Pallas Photo

In August of 1985, I left Michigan for Chicago. I began working for Pallas Photo Labs in the River North district. This was a large, 3 story building which had been a Catholic school in the the early to mid 1900's. I had no experience with the big city. There were a lot of new things here for me. It seemed like almost everyone that worked for Pallas was creative. There were a lot of photographers and musicians. There were lots of discussions about music. I fit right in. After a short while, everyone knew that I played guitar. A few people told me about Mario. He had been on vacation when I started. Everyone said I needed talk to him when he got back.  Mario was also a guitarist and he was a Ted Nugent fanatic.

The day he came back, we talked a little. He told me he had a Gibson Byrdland just like Ted's and we shook hands in the style that all teenagers did in the 70's (where the shakers kind of angle their hands up).

About a year later, I was settled in and used to working at a large commercial lab. While I was on the third floor getting some supplies, I heard someone playing a guitar. I followed the sound to a little office in the front of the building and there was Mario playing the chords to a minor blues. There were about three or four people watching him. He was using a strap and there was even a little distortion pedal plugged in between the guitar and amp. Mario had his eyes closed and was holding his head high. He was really into it. When a natural break in Mario's playing came, Kevin (one of the on-lookers) said to me, "hey, why don't you play something?" Mario handed me the guitar and I played a short version of Jeff Beck's “Jeff's Boogie” with a few of his classic tricks thrown in for good measure. Then, I headed downstairs and back to work.

Later that day, I was on the second floor in film processing, where Kevin worked. He said, "man, you really smoked Mario's ass!" I really didn't know what to say. Thanks?, It was nothing? What do you say?

A few years later, Rich McGuire and I went to see Joe Zawinul at a tiny club just around the corner from Pallas Photo. He had an unbelievable band with several up and coming players. The guitarist was Scott Henderson. He was already an unreal player. In between sets, Scott just kind of stood around. He was just a regular guy wearing a t-shirt. I told Rich that I'd really like to go talk to him, but didn't know what to say. I was awestruck. Rich told me to say, "man, you really smoked Mario's ass!"

$20 Guitar

While driving around on the north end of Royal Oak on a recent Saturday, Amy saw a sign advertising a garage sale. She followed a couple of handwritten signs and found the sale. It was a normal garage sale for the most part. A card table, some chairs, a box of assorted items marked "free", some power tools, candles, VHS tapes, and a guitar. Amy picked up the guitar and looked at it carefully. It had been made in Brazil. The  tag on it read $20. And it even came with a case. The guy having the sale told her that someone had just tuned it - a skinny man with two tone shoes and a  black suit. He had tuned the guitar, played a few chords and was suddenly gone. 

Amy brought the guitar home and I played it for several hours. It was a Classical  guitar with a  knotty looking top. Certainly not the norm. It sounded really nice and full. I couldn't stop playing it.
I played until I fell asleep holding it. While I was sleeping, I had a dream that I was in Rio de Janiero.
I was walking in Ipanema and it was about four in the morning. Someone carrying a guitar was walking toward me. He was wearing a black suit with two tone shoes. We somehow got into a conversation. He spoke almost no English and I wasn't much better with Portuguese. He had just finished a gig playing guitar. I asked him if I could see his guitar, and if he would play something for me. He opened the case. It was the guitar from the garage sale! Not one like it, the actual guitar.
He picked it up and started to play. His playing was unbelievable. His technique was perfect. His sound was so great. This person was the legendary Candinho, the great guitar player. He had been a big part of the original Bossa Nova movement that began in 1956.
He started to play Jobim's Aula de Matematica, a song that he and Sylvia Telles used to do together.  I wanted to try to get those chord changes from his brilliant arrangement, but everything was just happening too fast.

Candinho finally said that he needed to be on his way. We shook hands and he started walking.
He was out of sight in seconds.

The next day, I told Amy about my dream. I asked her exactly where that guitar had been purchased.
She said that she couldn't remember the name of the street. She did say that it was a street she'd never been on before and that it was a dead end. We were both born and raised in Royal Oak. I think we know all of the streets. We have also been going to garage sales in this area for nearly the last ten years. We got in the car to see if we could find the the street and house. She said that it was north of twelve mile, off of Washington. We drove around that area for over an hour. We couldn't find it.

Cemetery

A few years ago, an NPR story caught my attention. I found the subject very interesting. Apparently there are people who own trucks that they have modified to blow a large cloud of thick black exhaust on other cars. They call it coal rolling. Prius drivers are the number one target. Although fascinating, I also found it really disgusting that someone would go to the trouble to do such a thing. For some reason, I gave the idea a lot of thought and began to keep an eye out for a truck coal rolling a Prius. I wondered What a typical coal roller would be like? Are they all men, or do women roll coal too? I told a friend about this phenomenon and he told me he had been the victim of one of these truck drivers. He drives a Prius. I did see a pickup truck with a lot of black exhaust around it one time on the freeway. Maybe he had just done the dirty deed. The truck had a sign advertising electrical work. I wrote the number down, figuring I'd call and complain. I could totally imagine calling that phone number and having the driver answer. Then what? He'd probably laugh at me.

Amy and I drive through the nearby cemetery three or four times a week. It's a popular place and we usually see other people there. People riding bikes, walking dogs, jogging, visiting graves, cleaning up around graves, and other types of activities. it's usually quite peaceful with its dirt roads and forest. We are bird watching and looking for animals. It can be spectacular at times. We've seen a few foxes, a coyote, Blue Heron, and quite a few hawks. sometimes, we just see squirrels and deer. As we were driving through early one evening, we saw a man walking. He looked to be in his early eighties. He wore a sweatshirt, khaki pants, and tennis shoes. He had a kind of sweet but sad smile. When he got closer, we exchanged hellos. He seemed like a nice person. We talked for a few minutes. We introduced ourselves. His name was Gerald. He told us that he lived a few blocks from the cemetery and he came everyday to visit his dear wife who was buried there. She died seven years ago. He had this look on his face. He seemed to be smiling, but sharing his story obviously brought back memories. He was such a nice person and his story just made us feel very happy. We talked some more and we told him about the nice fox that we are always hoping to find again. We said goodbye and that we'd probably see him again sometime. Amy and I were both glowing as we slowly pulled away from him. He was just a little behind the car when Amy looked at me and said, coal roll him!

Tobacco

A guy with thick glasses and a blue wind breaker looked at our tickets, tore part of each one off, gave us the other parts and let us into the inner part of the stadium. It was all concrete, steel beams and cage like inside. Very crowded and noisy. The energy level was high. Definitely a new experience but not a pretty place. More of a gritty city type of place. My Mom and Dad and I walked up a couple ramps and a flight of stairs toward our upper deck seats. Seemed like we walked for a long time and then there it was, the prettiest most finely manicured green grass I had ever seen. Tiger Stadium. There were players everywhere warming up. Detroit Tigers and Minnesota Twins. I loved the uniforms, hats, spikes and those blue stirrup socks. All of it. There was something really spectacular about the way the Tigers' uniforms looked against that grass. The dirt in the batter's box, pitcher's mound and around the bases was also really special. Looking at the field and all that was going on down there, it really didn't even seem real. I remember thinking that I really wanted to be a professional baseball player someday. The thing that really caught my eye however was how cool the players looked with that huge wad of tobacco in their cheeks. All of that chewing and spitting. That was the best. Something to explore as soon as possible.



I played on a softball team for two seasons and then a Little League team for one. Those Little League pitches were thrown a little too fast for me. My Mom asked me if I was afraid of the ball. "NO!" I exclaimed. How could she insult me like that? I was afraid of the ball. My baseball career was over at the end of the season.

Soon after that however, I was able to live out my dream of being a tobacco chewer though. One night I rode my bike up to 7-Eleven and bought a pouch of Beech-Nut leaves. Not knowing exactly how these leaves worked, I did the most obvious thing and stuffed them into my cheek. I rode as I worked on the leaves. I sucked on and chewed them until it just seemed hopeless. I even spit a few times. It was not much fun. I spit them out and kept riding. Then I got a little dizzy. I went home and to bed.



After some word of mouth research, I learned that professional baseball players chewed a type of tobacco called cut plug. I went to G&P Market and found some of that. It was in a thick rectangular chunk and looked like dark brown cork. I cut a piece off with a pocket knife and went to chewing. I walked down 12 mile road, toward Bob Corbin's house. When I got there, I spit it out and we watched The Three Stooges and some Bugs Bunny. I was pretty dizzy the whole time. When I left to go home, I cut some more. I chewed and spit as I walked. At that point I was really dizzy. Almost feeling drunk. It was really hot weather and I went into a cold sweat. I had to spit it out. I threw up a few times when I arrived home at about 4:30 pm and went right to bed for the rest of the night. There is not a whole lot more to tell. I've never really had the urge to try any type of chewing tobacco since then. As a matter of fact, I still get a sick feeling remembering the whole thing.

Cat Shop

Slippery, shiny black beauties sleeping in woven hammocks. Green eyes abide with playfully sharp teeth and small white beards.

Telephone

When I was about seven, I answered the phone. It was my cousin,Jamie. She and my mom were pretty close and talked often. Being an obnoxious kid, I had this thing that I did when someone called for my mom. I would answer, the person on the other end would ask to speak to my mom. Instead of going to get her right away, I would just listen to what was going on on the other end for a few minutes. Usually, it was nothing. Well, that day when Jamie called I got a surprise. As I listened, she said to someone with her, "it's that little yard ape answering the phone again." I was shocked. I went and told my mom that she had a call, I also told her what Jamie had said about me. My mom was upset and gave Jamie a hard time for talking so unkindly about her little yard ape.

Water

To my dad, any person that was slightly unusual or even just a little bit quirky would be written off as an odd duck. I heard this  phrase used often. An odd duck. Cowboy Eddie, locking his bike to a tree was an odd duck. The guy with the two foot beard, brown grocery bag filled with greasy car parts and who wore a parka with the hood up in 93° weather, was an odd duck.

When he spotted a male with very long hair, he would say, "why, he's a pretty thing." He employed so much sarcasm that it was almost unbearable. 

There was strange behavior where water was involved. Dad didn't shower or bathe as much as most people. 

I do recall a time that he made an announcement that he would be taking a bath. After he was finished, it was obvious that he had been smoking a cigar during his bath. That just seemed 

really strange to me.

When I was about fifteen, my family (including my grandma) took a vacation down through Tennessee and Virginia.

There were relatives and family friends in these states. In Lebanon, Tennessee, we stayed with the Purnell family. My mom and Grandma had known Mr. And Mrs. Purnell for many years. These were some of the nicest, most down to earth people you'd ever care to meet. One day, Mrs. Purnell suggested that we all take a drive to Nashville, which was about an hour away. The middle of Summer in Tennessee was really hot and sticky weather. It was a really nice trip and I even got to go to Gruen's Guitar Shop.

When we arrived back in Lebanon, Mrs. Purnell assumed that we would all want to shower before supper (not dinner, supper). She mentioned it several times in fact. It seemed like that was just fine with everyone. Everyone showered fairly quickly. My dad was last. 

It wasn't until a day or two later that my mom told me that dad had taken a fake shower. He just let the water run and splashed around with his hands a little while he sat on the toilet. A fake shower.

Why? I don't know

Much later, when I was in my early thirties, it became known that dad had a bad drinking problem. He had hit bottom and was in bed for several days. It was a really bad period. I took some time off and stayed at the house to help my mom. Dad was really out of it. A few times a day, I would go stand in his doorway and ask him some pretty serious questions about his problem. He never wanted to address any of my questions. It was very frustrating. After my questions, he always said the same thing as he patted the bed next to him, "come here and lay down next to me, Dan." He hadn't had a shower or bath in days and it was obvious. I finally told him that if he would take a shower, I'd lay down next to him and we could talk about some important things. He said he couldn't do it. I asked why. "I don't like to get wet." What kind of an answer is that?

Who says that? The phrase "odd duck" came to mind. 

The Little Grey Cat

The little grey cat was seen for a split second between two black plastic garbage cans. As soon as she saw me, she was gone. I saw her about eight feet behind the cans, running away. Still young enough to be curious, she looked at me with light sparkling in her eyes. 

The alley and its garbage cans is all she has known. That and watching out for humans. The little grey cat will never be touched by my hand.

It's Late

I always leave the Formica covered accordion door open about 6 inches. I never know when the curious cat will check in. Tonight, it was sooner than later. I urged her onto the bed. No. She went behind the shelf and looked for the truth and her future in the crystal ball. She then made her way to the pilly brown La-Z-Boy. She loves to go behind it. There was an orange tote bag blocking her way. She dug inside as if to say, "what in the hell is in here and why is it in my path?" Then, she was gone. Downstairs in the dark.

Forest City

Almond Auto Parts was where my dad bought all of his car parts. It was about a mile from home and he was on a first name basis with everyone who worked there. Let me rephrase that, he bought almost every car related item he needed at Almond's. There is a place called Forest City. You may have seen the signs for it with a drawing of a guy with an unusually long neck. I don't know what that's all about. The closest Forest City seemed about forty miles away when I was a kid. You know how that goes. It was probably six miles or so. Forest City would have these sales with unbelievably low prices. A case of Oil for 6.99! Limit one per customer. Dad and I departed on our forty mile journey to Forest City early one morning. We went in and he bought his case of oil. When we got out to the car, he removed his navy blue jacket and put on a dark brown corduroy one. Then, he put on a pair of sunglasses. Lastly, he put on a dark brown Fedora. He instructed me to wait in the car and went back in. He came out with a second case of oil. I was really impressed. My sister would join him on subsequent trips of the same nature. Creativity, great sense of humor, and always ready to work on a car (or in my case, brush paint my 67 Dodge Dart and 70 Ford Maverick). That was my dad. I think about him every day. Daniel Thomas Shea Sr. would have been seventy-seven today.

The Pour Over

After a nice dinner, I asked my mom if she wanted some coffee. She said yes   and said that it could come from the half full pot that had been made this morning. I told her that I had brought my "coffee kit" from Chicago. The kit includes a ceramic pour over device, some #2 filters, and a small container of coarsly ground french roast coffee. It would taste a little different than this morning's coffee. After the explanation, she agreed that it sounded good and asked, "is that called a Bull Durham?" I said yes, a Bull Durham and started pouring.

Chili pie w/cornbread top

2 tbs of oil

1 medium onion

Two cloves of garlic

1 lb of ground beef,turkey or pork

Two tbs Worcestershire sauce

1 bottle Heintz Chili Sauce

2 heaping tbs mild chili powder(should be pure)

1 level tbs hot chili powder(pure)

1 level tbs cumin

1 level tbs oregano(Mexican is best)

1 tsp each salt and pepper

1/2 cup raisins

1 box Jiffy cornbread mix

Chop onions and garlic finely and sauté until transparent.

Add meat and sear it breaking it into very small pieces.

When meat is totally cooked, add Worcestershire sauce and cook while stirring for 5-10 minutes.

Add chili sauce

Add all other ingredients except raisins and cornbread mix.

Stir everything up real we'll and cook 10-15 minutes.

Remove from heat and prepare the cornbread mix per the package.

Stir in raisins(you can leave them out if you like).

Using large spoon, fill a standard glass or metal pie dish with the mixture.

Smooth it out and keep in mind you will need room to pour the cornbread batter on top. Pour the cornbread batter on top and spread evenly to cover. Cook in oven per cornbread mix instructions. Let finished pie stand for 15-30 minutes before cutting. 

Southport Ave.

I was literally starving. Another thirty seconds without food and I would have needed to lay down and wait for The Grim Reaper. I pulled into a 7-Eleven and got a deluxe sized beef jerkey. I had been in such hurry to get in the store, I hadn't really noticed what neighborhood I was in. I got in my car and made a right out of the parking lot. As I was sitting at the light, it hit me. I was a block away from where Teresa and I had lived in the early 90's. The apartment on Dover Street. Taylor's first home. The apartment where we found her in a basket on our doorstep. All bundled up and about the size of a loaf of bread. Taylor was the most beautiful baby. 

As I sat at that light on Southport Ave., getting ready to make a soft left north onto Clark Street, I was filled with the sweetest memories of Taylor in her early days. I remembered taking her on a bike ride on those streets. She sat up so nice and straight and observed everything. She was indeed "like little doll" as one lady had remarked in the thickest of Itallian accents. I also remembered the three of us going to a Cubs game. Taylor was so small. She slept on my lap for the whole game and jumped awake everytime something exciting happened. Then fell right back to sleep. After the game, we walked in a big crowd down Clark Street. As we crossed Addison, a bus actually rubbed against my arm as it drove by. It really didn't hurt me or anything but it scared the hell out of me. I was carrying my baby. What was wrong with that bus driver. I felt like handing Taylor to Teresa and going after him. 

In that apartment, we had a magnet of the Elvis stamp on the refrigerator. I had sideburns at that time and when I wasn't home, Taylor used to look at the magnet and say "Daddy".  

One night after I finished feeding her, she was standing up as I was holding her arms. I let go and she took her first step. That was exciting.

Those memories made me happy. As I was sitting through the green light, the guy in the car behind me, in the Chicago tradition began honking his horn. I sped away as I ate that jerky. My mini memory trip was over.

The Alley

 The garage sale was a block south of Fullerton in the alley that runs behind the east side of Western Avenue. The garages in this neighborhood are behind the houses and they open into the alley. I had parked near the end of the alley and had to walk down it about five or six houses to get to the sale. As I was walking, I came upon a house where a guy who looked like Charles Mingus was bent over the engine of a car doing some repair work. Two dogs came running up to the fence to bark at me. One dog was a large mixed breed with a lovable face and floppy ears. The other was much smaller and looked like a Jack Russell terrier. He was the boss. These two dogs were like the ones in cartoons where the big dog is goofy and not too smart and the little dog is very smart and in charge. They both barked at me loudly as I walked. Then, they began barking at each other. Finally, they started biting each other. A total fight. Mingus dropped his wrench and came to break things up. He got between the dogs and waved his right hand, yelling hyah!, hyah! It sounded like he was driving a team of mules. The fight was over. I was impressed. I continued on to the sale which was bad. Lots of children's clothes, VHS tapes and an old television.

As I walked back through the alley, I hoped for another dog fight where Mingus would yell hyah!, hyah! I loved that. I'll always remember him and his dogs.

New Job

I Mickey was a rotund woman who worked in the office. She wore very plain and old lookng clothes. She was annoyed by everything. There was always this look on her face. Her in her comfortable shoes. It was Mickey that I needed to talk to when I couldn't find my time card in the rack. "Mr. Gabler has fired you." Stone faced, in those shoes. Stuffed into that horrible blue polyester pant suit looking like a sausage casing ready to burst. Not much more to talk about. They did owe me some money. I went  home and told my Mom and Dad. My Dad wanted to go and beat Mr. Gabler senseless. He didn't. My Mom told me to get a newspaper and look for a new job. As I looked, I found the perfect job to offset my embryonic bodybuilding career: Cab drivers wanted call Mr. Roberts 313-547-8219 The gears began to turn in my head. This was it. To be the size of bodybuilder I wanted to be(BIG), I needed to to eat a whole lot of high protien food. Many times a day. It said in my Bible, (The Education Of A Bodybuilder by Arnold Schwarzenegger and Douglas Kent Hall) That I should be eating six smaller high protien meals a day instead of the three meals that normal people eat each day. The plan was this: get the cab driver job, drive twelve hour shifts five to seven days a week, meet all kinds of interesting people on their way to and from the airport and other places around town. I would always keep the passenger seat(and floor if necessary) stocked with peanut butter, several loaves of Ezekiel 4:9 Sprouted Whole Grain Bread, a gallon of Twin Pines whole milk and dozen or so hard boiled eggs. I could take the passengers wherever they wanted to go, and eat. All the time. I would bulk up rapidly as I would be following a strict training program while I was not driving. It would only be a matter of time before I would have to move to Southern California to train under the watchful eye of the great Joe Weider. He would get me ready for the important titles I was going to win. I finally had to put the newspaper down and sit back and just imagine the whole thing unfolding so nicely. I went downstairs to tell my Mom and Dad about the plan. They were very skeptical and when I tried to convince them how great it was going to be, my Dad shut me down when he said, "as long as you live in this house, you can't be a cab driver." My dream job would never happen. Later that week, my friend, Craig told me he could get me a job as a G.U. at Machus Sly Fox. The Sly Fox was an expensive restaurant in Birmingham. G.U. stands for general utility. Dish washer. But boy did they ever have the food! Prime rib,crab legs, lobster tail, baked potatoes,endless supply of whole milk and hard boiled eggs(for salads),Ray's ice cream, chocolate mousse, the list went on and on. And so my journey began.

Baker's Dozen

I finally decided to check out UHF, a record store on Washington ave. in Royal Oak, Michigan. They had a pretty good selection with a mixture of new and used records. They also had a lot of free records near the front of the store. After looking through bins that featured Surf, Instrumental and various 50's and 60's lps, I made my way to the Jazz section at the rear of the store. Behind the Jazz section was a desk with a girl and a guy who worked at the store. The guy was looking at some lps. He was fat with salt and pepper hair. I asked him where Mickey Baker would be filed. His response was, "Mickey Baker?" He said it very slowly and sounded it out in a way that seemed like he thought that I had just escaped from an insane asylum and was probably just making up silly names. I verified that, yes Mickey Baker was the artist I was asking about. He had already searched for and found him on Wikipedia. "It says here that he is a Jazz guitar player, so he would be in Jazz. I have never priced a record by him." He quoted some rather high completed Ebay auctions of Mickey's lps and then went on to tell me about supply and demand before returning to looking at lps. I wouldn't expect my local florist. butcher or mechanic to know the name Mickey Baker, but ultra hip, fat assed salt and pepper haired record store guy? I began thinking of how much fun it would be to actually play out the part of the insane asylum escapee asking him about all sorts of silly names that of course he wouldn't know of. "Where would I find Guiseppe Bogdonovich?" I would explain that he was an albino multi-instrumentalist from Italy. "Do you have any Erastus H. Sipperley singles on the King label? He was a great sackbut player from Ohio". I would stop in every day for a week always wearing different outfits so he wouldn't recognize me. "Where would I find Lefty McPeterson? He played guitar laying down and was born in a circus tent just outside Glascow, Scotland. He was very influential for people like Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck and Brian May. Wait a minute, you don't know who Brian May is?"

At The Truck Stop

Guy #1: "Hey, you dropped your pick."
Me: "Thank you." (As I bent over to pick it up off of the floor).
Guy #2: "Yeah, ya can't do no pickin' or no grinnin' without that!"

The Summer of '76

Stevie "Guitar" Miller. You'd hear Arthur P. say it all the time. "Stevie "Guitar" Miller on the RIF...........BABY!" I wondered if there was a parallel universe where Steve Miller played some really great guitar. Maybe there were earlier albums that I was unaware of where he really played. If so, they never played anything from those.

Whether Steve Miller was or was not a great guitar player is beside the point. His album (in this case, 8 track), "Fly Like An Eagle" was the soundtrack of the Summer of 1976 for myself and any one else that ever cruised the neighborhoods of Royal Oak with Nick La Puma in his car.

Nick La Puma was about a year older than I was as were my cousin Steve, Nick Giachetti and Terry Lampman. Nick had recently begun driving and had been given an early 70's dark blue Chrysler Newport by his Grandmother.

We spent a whole lot of time driving around in that car and I can only remember Steve Miller's "Fly Like An Eagle" coming out of its speakers There was never a real destination. Just driving. I do remember one time that Nick's Grandmother (who was Greek Orthodox) really wanted him to attend a tent revival. He didn't want to go. His Mom pressured him to go and wouldn't let up. Finally, Nick agreed to go but brought cousin Steve, Nick Giachetti, Terry and myself along to help make things a little more fun. My parents didn't want me to go. I went anyway. We took the Chrysler of course. This tent revival was a mob scene in the parking lot of the old Troy Hilton. We figured that we could get in and out real quick, Grandmother would be happy and my parents wouldn't even know that I had been there. That's not what happened. We were totally blocked in by cars. No way out. Guys were speaking in tongues, handling poisonous snakes, suddenly, the blind could see and the lame could walk. It was like nothing we had ever seen before. After a while, we grew bored of all the miracles and decided to go swimming in the hotel pool in our underwear. We didn't get out for several hours. Grandmother was proud of Nick and my Mom and Dad were really upset with me.

We also played Putt-Putt miniature golf several times that summer. That was a real great place with a bootleg Dairy Queen connected to it. It's now an office plaza. Steve and I even brought our own golf club and balls and played in the off season.

The Summer of 76 was between middle school and high school for me. I was a little anxious. There would be a lot of new people. It would be a whole new world.

By August, things had become too hot and just plain boring. We were just driving down any streets and hoping for some kind of excitement. One day as we drove north on Wilson Avenue, two girls playing Frisbee moved from the middle of the street to the west side to make way for the Chrysler to pass. Nick slowed the car down. I knew one of the girls. The other girl I had never seen before. She had long, dark brown hair,a great tan and the a beautiful face. She wore cut-off jean shorts and a tight pink shirt. She appeared to not be wearing a bra and had fantastic breasts. I remember wondering if she would be in high school in September. She was something else. I had all kinds of crazy thoughts go through my mind all in a split second. That second of bliss came crashing to a halt when Nick, in his trademark macaroni and cheese voice said "nice titties!" right out loud to my dream girl. She just stared at him with a look of disgust, still looking totally sexy though. I wondered if I hid my face fast enough, would she not notice that I was in the car. I was going to need to find her as soon as school started. I am not exaggerating when I say that she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. And yes, nice titties. The most beautiful I had ever seen. Then, it was over and we were turning right onto Gardenia and off to more boredom.

The summer of 1976 for us was finalized the day before school began. It was a very gray, cold and rainy day. Cousin Steve, Nick Giachetti, Terry Lampman and myself decided we had to do something fun on that day. We drove to Stoney Creek which was a beach that also rented little sail boats. Since it wasn't beach weather, we decided to rent two sail boats. Steve and Terry were both experienced sailors, Nick and myself were not. So, it only made sense that the experienced shared a boat leaving Nick and I to sail out into the middle of the lake and get stuck there for what seemed like hours. We had no idea what to do. A guy in a boat with a motor on it was heading in our direction and Nick wondered out loud if maybe he would give us a ride or tow us back to shore.
The guy looked like he was coming to help. He got closer and closer and just passed us like nothing. When it was clear that he wasn't going to save us, Nick yelled, "hey give us a ride, ya son of a fucker!"
We finally caught a nice breeze that brought us in. We left Stoney Creek wet and cold and drove home in cousin Steve's green Nova. A bad last day of summer to say the least.

The highlight of my summer though was the girl on Wilson Avenue. I can still see her in her pink shirt,cut-offs and those pretty brown legs. I don't think you understand, I see her like it was yesterday afternoon. What a face! And, in Nick Lapuma's own words, nice titties!

Cows

Cow tipping has never happened. It's a fact. Cow tipping is an urban legend. If it had ever been done, there would be videos of it on YouTube. There are videos of everything on YouTube. So, next time someone says that they or someone they know have cow tipped, cut them off.


One time while driving out in the country up north in Michigan, I saw a bunch of black and white cows grazing on a big grassy hillside. I had some black and white infra-red film in my camera so I pulled over to shoot some pictures of these cows. I got as close as possible. There was a fence that consisted of only two thin wires that were about two feet apart and strung onto some green vertical spikes that were stuck into the ground. The cows were too far away to really get anything good. As I stood there trying to figure out what to do about this, the cows magically came over to see what I was doing. They came right up to the fence. I knelt down and began to shoot. We were face to face and it looked great through the lens. I got real close. So close that I could feel the hair on the back of my hand gently brush the top wire of the fence. Feeling that wire made me want to steady the camera by resting my hands on it. I wondered if it was an electric fence and looked around to see if there were any signs posted. No signs. I figured that it was not an electric fence.



I rested my hands and got a very strong jolt of electricity which threw me on my ass. The first thing I remember thinking after the initial shock (pun intended) was, at least I didn't drop my Nikon F2-AS. When I got back up to resume shooting, the cows had run away. The commotion had scared them.

From time to time I think about the electric fence. I don't know why. I wouldn't ever want it to happen again but for some reason, I'm glad it happened. I would recommend it to most people.



Here's a story I've heard more than once from totally unrelated people.

After smoking a lot of pot and or hash, some people took a really long strand of a girl's hair and put it on a fly. Like a leash. They then flew the fly all around the room. In some versions of this story, the fly is high also. This was done by exhaling the smoke into a glass and putting it upside down on a table with the fly inside. He then had no choice but to get real high. Then, it was easier to put the "hair leash" on him. This story is completely made up. You would need the hands of a surgeon to tie hair around a fly's body or neck(if flies even have necks).



If you love milk, half and half, heavy cream, butter, steak, hamburgers, leather jackets or shoes,
next time you see a pasture of cows, throw them some change and thank them for all they've given you. Cow tipping.

Love

To Mother

Love is a beautiful thing. Love starts as a small seed. When the seed is planted in some one's heart, the love seed grows and grows. One day it is no longer a seed but a tree filled with enough love for every thing or animal. Everybody has a seed. Even the burglar and killers and other people like that have seeds. But nobody will help them to plant their seeds. Often branches of the love tree break off but they are replaced most of the time. If everybody grew their seeds, there would be enough love for five worlds. But unfortunately that is not so. Even so, the world will always be filled with trees and breaking branches and falling leaves, but "Love" will always be a beautiful thing.

THE END



This story was written by my dear friend of 30+ years, Tinkerbell Wilson. She wrote this on Easter, April 22, 1973. She was 9 and 11/12 years old and already filled with much wisdom.