ELSON IRWIN writes:
What I would tell the world would be what my father told me on his deathbed when I was just eleven years old. He knew, of course, that I was a great western movie fan, so he said to me, "Elson, always ride the white horse." It didn't take a nuclear scientist to understand that bit of advice.
In the majority of the old western films, the "good guy" rode the white horse: Buck Jones, Hopalong Cassidy, the Lone Ranger, Bob Steele, Charles Starrett, Ken Maynard. (Several didn't such as Gene Autry and that Roy feller, but then, they weren't real cowboys.) The super "good" guys rode white horses and wore white hats. There was a certain significance in that. The bad guys wore black hats and had black mustaches. To this very day, it is difficult for me to trust anyone who has a black mustache. So, the immortal words are: "Ride the White Horse." I have tried to live by that credo. I have not always succeeded, but it's kept me out of jail.
I would like to have etched on my tombstone: "He rode the white horse."
JR: Elson is responding to Joe Holly's question "If you had the opportunity to tell the world one thing, what would that one thing be?" I like Elson's answer because it is only five words, yet it carries so much meaning.
Monday, February 11, 2008
THE TIES THAT BIND
JERRY RIFE writes:
In the '60s and '70s, a quick glance at the UT staff would have given the impression that we were all cut from the same bolt of cloth. Perhaps more than anything, that impression was conveyed by a simple strip of clothing, the necktie.
Every man wore one. (And since there were few women in the newsroom, that meant nearly every person) Photographers, whether shooting a bloody corpse or a society matron, would not have been caught dead without a tie neatly tied.
At first, the neckties were dark and subdued. They gave an air of gravitas while being able to hide a gravy stain. As the decade rolled on, newsroom ties exploded in a riot of color and design. They blossomed like flowers in springtime.
But it is the nature of flowers to wither and die. So too was the tie to fall from our collective neck like some pooped pansy.
When this picture was taken in September of 1981, autumn had already arrived for the UT necktie. Like the last rose of summer, a tie-adorned Charlie Sick was faced with a changing climate. The open-collared ruffians are (l-r, in back) Don Bartletti, Barry Fitzsimmons, Phil McMahan, Joe Holly, Jerry Rife, John Gibbins and George Smith.
I forget the name of the guy fingering Charlie's tie.
But I remember so well the time when the tie died.
Note: I well remember both the ties and the outrageous "psychedelic" colors and patterns of the 70's. Sally used to find the most ridiculous material and then hand make mine, about six inches wide, pink, orange, flourescent purple... and glow-in-the-dark would have been at the top of the wish list.
SECURITY, SECURITY, SECURITY
BILL OSBORNE writes:
Here's a potential new thread: U-T security guards. These are almost invariably good people who work hard and do what they can to uphold the best interests of the company. Over the years many of them become members of the club of people we see every day and people we miss when suddenly we don't see them anymore, regretting that we did not make a greater effort to engage them. Still, there are some great stories about our security people.
Here's one of them: Back in the early or mid-1970s, during the days of the Arab oil embargo and odd-even gasoline rationing, there was a reporter at the Tribune named Bob Dorn, an iconoclastic fellow whose name has come up a couple times before in the 919 newsletter. Bob and I rented the Cardiff home of Union financial writer Wayne Carpenter while he was sailing around the world with his family, but we could not carpool to work during the gas crisis because of significantly different schedules. Bob drove an ugly yellow Fiat with windows that were forever coated with the slobber of his mangy but lovable dog, Sumo. One day at work, Bob discovered that his Fiat was out of gas in the parking lot. The car next to his belonged to fellow Trib reporter Barbara Herrera, so Bob asked Barbara if he could siphon a gallon or so of gas from her car to get him going. She agreed and Bob started doing his siphon thing. As Bob told the story, the next thing he knew there was a U-T security guard behind him, gun drawn, demanding that he halt the gas thievery. Bob, who on any given day could easily pass for a gas thief, talked fast and all ended well, with no casualties. But Bob spent the rest of the day calculating the odds of whether that security guard was the one who carried the bullet that day.
Here's a potential new thread: U-T security guards. These are almost invariably good people who work hard and do what they can to uphold the best interests of the company. Over the years many of them become members of the club of people we see every day and people we miss when suddenly we don't see them anymore, regretting that we did not make a greater effort to engage them. Still, there are some great stories about our security people.
Here's one of them: Back in the early or mid-1970s, during the days of the Arab oil embargo and odd-even gasoline rationing, there was a reporter at the Tribune named Bob Dorn, an iconoclastic fellow whose name has come up a couple times before in the 919 newsletter. Bob and I rented the Cardiff home of Union financial writer Wayne Carpenter while he was sailing around the world with his family, but we could not carpool to work during the gas crisis because of significantly different schedules. Bob drove an ugly yellow Fiat with windows that were forever coated with the slobber of his mangy but lovable dog, Sumo. One day at work, Bob discovered that his Fiat was out of gas in the parking lot. The car next to his belonged to fellow Trib reporter Barbara Herrera, so Bob asked Barbara if he could siphon a gallon or so of gas from her car to get him going. She agreed and Bob started doing his siphon thing. As Bob told the story, the next thing he knew there was a U-T security guard behind him, gun drawn, demanding that he halt the gas thievery. Bob, who on any given day could easily pass for a gas thief, talked fast and all ended well, with no casualties. But Bob spent the rest of the day calculating the odds of whether that security guard was the one who carried the bullet that day.
Were you really a newspaper man, Grandpa?
JOHN PRICE writes:
This is John Price on my Yahoo address on the road. I can't access my regular email. I am on a business trip to Florida. I know, so sad that I had to leave the snow and sub-zero weather of Idaho for global warming or whatever you have to suffer through here in Florida in the winter, but such is the call of business.
I just want to agree with you one hundred percent on writing our life history. My family has done that for probably 150 years and even though some of them are little snippets of information, they are absolute treasures. When I read about things like their feelings for home and hearth in England as they were leaving for the wilds of America, I can understand who they were a little better and what they faced in life. That is precious to me if no one else.
Shortly after I joined this group, I opened a blog called "My Newspaper Days." I have been posting some of my own experiences, as well as some of yours that apply to me. I was surprised at the reaction from my own children. They love it! I have saved ALL the 919 messages and plan to sort through them and post or archive a lot more when I get older and have more time ... that's a joke! ... the older and more time thing. But like it or not, our era is passing, and the next generation will probably have no idea what a big-city newspaper was about or what being a newspaper man/woman in the twentieth century meant. We helped create that mystique. That should be recorded for those who are going to live in a society that will never understand the experience that was a major part of our lives and indeed, a major part of our society. I want my kids and grandkids to know about all of you and what role the U-T, with all its warts and blemishes, played in my life and in the world we shared. Thanks Jack, to you and all the rest of you 919ers.
JOHN PRICE writes:
Dateline: Ocala Florida, working.
Greetings from my laptop neatly propped on my chest as I recline beside the pool. I left Idaho last week after a rather nasty snowstorm when we had to squeeze with both hands to get 19 degrees out of the thermometer (that's up from sub-zero the week before). Today it was 89 degrees without a snowflake in sight. The guy I have been working with is from Alabama and asked a rather significant question: Why do you live in country that gets that cold? Boy, will he be surprised when I come up with an answer.
Joe Holly. I discovered I don't have my blog address in this computer but will post it when I get home. In the meantime, I am absolutely delighted by the genius of your "One Thing I Would Tell The World" concept. I deeply apprehend that responses by some of our group may forever change society, at least as we perceive it, but this is going to be GOOD!
Chuck Boyd. Next time I visit my son in Savannah I will call and see if I can find my way to Charleston
Nash Metropolitan: I had a turqouise and white convertible that was a little charmer. And the gearshift was indeed almost on the column,but the column was a bit too short. The manual shift lever actually stuck out of a bulge in the dashboard just below the speedo. Very innovative. Wish I had that little car back.
OK, I really have to turn over now, but I cannot figure how to type in that position.
This is John Price on my Yahoo address on the road. I can't access my regular email. I am on a business trip to Florida. I know, so sad that I had to leave the snow and sub-zero weather of Idaho for global warming or whatever you have to suffer through here in Florida in the winter, but such is the call of business.
I just want to agree with you one hundred percent on writing our life history. My family has done that for probably 150 years and even though some of them are little snippets of information, they are absolute treasures. When I read about things like their feelings for home and hearth in England as they were leaving for the wilds of America, I can understand who they were a little better and what they faced in life. That is precious to me if no one else.
Shortly after I joined this group, I opened a blog called "My Newspaper Days." I have been posting some of my own experiences, as well as some of yours that apply to me. I was surprised at the reaction from my own children. They love it! I have saved ALL the 919 messages and plan to sort through them and post or archive a lot more when I get older and have more time ... that's a joke! ... the older and more time thing. But like it or not, our era is passing, and the next generation will probably have no idea what a big-city newspaper was about or what being a newspaper man/woman in the twentieth century meant. We helped create that mystique. That should be recorded for those who are going to live in a society that will never understand the experience that was a major part of our lives and indeed, a major part of our society. I want my kids and grandkids to know about all of you and what role the U-T, with all its warts and blemishes, played in my life and in the world we shared. Thanks Jack, to you and all the rest of you 919ers.
JOHN PRICE writes:
Dateline: Ocala Florida, working.
Greetings from my laptop neatly propped on my chest as I recline beside the pool. I left Idaho last week after a rather nasty snowstorm when we had to squeeze with both hands to get 19 degrees out of the thermometer (that's up from sub-zero the week before). Today it was 89 degrees without a snowflake in sight. The guy I have been working with is from Alabama and asked a rather significant question: Why do you live in country that gets that cold? Boy, will he be surprised when I come up with an answer.
Joe Holly. I discovered I don't have my blog address in this computer but will post it when I get home. In the meantime, I am absolutely delighted by the genius of your "One Thing I Would Tell The World" concept. I deeply apprehend that responses by some of our group may forever change society, at least as we perceive it, but this is going to be GOOD!
Chuck Boyd. Next time I visit my son in Savannah I will call and see if I can find my way to Charleston
Nash Metropolitan: I had a turqouise and white convertible that was a little charmer. And the gearshift was indeed almost on the column,but the column was a bit too short. The manual shift lever actually stuck out of a bulge in the dashboard just below the speedo. Very innovative. Wish I had that little car back.
OK, I really have to turn over now, but I cannot figure how to type in that position.
Friday, January 11, 2008
One comment on two subjects.
I was always of the opinion that tipping was a thank you for good service and I confess that I may have been a bit impecunious in my gratuities. Then my daughter waited tables while at college, and I learned that these young folks are frequently paid only about half the minimum wage. I guess the theory is that generouos tips will make up the difference. I also learned that in its infinite wisdom, the IRS has determined that all food service employees receive full and benevolent tips all the time. And since the tips are obviously paid in large amounts of cash, the employees are told what amount to claim on their taxes whether they receive it or not. I don't know how one would figure what tips a person should have received over a year of waiting tables, but I am certain beyond doubt that the IRS has a very fair and equitable formula so that these wealthy waitresses and layabout busboys don't embark on a life of crime by defrauding the government of its fair share. I am much more generous now and I no longer consider over-tipping a mortal sin.
Like Jerry Remmers, I too embarked on a leisurely drive down Highway 1 in a 30-foot motor home; the one that Joe Holly and I shared. It was a lovely drive... for the first five miles. Then I found that herding a rolling motel around tight curve after tighter curve, flirting with spectacular drops into the ocean on one side and picturesque solid stone cliffs on the other, all the while leading a long parade of impatient Camaros and irate Porsches at 15 miles per hour across those narrow bridges was a lot of work! By the time we reached safe terrain, I was exhausted, and my arms felt six inches longer from pulling on the steering wheel. My wife was in a state of fear-induced catatonia and the only scenery either of us had seen the whole trip was when we would open our eyes to see how close the dropoff at the edge of the earth was coming to our wheels. The kids loved it and wanted to "do it again!"
I was always of the opinion that tipping was a thank you for good service and I confess that I may have been a bit impecunious in my gratuities. Then my daughter waited tables while at college, and I learned that these young folks are frequently paid only about half the minimum wage. I guess the theory is that generouos tips will make up the difference. I also learned that in its infinite wisdom, the IRS has determined that all food service employees receive full and benevolent tips all the time. And since the tips are obviously paid in large amounts of cash, the employees are told what amount to claim on their taxes whether they receive it or not. I don't know how one would figure what tips a person should have received over a year of waiting tables, but I am certain beyond doubt that the IRS has a very fair and equitable formula so that these wealthy waitresses and layabout busboys don't embark on a life of crime by defrauding the government of its fair share. I am much more generous now and I no longer consider over-tipping a mortal sin.
Like Jerry Remmers, I too embarked on a leisurely drive down Highway 1 in a 30-foot motor home; the one that Joe Holly and I shared. It was a lovely drive... for the first five miles. Then I found that herding a rolling motel around tight curve after tighter curve, flirting with spectacular drops into the ocean on one side and picturesque solid stone cliffs on the other, all the while leading a long parade of impatient Camaros and irate Porsches at 15 miles per hour across those narrow bridges was a lot of work! By the time we reached safe terrain, I was exhausted, and my arms felt six inches longer from pulling on the steering wheel. My wife was in a state of fear-induced catatonia and the only scenery either of us had seen the whole trip was when we would open our eyes to see how close the dropoff at the edge of the earth was coming to our wheels. The kids loved it and wanted to "do it again!"
Friday, December 21, 2007
I never did encounter “Trib” , the gorilla donated to the SD Zoo by Jim Copley, but I cuddled Alvila who at the time was a twenty pound black fuzzy baby. I was doing a story on the nursery at the zoo and it was feeding time. I don’t recall if I fed Alvila her bottle or just dandled her on my knee until time for her nap. I do know I did NOT change her diaper. That was 40 years ago. I saw a recent blurb for the zoo, and it featured my little buddy Alvila, a handsome figure to be sure, all 800 plus pounds of her. I imagine she can sleep anywhere she wants!
I also had the occasion to drop over to the Civic Theater to do a photo of Beverly Sills. I am not a fan of opera, I am too culture-deficient, but I had an absolutely pleasant photo session with her in her dressing room. She was a remarkably friendly and charming person, especially for a ‘big name’. I suppose that is why she was known as “Bubbles” Hers is the only photo of an opera personality that I bothered to keep. I would also put Charlton Heston and Carol Burnett in that class of biggies who seemed to be genuinely nice folks, which niceness was not just part of their public personna.
Monday, October 29, 2007
San Diego Fires
Photo by John Gibbons, UT
Photo by Charlie Neuman, UT
For the past week, there have been devastating fires in San Diego. Over 500,000 people were evacuated and 1500 homes were destroyed. The 919 Gang was offline for a week as Jack Reber was unable to go to his home in Ramona. His, and all the others that I have heard of from the 919 gang, homes were safe. I sent him this message today:I was very glad to see you came out of the fires relatively unscathed, Jack. I covered several of those nasty things for the UT and understand how devastating they can be. I happened to be in SD a couple of years ago when they tried to burn Tierra Santa etc, and got a good reminder of why they call them "wild fires" My wife's cousin lives south of Mission Valley and had houses all around him burn but the fire chose not to come up his canyon.
Is there anything that 'outsiders' can do to help? Perhaps a 919er or someone in Ramona you know of who needs ??? Or after things calm down a bit, there might be someone, older or widowed etc. There are a myriad little things that get forgotten in a disaster. I have had two brothers lose their homes to fires and I understand a bit about that. I suspect there are a lot of folks in this group who would be glad to help if they knew who or where or how.
My son Nathan and our Spanish exchange student Javier and I went to Hawaii several months after hurricane Iniki blasted through Kauai in 1992. It is the worst recorded storm in the islands and there were lots of folks who had no insurance or assistance and were living in temporary digs, even tents. Others had their roofs blown away and were living under huge blue tarps that covered their houses, while they tried to gather enough money to start repairs. We were able to join one of the work gangs for a week or so. The gangs were simply neighbors helping neighbors to start the re-building process when there was no more help coming from outside. We helped take off damaged roofs, tore an unsalvageable building down, helped clear the debris. It was not all hard work though. There were other neighbors who brought incredible Hawaiian food around for the crews! They were simply trying to give each other a little breathing room as they figured how to start their lives over.
Nathan, Javier and I also helped an old kamaaina Hawaiian named Tony Wong put a new roof on his house after his insurance company went bankrupt. Tony had gotten shingles somewhere but had no money to pay anyone to put them up. He was too old to climb the ladders or help shingle, but he easily made up for it by telling us non-stop stories about his life on the island while we worked. What a great experience for my son and me... and Tony's new red roof was the pride of Kekaha Road... even if the shingle lines are a bit wavy.
Email from Jerry Windle:
John,
You been gone longer than I but I kind of missed being in the thick of the wildfires this time around now that I are retired. Last time in 2003, I worked non-stop for several days. One lab tech was sick and the other had been evacuated so I worked 10-12 hour days. Even though I was not out there on the lines, I was in the newsroom downloading digital photos and placing them in the archive system and folders so the editors could easily find them. I enjoyed sitting there and listening to all the bickering going on behind me.
I never got into the politics of the newsroom. When they combined the papers in 1992, I got "reclassified" taking an $8,000 loss per year in income so I was bitter for several years and finally realized there was more to life than the UT so I went in did my job and that was it. Usually did a lot of personal work as well - that is once the company work was done.
Kind of like an old race horse, I wanted to be back in the fray of things again.
My reply:
Hey Jerry.... Yeah, I miss it. Its the old firehorse thing I suppose. I watched the fires on TV and found myself thinking... if I were on that little ridge right there, I could get SUCH a picture of that fire snake running up the other canyon!!! It was so much fun back then, how could we not get all nervous and twitchy? But I am also realistic. I would never want to go back, even if I could. I remember the politics and the stress... ok, spell that BS... and the long boring stuff with those three ladies and that stupid piece of paper... But the rest sure was fun wassnit?
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