicks Foreign Auto on Independence Avenue in Quincy, Massachusetts for $2,100. Nicks is or was directly across from John and Abigail's first house, before he became the second president of our United States. Sandy and I had five jobs between us. We would go cruising, even in winter, dressed warmly with the heat turned up full blast and the top down. We wore poopee suit boots that the Airdales, who rode the planes that flew the East Coast, wore. They had a valve on the side that you blew air into and they kept your feet toasty. It got cold in those P2V’s (sonar patrol planes). Those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end; we'd sing and dance forever and a day. Gee, that could be made into a song. Up till then, no one we knew drove foreign cars, except my cousin Paula. We kept that car until Marnie was on the way, so that was 1974ish. We sold it, sadly, to some kids from the Cape, out of our Stagecoach two-car garage one winter night.

At the same time we owned the Spitfire, we also owned this Pontiac Grand Prix and this Ford. I cannot explain why two people needed three cars, but throughout our married life, we have almost always owned three cars. You can’t make up stuff like this.

One day when I was driving I fell asleep at the wheel in the middle of the afternoon. It was 1970. I don't remember which car I was driving at the time. I was on a major highway traveling at least 60 to 70 mph. Way back then I was an assistant manager at Friendlys Ice Cream. We worked for two days to get the Friendlys in Roslindale on American Legion Highway in shape for the annual inspection called "Spruce Up." After the store closed at 11 pm, we would do the final cleaning through the night and finally be finished at 2 pm, after the lunchtime inspection. So I was awake for about 32 hours. When I decided to run my first Ultra, my friend Norm Tuttle said, "Never mind the 100 miles, when was the last time you were awake for this long?" This was it, I guess. We were inspected from top to bottom. It was even more thorough than a Boot Camp inspection, if that is possible.

I was 18 and Sandy was 17 the very first time we went to a Friendlys. It was in Pittsfield Massachusetts in 1962 and it was with Jackie and Gerry Nimmons of Adams. I got a hamburger, roll toasted on the grill, with onions and a vanilla Fribble. I forget what Sandy got. Jackie and Gerry got married. Eventually. No one I know in Adams has ever been divorced. What's up with that? No divorces in Adams. You can't make up stuff like this!

When was the last time you were up for more than 24 hours?

Today I was on my way home to Marshfield on route three south when the song "American Woman" came on the radio. It was then that I had my flashback to 1970. Interestingly enough it was at the same spot, more or less, where I had fallen asleep, almost forty years ago. I had just passed the Derby street exit and had only one more exit to go to get home to our apartment in Rockland. It was sunny out. Then I fell asleep. I remember hearing a very loud voice holler HEY! There were no cars around me. I woke up and looked in my rearview mirror and saw no one. Some one was looking out for me that day, but I could never figure out who it was. Was it you? Well, thanks!

I cannot remember what was next. I drove company station wagons while selling fence for six years.

Oh, I remember! I turned the Reliable Fence Company car back to them and joined South Shore Gunite Swimming Pool Company in the end of 1975. I had to provide my own wheels. It was this Buick that looked like a Cadillac.

There were two Buick Electras on the Hanover car lot that day. Both were used. One was blue and owned by a man who couldn't use his legs, so everything was hand controlled. It was blue. I bought this grey one, previously owned by a priest. It had a curious noise coming from the transmission but I drove it 185,000 miles before buying a brand new one whose engine exploded at 50,000 miles.

Are you keeping track of what I am saying here? This is all good stuff. Call me with questions. A year later I had a swimming pool appointment in Marshfield and there sat my Electra. I said hello to my prospective clients and then walked over to my old Buick and stroked it.

It was a great car. Once I lost a water pump in New Hampshire while on a pool call. The customer gave me every container she had. We filled them with water and I made it home by constantly refilling the radiator. Ask any mechanic and they will say that when your water pump goes, that’s it. Another time I was driving along Atlantic Avenue on the Cohasset/Hull line. I went over a little hill into Hull and all my belts snapped. I drifted into a gas station, and within an hour I was back on the road again. Years later Willie Nelson, inspired by my story, would write a famous song that I never bothered to cash in on.

So anyway, I blurted out I drove this car for 185,000 miles! You see I have always taken special care of my cars, and the Electra was no exception. It still looked really good. To this day I keep my vehicles spotless. Sandy says, “It’s a Monk thing.“ I remember my Dad saying, "When you are married and have a family you won't be able to take care of a car the way you do now." Isn't it funny what stays in your brain?

My prospective pool customer said I was mistaken. When they purchased this Buick it had only 85,000 miles. Back then car odometers only went to 99,999 then started new again. The car had 185,000 miles on it and I proved it to the customer by pointing out little things like the crack in one of the taillights, and how the driver’s seat was worn. I proved my point and lost the sale because the potential pool customer was so upset by the unscrupulous used car dealer. You can't make stuff like this up.

Somewhere in here we owned a blue Fiat Spider convertible. Sandy cried when some young girl drove it out of our driveway.

I really do not remember much about it. Isn't that strange?

When my second Buick engine blew at 50,000 miles, it was just under warranty and the service manager said that I should sell it and that maybe I should buy a BMW. A real German road car. They were the rage at the time -- in Boston anyway. We ended up owning three. Here’s the first one.

It was a 321 BMW. I drove it into the ground and then sold it to Sandy’s brother Brian Zabek, who drove it forever. Look at the CSI that we had next.

I had no business owning a $65,000 vehicle in 1987, and I am sure it cost me some sales. As a salesman you always check out what the potential customer is driving and what if any stickers they have or organizations they belong to. If they have a golf membership that would be a good thing, or some aviation letters, which could mean they have money, maybe even an airplane. Another selling sign was if they had a Walpole Woodworkers mailbox -- then money was no object. However if they had a sticker on the car that said, "If this car’s rockin’, don't come knockin’,” maybe it was not that good of a sales call. Buyers checked me out instead and probably wondered how much money I was making as a pool designer.

Shortly after that there was a recession, which lasted for a number of years. The BMW dealer in Norwood could not believe that I was turning in the most beautiful car I probably ever would own -- but I did. BMWs were lousy in snow, so I bought the x series with All Wheel Drive next. No photo available at this time.

Sometimes I wonder where all my commission money went. I have 8x10s of the best automobiles that we owned on one wall of my Garage Mahal. As a salesman, it was important to look successful, and besides a nice car just made you feel good about yourself. This is important when you earn money by commission only. You don't sell, you don't eat.

Business turned around again. Sandy’s Alexandra's European Skin Care Salon was making its mark on the South Shore. That is just about the time she told me that she NEEDED a black 9ll Porsche coupe, no spoiler, for her fiftieth birthday. I said some thing like, "It is too much money and a waste of money at that.” Here is a photo of it. She said “ I will look funny driving it when I am 60.” I need it NOW!

That car could fly. “If it had a set of wings I know it could fly.“ We owned it for ten years, but sold it to finance the purchase of a small island in the Caribbean. I could always tell when Sandy pulled into her garage stall because the whole house would just rumble. Twelve-year-old boys would give you "thumbs up” as you rode by. I miss polishing it, and looking at it, resting in the garage, especially through all of the New England winter. Yah, I had a cover for it! Well gee, you don't want it to get dirty do you? We would drive it only about 5,000 miles a year.

Now we own a Volkswagen Jetta, which has been at the dealership for the last thirty days. We have a loaner. A big gray box that doesn’t fit in the garage. My tie rods just went on my almost-new Dodge pick up truck.

My grandparents, Hattie and Frank Bacon, owned a weird-color, olive green, four-door, really large DeSoto. We held a family reunion in it one year. It barely fit in the third stall of the cinder block garage that my father and grandfather built on 90 and 92 Howland Avenue. I do not remember my grandfather ever driving it, but I am sure he did. I have in my office a glass quart container with a metal top that screws on -- it was Frank Bacon’s. It's delightful, it’s de-lovely, it's DeSoto. You can tell at a glance that this swell car is full of romance. You can hear the engine murmuring low, GET UP AND GO! That was the jingle for DeSoto in the fifties. If you watched Groucho Marx’s “You Bet Your Life, “ then you have heard the ad.

Kezia’s husband Chris is a car nut. To date he has owned 41 cars. That number doesn’t include motorcycles or tractors. Both his brothers are mechanics. My grandson, Abel, is only three, but he is already crazy about wheels, trucks and bull sodas. I don’t think he will ever get over it. His Dad never did.

Abel’s favorite movie is Cars. Have you watched it? It is pretty cool. It reminds Sandy and I of Moab, Utah.

I once had a psychic as a fence client. She told me I would try to climb an icy hill with a station wagon and end up sliding backwards down the hill, wedging the car between a tree and a rock wall. It had happened to me in Cohasset the year before! But that wasn't the worst accident.

Two Jettas ago, while vacationing at Brant Lake, New York, Sandy and I decided to day trip to Saratoga. Not the spa. Not the racetrack. My ultra running friend, Rich Busa, (we met at the Essex Junction, Vermont 50 miler) had told me not to miss the battlefield where the tide finally turned in our favor during the Revolutionary War. Do you remember? We were on top of a hill, listening to a talk amongst the cannon, when suddenly we were told that a fierce storm was to hit anytime and we should exit the park immediately. As we drove down the hill to an exit, the wind started to howl and the sky turned yellow/black. The wind blew the heavy rain absolutely sideways. We reached a fork in the road. Sandy asked which way. I said, "Go right." One, two, three, four, five, six, seven deer ran in front of us, being driven out of the woods by the strong winds. I said, "Go slow. Don't hit the deer." The next thing we knew, two trees had fallen on and crushed the Jetta, and stopped us dead. "Are you OK?" we asked each other. Sandy was covered in glass. It was pouring rain. We were encapsulated and could not get out of the car. Park personnel cut us out with chain saws rather quickly. Someone behind us had a cell phone and called the incident in. Later Sandy said, "Now can we get cell phones?" We were back at the cabin on the lake three hours later, unscathed, driving some rental with Vermont license plates. We were to go to a concert that night, but instead we just huddled together, drank wine, and talked about how lucky we were to be alive.

I turn no heads with the blue Jetta, nor in my present red Dodge Ram pick up truck. No one ever says, “What year is that?” Or “WOW! Nice car.” No one waves or gives me the thumbs up. No girls want to ride with me because of my wheels. But they certainly did to years ago when I would go cruising.

Bobby Bacon, 2009

Lake George Memories

2009-03-30T15:37:00.013-04:00

The original draft of this family story was outlined one summer night in 2008 in the boat house at Brant Lake, which is just north of Lake George, owned by Prudence, the significant other of Sandy's brother Brian. The tale has been simmering ever since. I finished this story in one sitting on March 29, 2009.

The first time I saw Lake George, named after the English king of the time, I was five years old. It was 1950. The Bacon family went on vacation every single year, but it was always to Lake George. We would drive up, hauling the trailer and watching the station wagon engine temperature. Whenever Dad would stop the car, he would raise the hood to cool the engine. There was no Adirondack Northway then. It was all back roads. We went through North Adams, Williamstown and Pownal, Vermont and into New York State.

We would always stop at a kind of hot dog stand/bar on the left that had really HOT relish. Hoosac Falls? Dad liked the hot stuff. You see, that’s what I like about family stories. They wouldn't put that on a headstone, but it is cool to know. Dad’s eyes were blue, and so were my cousin Craig's. Auntie Blanche, his Mom, loved raspberries. If I didn't write that now, then no one would ever know. You can't make up stuff like this.

Looking back, I am glad that Lake George was all we did for vacations. We went there from when I was five until I was eighteen. The very first time we went, we stayed at Lake Luzerne where Dad’s best friend from childhood had a camp. Matt Kustra was a United States Navy veteran like Dad. Matt was with Dad when he met Mom for the very first time, at a roller skating rink. He served aboard the aircraft carrier Hornet, and if you know anything about World War II, you know that these sailors saw all the action that one could possibly see.

Matt Kustra in later days.

I wish that I could speak to Matt and Dad about their adventures in the South Pacific, and thank them, but they are long gone now. The greatest generation, I agree. My friend Charles likes the word "served" -- served your country, they sure did. Have you? Did you serve? Do you attend town meetings or pick up trash or coach a little league team? Really? Good for you!

All this started in 1950, and almost no one is left to say whether this is true or not, but I will tell it as I remember it for the family history. The police say eyewitnesses are often wrong, but here goes. This could be boring for you, so you can cut out now and text some one and I really won't care. My girl cousins Paula, Greta, Ruth and Leda, will vouch for what their cousin Bobby says.

We only stayed at Matt's for two years, and then moved on to knotty pine type cabins at the northern end of the 36-mile-long lake at Bolton Landing, and then next to Lake George Village at Diamond Point. But the real vacations began when we first started tent camping at Battle Ground Campground, just south of Lake George village. It is still there. We had tents. Two of them. The one my brother Mike and I slept in was sewed together by Mom and Dad in our backyard at 90 Howland Avenue in Adams, Massachusetts. Scenes are stuck in my brain with my Mom, Nora, sewing on some special sewing machine outside, in between our tiny house and the three-car cinder block garage.

My Grandfather Frank Bacon poured all these blocks in the cellar of 92 Howland Avenue. Mom said that is probably where he got the cancer, in the dampness of that stone walled cellar. It's funny what you remember, isn't it? Before Dad got a chance to pour the floor to the garage, it rained and filled the foundation. He was thrilled. Now all he had to do was mark the height of the water and he would have a perfectly flat garage floor. Dad wasn't afraid to tackle anything or anybody -- from a North Adams, Drury High School half back, to the repair of a fifth wheel on one of Rene Comea's tractor trailers, or to putting a slate roof on the two story BIG house where Grampa and Gramma Bacon lived, ten feet away from our tiny doll house that Mom kept.

I remember my brother’s and my tent as being fairly unbreathable, but solid and rainproof. The tent had no windows. The beds had wool blankets, probably from some Army/Navy store. They were white with a big blue stripe. Are there still real Army/Navy stores? One day it did rain, and we went shopping to Glens Falls. Mom bought me a book written by Audie Murphy, the Medal of Honor winner from WWII. It was called To Hell and Back. I read it in our tent in one night. It was the very first book I ever read.

Nora Bacon at the Million Dollar Beach, Lake George.

In between the two tents was the trailer that Dad built – parked, the wheels chocked -- that held everything that we would need for the two or three weeks that we were at Lake George. It doubled as a food storage area. We never ate out -- Mom was a great cook. We had metal bed frames that folded up (but the mattresses were very comfortable) with real pillows. Dad and Mom called the trailer the "Chuck Wagon," because it was connected to the two tents with a tarpaulin (a piece of waterproof canvas used for protecting exposed objects) that kept all three tents dry and cozy, with a picnic table and fireplace in the middle --and it held all the food. So it did not really matter whether it rained or not. It rarely did rain as I remember.

Dad showed us all the knots to tie the tents and the tarpaulin down -- he had learned them in the Navy SeaBees -- and of course we had to dig all the trenches for the rainwater to run off and away from the compound. And to collect firewood. Vendors would come through, selling ice and vegetables. There was no electricity.

If you drive through the Battle Ground Campground this summer you will see what I mean. Everything looks smaller now, but if you allow me, I will show you every single tent site that we stayed at. But why bother -- you won't come. People from Boston have never even heard of Lake George. They want to just go to the Cape and eat chowdah. We don't want you and your Red Sox Nation hats there any way. Mostly the tourists here are from New York or New Jersey or Can-ah-dah. Aye!

Battle Ground Campground has that name because of all the history that has happened right here. Hawkeye and the Last of the Mohicans, the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War. Montcalm, Forts William Henry and Ticonderoga, The Green Mountain Boys, Rogers’ Rangers, Bloody Brook, Forts Edward and Ann. Nearby Saratoga, the battlefield not the horse racing stadium or the springs or the spa. I guess this is why I am a history fanatic -- but at least I am not a shopaholic or a serial killer. Okay, so I am a little bit of a shopaholic, but I got it from Mom and her sisters of the Hoosac Valley, who made it a team sport. Maggie Risley, from Pittsfield and a true Navy friend for 44 years, is one but she's still a good person. You make it sound like it is a bad thing.

This statue of a Mohawk and Colonist was inside the campground.

It drives Sandy crazy when I say that the Bacon Family was there before Fort William Henry, but we were. Sort of. Well, let me explain. The French and especially the Indians burned down the original fort, just like in the movie Last of the Mohicans, but it was rebuilt during the years that we vacationed there. Get it?

The Breens ran the Battle Ground Park, along with their two daughters, who we kind of pined over, but Mr. Breen kept them working and away from the wild Massachusetts boys. For laughs we would go to the outhouses and move the mixer pipe back and forth and holler out, "Help me, I'm drowning!" Okay, so maybe you had to be there, but it was very funny at the time. No, there were no toilets in the tent. Jeez. City people. Come to think of it, there weren't any showers . . . hmmm. There was no electricity, so we had to use white gas lanterns that you had to pump up before you lit.

When we were really young, my brother and I dug a four foot hole at the entrance to our campsite, and covered over with branches and pine needles to catch raccoons -- but we caught two pretty Canadian girls instead. Mom, Dad, Why did you let us do that? Our parents held, as Grandfather Frank said, very loose reins on us. Grampa also used to say, "If we didn't knock it off he would put tin ears on us." He had the very same composure that our friend Allan Sylvester has. You know what I mean -- you would have liked him right away.

The fifties brought the music of the Everly Brothers, Frankie Avalon, Chubby Checker, Bobby Rydell, Fabian Forte, Buddy Holly and Fats Domino.

Let's twist again
Like we did last summer
Let's twist again
Like we did last year

("Let's Twist Again" was actually a bigger hit than its predecessor from a year earlier, "The Twist.")

Someone would find a guitar and we would all sit around the campfires and sing and toast marshmallows and do drugs. Only kidding -- the only drugs were rye whiskey and beer, and I do not remember anyone, even Dad , overdoing it.

We never used the car, except for Grand Union grocery shopping. We would walk to the village to swim, or to wander at night, or go for ice cream, play shuffle board, or miniature golf. Yah, the Grand Union still stands -- and with most of the same staff. Only kidding. It seemed like a long way to walk to town then, but it really isn't. At first we would swim at the Million Dollar Beach at the south end of the lake, but soon we became regulars at the town pier near the Jolly Roger with all the other regulars to Lake George. Handsome John was the lifeguard at the town pier. He was muscular and always wore sunglasses. His nose was always coverd in white zinc oxide, to protect it from the sun. He always gave us a great Welcome Back. I still have a two-inch gash in my right foot that I got from landing on broken glass, jumping off the pier there. Mom taped it together and told me it was fine. Today I would have needed seven stitches and therapy. I tell young people that I got the wound at the battle of Gettysburg.

Lake George is a fairly cool-temperature lake, being thirty six miles long and four hundred feet deep. Paddlewheel boats that you see on the mighty Mississippi still carry passengers from one end to the other, but now they are diesel and not coal- or wood-burning. There are many boats on the lake, mostly power boats. There are many islands that you can camp on. Tom and Jeanette Egan and family have done it for years. Tom was born and raised in Providence -- it is in Rhode Island - and visited here as much as I ever did when he was young. This is only one of the things we have in common that holds our friendship together.

A paddlewheel boat on Lake George

Folks from the Italian section of our hometown would come up, mostly at exactly the same time. The Volpes, Demastris, Ballardinis and Bianchis. I don't actually remember them being there, but I have photos to prove that my grandparents, Frank and Hattie Bacon, were there, as well as my grandfather’s brother, Uncle George, his wife Georgina, and all my girl cousins -- plus their mothers, my father’s sisters, Cyrella and Dorothy.

Hattie and Frank Bacon.

Left to right: Dorothy Gotzens, Greta Gotzens, Paula Gotzens, Nora Bacon, Turk Gotzens, Bob Bacon, Hattie Bacon, Francis Bacon

My Uncle George Washington Bacon and Aunt Georgina at Campsite 31. Uncle George retired in 1955 and traveled extensively all over the US, Mexico and South America in his trailer (shown in photo at right).

My cousins, the Gotzens girls, Greta, Ruth, Paula, and Leda.

My childhood friend Bucky Volpe is already gone, but his mom, Gertrude, is still living in Adams. Monsuelo Ballardini’s wife, my Mom's best friend, Betty passed away in 2008. Now my cousins and I are the only ones left to tell the story. I swear this is all true. I would never lie to you mi amor.

Bucky Volpe

Thank you, Mom and Dad. Sometimes I go down to Lake George Village by myself when I am at Brant Lake and think of you both and of those wonderful, carefree times. The park near the town pier still looks the same. They still have free concerts there. Recently Sandy and I saw Gino Delafose from Louisiana play Zydeco music there. The Million Dollar Beach is worth ten million now. Fort William Henry still shoots off her cannon now and then. Yah, they still have the fireworks. There is a really good Polish restaurant on General Montcalm Avenue. Can you believe it? I actually feel closer to you there than when I am in Adams, near our house on Howland Avenue or at the Bellevue cemetery. I know you would be tickled to know that Sandy and I still visit -- and it all started with our family vacations so long ago. Yup, the girls come too. Abel hasn't been yet. Oh, I forgot, he is your great grandson. He is Kezia and Chris's son. He looks just like Kezia but somehow he has Dad's blue eyes.

There was an old TV show that said at the end, "Thanks for the memories" and that is how I feel.

Love,
Bobby

A 'Steve Riley Happening' on Isla Mujeres!

2009-03-23T13:51:00.007-04:00

It was our last full day on Isla Mujeres, Mexico until next year.

We had just come off the Playa Norte and were turning in our beach towels at the front desk of Maria Del Mar (Cabanas). It was another perfect day of sunning and floating and salty margaritas in the Windex-colored water. Well, you've been there so you know! What, you haven't been yet?

Sandy was wearing a pareo over her bathing suit, her sombrero, and on top, her amarillo "Bob's 60th" tee shirt. Do you remember it? On the back it says "Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys" and "Lil Anne & Hot Cayenne."

It is hard for me to believe that tee shirt will be four years old this July.

All of a sudden this couple walked in, spied the names on the back of Sandy's shirt, and both started talking a mile a minute. "How do you know Steve Riley? What a great band! Do you go to New Orleans? Have you been to Mulate's, Michelle's, Haven Brothers, the Maple Leaf, Tipitina's, the Rock and Bowl, Mamou, Baton Rouge, Lake Charles, Church Point, Lafayette, the Mardi Gras?"

Charles and Cactus Cathy, our friends from Albuquerque, were wearing their tee shirts in Tucson when just about the same thing happened to them. A couple originally from New England -- but now living in Arizona -- said that they love the music and really, really missed the Cajun/Zydeco dance scene.

Our new Isla friends were from Dallas -- it's in Texas. I think. They have been to Mexico a million times but Isla is their favorite place to go. "Did we know of the Pine Leaf Boys?" They happen to be Sandy's second favorite Cajun Band. At his 60th they had the Pine Leaf Boys come to play. Holy Frogs! Where have I heard this story before?

We mentioned that we were seeing Steve and the Playboys at Johnny D's in Boston the very next Thursday night

and then again Saturday night, along with the Creole Cowboys (Boozoo Chavis doubles) and C.J.Chenier, Clifton's son, at the Mardi Gras Ball in Rhode Island.

Steve Riley asked "Did you get their names?" NO! And they didn't ask for (or get) ours.

You just don't think about these things when you are in the middle of a STEVE RILEY HAPPENING.

Sincerely,
Roberto Tocino
Mayor of La Isla Mujeres
(I was a write-in on the ballot.)

A Short Story About A Small Town

2009-03-02T14:39:00.009-05:00

Jimmy Zabek, his real name was Adolph, was Sandy's father. He died when Sandy was six months pregnant with Kezia. I basically typed this up for Kezia for the family tree. The following was a little article in the North Adams Transcript. Cioci Florence sent this news clipping to Sandy and I today.

Jimmy Zabek, who died Sunday while playing golf at the Forest Park Country Club, a friend for many years, was a member of the crack St. Stanislaus basketball team that won the Polish National Alliance tournament, held at Adams in 1949, defeating St. Peter and Paul of Chicago, 54 - 49 in the final at the C.T. Plunkett Junior High gym. Others on the team were Jimmy's brother Chester, Stan Senecki, Mike McAndrews, Eddie Anton, Bushy Nowak, Johnny Zaloga, Chester Menczywor, and Johnny Jasinski.

Chester was my high school football coach in 1960. Stan Senecki dated my mother’s sister Stephie, who never married, for several years. Rumor was he was a heavy gambler. I have a photograph of him looking very dapper.

Mike McAndrews opened an insurance company in Adams that still exists. Chester Menczywor married Sandy's Cioci Cecelia, who just passed away last month.

This was all after World War Two. All nine men were United States Navy sailors.

Do things still go on like this in small towns in the United States? I hope so.

Frances & Jimmy Zabek on their wedding day, with St. Stanislaus Kostka Church in the background.

A billboard in Adams, MA. St. Stan's was recently closed. Parishioners are maintaining a 24-hour vigil/occupation of the church.

The Vermont 100-mile Endurance Run, 1990

2009-01-06T11:58:00.005-05:00

Hey, I was up for 40 hours at this point! Brian did a great job crewing and he knows it.
I slept in the sun room on the night after the race. John Stewart said, "You must sleep soundly after a 24-hour run." I said, "You feel like you have been in a car wreck."

I WON'T FORGET: VERMONT 100, 1990

Pinky: A volunteer at an aid station in the middle of nowhere handing out her homemade brownies.

A Young Man: the volunteer I saw so many times at various aid stations. He must have been up for two days straight – Did I mention that he only had one leg?

Young Girls: on the horse farm, the start and finish points of the race, who live and breathe horses.

Bob: who was told by a doctor not to run until his eye surgery healed – so he walked 88 miles. You are awesome.

Bev: who had a couple of nasty falls and still finished under 30 hours. Her grandchildren will be proud.

Ross: the 60-something dentist from Oklahoma who blew by me at 93 miles. I forgot to tell you that I admire you.

Dale: from San Diego. On your advice to a rookie on how to run 100 – “start off fast” – Are you sure?

Brian: my handler; who, for 30 hours supplied me with socks, pizza, sunglasses, etc. and an immense diary of notes.

Linda: whom I met at her first 50 in Maine. She’s already a Western States 100 veteran. It was so nice to see your smiling face again.

Medical Volunteers: How many times did you have to say “What was your weight when you checked in?” I forgot to thank you.

Jack: my new running friend. We had some 60 miles of conversation. It’s good to know you.

The Gentleman Who Rode Arabelle: I hope I have your zest for life when I am your age.

California Group and Groupies: I knew from looking at them that they weren’t from New England. They had a lot of fun. I’ve never seen the wave done anywhere besides at ballgames! Please come back again.

The Young Woman Who Came in Second, and Her New Husband/Handler: I say “new” because they were on their honeymoon – honest!

Laura: The State of Vermont’s Ambassador. A salute to you, your caring volunteers, and your beautiful state. It was a wonderful race. Thank you so much for the most exciting weekend of my summer.

The Trail: covered bridges, fresh air, blue sky, green Green Mountains, trickling brooks, dirt roads, horses running free, warm sun, the Northern Lights.

Those green marker lights, Ten Bear Camp, my flashlight dying at 10:30 PM in the middle of the woods, the taste of Coca-Cola (but not for a while).

They say that the course is so well marked (and it is) that Stevie Wonder couldn’t get lost. But I did – twice!

The last leg is 3.2 miles? No way, Laura!

By Bob Bacon

Bob Bacon, 45, from Marshfield, Massachusetts, finished the 1990 Vermont 100-mile Endurance Ride and Run; it was his first (completed) 100.

NOTE: PLEASE CONTINUE READING. THE COMMENTS BELOW ARE ALSO RELEVANT TO THE STORY!