Category: Childhood Memories

1980's, Childhood Memories

Friday Night At The Mall

Long before Katy Perry sang about dancing on table tops and getting kicked out of bars I was mastering the art of Friday night. And there’s one particular one that I’ll always remember.

It’s a Friday night in the early 1980’s and my friend Mike and I are hopping into the back seat of his Mom’s old blue station wagon and being chauffeur driven to the Palmer Park Mall. Thirty years ago, being a teenager at the mall on a Friday night was on par with going to the “Dip-and-Dances” at the Palmer Pool in the summer or hanging out with a bunch of classmates after a school event at Penn Pizza. Even if you weren’t popular, if you made it to the mall on Friday night you were part of the in-crowd.

You see getting dropped off at the mall and left alone by your parents moved you up three notches on the coolness meter. Personally, it was also the perfect opportunity for me to showcase my chiseled teenage abs and Sylvester Stallone looks. My red Members Only jacket and my Jordache jeans. Ok, I made up that last part. I really didn’t wear Jordache jeans.

But a typical Friday night excursion to the mall was always exciting for me. It was a chance to see all the kids from school outside of the element. No teachers, pencils or homework assignments. More importantly, it was also a chance to see the hottest girls from school too. Oh sure, I’d always see a few of them here or there roaming the halls all week but in the mall environment they ALWAYS gathered together in some kind of sorority. And although I knew my shyness would inevitably hinder any chance I had at any real conversation with those of the female persuasion, I’d still be polishing up my “Hey Baby” lines as we’d pull into the parking lot.

It wouldn’t be long now before the smell of pizza and feel of Orange Julius running down my arm would put any thought of romance on hold as there were more “male” dominated matters to attend to. Mike’s mom gave us the usual time and rendezvous point to meet up with her for our journey home and at this point, the entire mall was ours.

With no I-Tunes or Internet access of any sort, unless you consider the useless modem that I had for my Commodore Vic-20 computer, being at the mall was the only chance I had to stop into the Listening Booth record store and seek out new music. On good days, today being one of them, I had extra money and with that, the opportunity to buy my very first record album which I eagerly did.

With new music now in hand, Mike and I made our way down around the furthest corner of the mall. Well past The Gap, Pearle Vision Center and Waldenbooks store. A place that was always dark and mysterious. Kind of like some seedy back alley. One of those places where there might be a bunch of people playing an illegal poker game in some smoke-filled back room and you needed a special knock just to be allowed entrance.

Only one thought came to mind as we approached: My pockets have gone through six days of pregnancy with quarters and it was now time for delivery.

I could not wait for the chance to open a can of whoop ass on Mike again playing Space Invaders or Pac-Man. I was feeling particularly lucky this evening which wasn’t a good thing for Mike. Tonight was going to be a good night. I pictured my initials being emblazoned upon all of the top spots of the machine. I was more than ready to place my quarter on the console while someone else was playing and reserve it. You see, there’s a certain unwritten rule about strategically placing your two-bits on the machine that even the meanest of children abide by. It’s the customary thing to do to indicate to the kid currently playing that: “Dude, once your ass is dead, this machine is mine!”

As we slowly entered the darkened Fun Attic arcade it sounded like a scene right out of The Empire Strikes Back. Machines beeping and flashing as far as the eye could see. Teenage Boy Nirvana. Nothing but kids congregating with each other around machines in an attempt to dominate at Pole Position or vanquish the evil Donkey Kong once and for all.

I was always conservative when it came to my video games. Although most kids were now on to bigger and better things I relished being one of the last old school players who much preferred dominating on mindless games like Space Invaders. So you can imagine the shock when I discovered that the Space Invaders machine had been replaced. Apparently, the brilliant minds at Fun Attic had decided to take away the only game I’d ever love.

But that’s when I saw it: Dragon’s Lair.

It sat alone in the middle of the arcade, right where Space Invaders once sat. Beneath a single spotlight that I’m sure was always there but some how never noticed before. It was almost as if it were the Hope diamond on display in some museum.

The machine read “50¢ a play” – fully DOUBLE the cost of three lives on a traditional machine. But as I stood there in awe watching the movie preview enticing me to dump Mario and Ms. Pac-Man to save Daphne the princess and defeat the dragon, I realized I had no choice.

I spent every last quarter I had on that game and loved every minute of it. As I progressed through the levels I took notice that a gaggle of girls from the Palmer Mall Sorority were now lining up around me to watch and cheer me on. Something that never happened while I was playing those “other” games, or at all for that matter.

It didn’t take me long to realize that in addition to this game being the coolest thing ever, it was also a chick magnet. I felt like a rock star maneuvering through the catacombs of the dungeon to the delight of those observing.  Even Mike, my loyal compadre, who normally would have beckoned me over to play pinball by now still stood by my side: my wing man.

When the last of my quarters was gone without rescuing the princess and the girls went back to doing whatever it was girls did my life suddenly had new meaning: I needed to defeat the dragon and impress the ladies.

We soon met up with Mike’s mom at the rendezvous point and were en route back home. And although I had originally planned to just listen to my new music all weekend I couldn’t help but also think about how I needed to double my quarter intake in six days.

Because next Friday night, we were going to do it all again.

Childhood Memories, Life, Summer

Young As I Want To Be

A re-post from last Summer. Sort of fits my mood today…

I can now say that I’ve officially heard it and crossed over. Yesterday I metamorphosed into that dreaded three-letter word: OLD.

I have to admit I’ve never thought of myself as that word. THAT word is reserved for people much more advanced in age then I am. People who grew up listening to Peter, Paul and Mary. Ones whose parents used to give them enemas at the slightest fever or notion that the child’s bowel habits weren’t normal. Not for someone as cool, and young, as me.

I still do most of the same stuff I did as a child. I play guitar, love to read the box while eating bowls of Count Chocula and Cap’n Crunch, watch Ultraman and Godzilla movies, mow the grass and take out the garbage. Heck, I’m still fourteen years old if you really want to know. All that’s missing is some more hair on my head and the loss of the forty pounds or so I’ve gained. Ok, so I have to do my own laundry now, go to work every day, make my bed without being told and fix things around the house when they break but that shouldn’t put me in the elderly category should it?

And I confess, when I look in the mirror there’s now some gray in the beard but that’s been there for years and no one has ever said a word about it. Plus I’ve done a pretty good job at covering it up. Just for Men is working just fine thank you very much.

Anyway where was I? Oh yes, the cross over to becoming so-called “old”. I was at my daughter’s softball league end of year celebration yesterday. The girls all enjoyed a final round of ten-year old camaraderie, along with a side of pizza and then walked with their parents over to the local ice cream stand for a sugar rush farewell.

I’ve been good with watching what I eat so I declined the ice cream and just sat down at one of the tables while the other girls and their parents stood in line. For some reason, eating a lot of that stuff now makes me gain weight and I can’t figure out why. It never used to do that. Regardless, I did enjoy watching the girls giggling with each other and discussing the season while vanilla ice cream ran down their arms. Early summer fun at it’s finest.

At one point, I noticed a familiar woman standing in line with her daughter as well. Someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was a girl I went to school with so I went over to say hello.

It was fun catching up with her in the short time we were there. We laughed discussing what all of our classmates were doing now and the lives they were leading. “Wasn’t it just yesterday we were all in science class together?” I thought. “Yes, it must have been”. But then I did the unthinkable. I asked her if she could believe that next year was going to be our 25th class reunion and in retrospect, I think that’s what was the precursor to what happened next.

After sitting back down with my daughter at the table she quickly made a public service announcement. “All team members sit at this table!” she proclaimed. At which point, a gaggle of girls started sitting down at the table with us. It sure felt great to be enjoying a moment with my baby girl and her teammates. Apparently though, one of the girls thought something was out-of-place at the table.

The little whipper snapper pointed to another table where parents were sitting, looked at me and snidley said: “This table is for the girls, THAT table over there is for the OLD people”.  I quickly tried to think of something to say, a witty comeback perhaps. Sadly, all I could muster was “Hey, I’m not old YOU’RE old!!” But all that did was cause the rest of the girls to jump to her defense. You’ve got to love the way teammates stick up for each other.

Eventually, and after much resistance, I slowly got up and walked over to the other men and women who were more close to my height ( I refuse to say “age”).  And do not for a minute think that me leaving the table is an admission that I am actually “old” because I’m not. The fact is, I could have battled those girls all night. I just didn’t want to make them look bad in front of their parents. No, in my mind, I’m still as young as I want to be. No matter what any ten-year old thinks.

On the drive home, and while she was looking out the window, I got even with my daughter for the comment about team members sitting at the table. I stuck my index finger in my mouth, moistened it and then reached over and gave her the wet willy. “DAD!! KNOCK IT OFF!”, she screamed as I laughed out loud.

There I go again, being childish.

Childhood Memories, Life

Go Fishing

Good weekend. Have you ever gotten lucky enough to spend time on the water? Yeah, fishing. Sometimes it’s not about the fishing it’s about that talk and the people. When it’s deep enough it is life long. Go fishing.

~ Frankie Sullivan

I read that post today and it conjured up memories of a time long past for me.  Carefree days of youth that up until this very moment I had recessed deeply in my mind. Fishing was never something I was very into doing. Quite frankly, it’s something I haven’t done in a quite a long time and after today, I’m beginning to wonder why that’s been the case.

Not too far from my home runs the Bushkill Creek, once a popular water way for local fishermen and one that was also well-loved by most children who grew up during the early 1980’s. The coolness factor of the creek for kids was actually two-fold: for not only did the flowing waters of the creek run adjacent to the Crayola Crayon factory but its waters also ran next to a hundred year old amusement park, now long since closed, but one that my family visited religiously every summer while I was growing up.

On many weekends during those same warm summer days, days when “back to school” was not even a blip on the radar, my father would gather the rod and tackle box, hustle me into our ’77 Malibu and take me fishing at the Bushkill Creek.

Making our way down the hillside towards the creek with my pole dangling back and forth was exhilarating. The challenge that awaited: casting a piece of string with bait attached into the water and waiting. Waiting for a strike.

To a ten-year old boy there simply was nothing that compared to the opportunity of catching a trout in front of your father. It was better than coming home with an “A” on a test or hitting a home-run in Little League. I surmise it’s the same feeling you get while watching the announcement of Power Ball numbers on television. The build-up of excitement you get as each number called matches the one on your ticket. The opportunity you sometimes get of only needing one more number to win the jackpot. In reality though, fish or no fish, just being there with my father was like winning the lottery.

If I think back hard enough I can still picture the mist rising off of the creek and feel the warm breeze on my face. There really is something to be said for being next to a body of water. Most of the time, if we were lucky, there would not be another soul around either. It would just be me and my father alone. Not far from our house but still one with nature.

Silence was golden during our trips to the creek too. The fish required it and we were happy to oblige. But there’s also a certain “language” used between fishermen that only they can understand. Anticipating what each one is doing and assisting as necessary. So while I quietly opened the tackle box, my father, without saying a word, would begin adjusting our poles for proper casting. The only sounds made was the squeal of the reel and the “plop” of bait into sea. At this point, we’d both sit on the ground and then…silence.

Silence.

At a certain point during our time together I’d find myself shuffling closer to my father with my legs dangling over the edge of the creek. I wasn’t really sure why I did it. As a child, perhaps it was because I assumed that by doing so some of his “grown-up” fishing magic would rub off on me. But in retrospect and with my own wisdom of years I now know that it was simply the need to just to be closer to him.

After a few unsuccessful hours we’d begin packing up our gear. My father would pat me on the back and we’d make our way empty-handed back up the hill and steer off towards home. On the drive home, and with the sun beginning to set on another perfect day, we’d make a pact with each other to try again the following weekend. Only this time with success.

You know, in all of the fishing expeditions my father and I took together to the Bushkill Creek I don’t ever recall getting anything more than a single bite or two. And I don’t think I personally ever actually caught a single fish either.

Instead, I caught something even better.

Thanks Frankie.

Childhood Memories, Music, Thought and Opinion

Eye Of The Tiger: My Journey With Survivor

It was a hot summer night almost thirty years ago when my neighbors drug my brother and I to the movies to see the third installment of the Rocky Balboa franchise. Not that we went kicking and screaming mind you. Any opportunity for teenage boys to get out of the house was most welcome. No, it’s just that we would have much preferred to see “Poltergeist” or better still, sneak into see the R-rated “Fast Times At Ridgemont High”. Looking back now though I’m glad we chose to consume large quantities of popcorn and Coke with Sly Stallone instead of Jeff Spicoli.

Rocky III was the film that first introduced me to Mr. T, the mo-hawked muscle man who would go on to pity fools for the remainder of the 1980’s and beyond. But Rocky III also introduced me to something else: something even more powerful than Mr. T’s gold chains or feathered earrings. It was also the film where I first heard the now infamous guitar riff for a song from a band that would change my life: Eye Of The Tiger by Survivor.

Written by Frankie Sullivan and Jim Peterik and sung by Dave Bickler (who would later achieve great fame as the singer on the Real Men Of Genius Bud Lite commercials), the theme from Rocky III is still as popular as ever three decades later. Along with winning a Grammy the song was also nominated for an Academy Award, became the #1 song of 1982, has to date over 2.5 million downloads on iTunes and ranks as the #3 best song to workout to according to Men’s Health magazine.

The band would strike Rocky gold again a few years later when the song “Burning Heart” was released as part of the Rocky IV soundtrack. Although this song didn’t fare quite as well as Tiger, the music from Survivor continues to be both inspirational and motivating to me. As you’ll soon discover, the seed planted with Eye of the Tiger would not only begin my admiration for the band but would ultimately become the spark that would fuel my life and music for years to come.

When I first started playing guitar in 1984 a new Survivor album was already making its way up the charts. Vital Signs was the first album to feature new singer Jimi Jamison on vocals and was the very first record I ever purchased. (Jamison would later go on to sing the infamous theme from the television show Baywatch). Songs like “I Can’t Hold Back“, “High on You” and “The Search is Over” were getting tremendous airplay on both radio and the early days of  MTV(back when they used to play music videos). These were songs with melodies and lyrics that really spoke to me. Words of encouragement in my love less adolescent youth. Songs I wanted to learn how to play.

So while most other aspiring guitarists were locked away in lesson rooms with their guitar teachers learning Van-Halen and Def Leppard solos I was dragging my butt in with a menacing jet black Gibson Explorer asking my teacher to show me how to play “I See You In Everyone“, the final song on the Vital Signs album, note for note.

Now that I think about it I can still recall the puzzled look on my teacher’s face when I brought the album to lesson for the first time. And I can still picture him saying: “What, no RUSH?….No AC/DC?…No Bon Jovi?” and I’d just smile and think to myself, “Nope, even better!” For how could I possibly tell a man who grew up watching artists like The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin that the absolute best concert I ever saw in my life was Survivor and REO Speedwagon in 1985? But it was, and quite frankly still is, true.

By 1986 my longing for a new Survivor record was finally appeased. When Seconds Count was released and immediately consumed me. Songs like “How Much Love” and “Rebel Son” inspired a then seventeen year old boy to reach higher and the ballad “Man Against The World” made me want to track down keyboardist Jim Peterik himself and make him show me how to play its beautiful melody. By this point I think most of my friends knew that my whole Eye of The Tiger/Survivor phase wasn’t just a passing fad. In fact, one of my best memories of graduating high school was the post grad party my parents held where me and a bunch of other musician friends all set up our gear and played half of the Vital Signs record.

It wasn’t long before college came calling and once again Survivor was there with me. This time with 1988’s Too Hot To Sleep. I can’t begin to tell you how many trips across the miles of campus I made with “Didn’t Know it Was Love” and “Desperate Dreams” blaring on my Sony Walkman. Although the band themselves consider this to be their best album the fact that it didn’t achieve big commercial success didn’t bother me one bit. For me, much like them, it’s always been about the music and this one delivered the goods.

Once college life was over the job of real “work” began. While playing my part in the 9-5 crowd over the years I’d keep myself busy in the musical groove by writing and performing in various bands. All the while I’d find myself writing songs that were influenced by the amazing songs from those Survivor records. Unfortunately it would be quite a while before I would hear any new music from the band other than from compilation albums. Unless of course you count that hilarious Starbucks commercial.

Finally in 2006 a brand new album, Reach was released and listening to the first song and title track was a much welcomed slap in the face. The blaring guitars and drums told me that at long last the Tiger was back. I immediately proclaimed, to myself anyway, that this song should be the one they start every show with. This record not only featured guitarist Frankie Sullivan singing lead on few tracks but also contains the song “Fire Makes Steel”, yet another inspirational anthem which, go figure, was almost and should have been included in the film “Rocky Balboa”.

As you can see, I’m a huge fan of this band. I also know that the band has gone through several line-up changes over the years. Different singers, bass players and drummers have come and gone. There’s no need for me to know all the reasons why. I can personally attest to there being drama in every band so line-up changes are not at all that surprising. But it was unfortunate that Jimi Jamison, the voice that became synonymous with Survivor for me had left the group shortly after this record was released. Robin McAuley, most known for his work with McAuley Schenker Group would take over on lead vocals for subsequent tours over the next few years.

Flash forward to 2012: A surprise announcement was made that Jimi Jamison, who had released several well received solo albums since his departure five years ago, would once again be rejoining Survivor for a new album and tour. Having suffered for years listening to robotic voices and synthesized loops in what’s being peddled as “music” these days my prayers for real new music and songwriting from my favorite band is about to come true once again! To say that I’m excited is an understatement.

Ironically enough, it all seems to have come full circle for me. This “new” Survivor is going to happen nearly thirty years to the day since I first heard that guitar riff in the darkened movie theater. The summer night that changed everything for me. And the message of the song couldn’t be more true today:

Just a band and it’s will…to survive.

Childhood Memories, Movies and TV, Thought and Opinion

Rest in Peace Colonel Potter

Harry Morgan, the beloved actor best known for his role as Colonel Sherman T. Potter in the television series M*A*S*H died Wednesday morning December 7th. Irrelevant but no less ironic is the notion that the man best known for portraying a leader of a mobile army surgical hospital during wartime passed away on the 70th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Although Mr. Morgan lived a long life of ninety-six years news of his demise still hit me like a punch in the stomach. I wasn’t around for his early film roles and was much too young during his Dragnet days but M*A*S*H was always a staple in my home when I was growing up.

There wasn’t a week that would go by, most often on Monday nights, where my father would gather the family together around our state of the art 19″ television to watch the latest antics of the four-oh-double-seven. Most kids of the day would have much preferred to watch Little House On The Prairie but not us. We were regular army.

Sherman T. Potter reported for duty shortly after the demise of Lt Colonel Henry Blake and quickly became one of my favorite characters. I cried my eyes out the first time I saw the episode where Colonel Blake died in a plane crash on what was supposed to be his discharge from the army and journey stateside. It was that same punch-in-the-stomach feeling and I remember thinking even at that young age how hard it would be to replace a character like that. But a few episodes later along came Colonel Potter and the rest is television history.

The thing I liked most about Colonel Potter was that he didn’t take any crap. Countless times Corporal Klinger (the transvestite who wanted to get a section eight discharge) would come up with a new scheme to get out of the army and every time he was turned away by Sherm. My particular favorite being the time Klinger attempted to eat a Jeep and wound up in the infirmary. When told that Klinger was in the process of eating a Jeep the Colonel calmly responded “This too shall pass.”

M*A*S*H is one of those shows that never gets old. You can watch every episode from first to last (the finale which aired in 1983 still reigns as the most watched television episode ever) and they all still look new and relevant. The environment of a makeshift tent, the green combat fatigues, the hospital. Everything immortal. Which is something I also thought would hold true for Colonel Potter as well.

It’s funny, I have several seasons of M*A*S*H on DVD and rarely watch them. But whenever I happen upon a M*A*S*H marathon on TV Land I am hooked. Maybe it’s just a final memory of youth but for me the show ranks right up there with only The Three Stooges: one that gives a better viewing experience when stumbled upon while channel surfing.

So Godspeed to you dear Colonel Potter. You have served both your country, and my childhood well.

Childhood Memories, Thought and Opinion

The Thing About Christmas Photos

Last night, I found myself perusing through my old family photo album recalling days gone by. A few years ago, I had painstakingly organized hundreds of loose, old photographs into this particular volume and placed them by year as best as I could recall (some of which dating back to the early 1900’s).

I put them in the order of family events such as births, graduations, marriages etc. It took quite a while for me to get them into this chronological order, but now I have a time capsule of my family from a century ago until now.

Every so often, I like to recall a particular relative who is no longer with us, or perhaps the urge strikes to see just how deep of a purple the color of my bicycle was when I was eleven-years old. And once my curiosity has been satisfied, the album of memories quickly goes back on its shelf.

But last night was different. As I took a stroll down memory lane to recall an Aunt a familiar theme seemed to glare out at me from the pages of my family history: Christmas.

From the earliest years of black and white photos I noticed many that were taken around Christmas time. There were quite a few of my mother and her parents over the years striking poses with ornate Christmas trees in the background. I saw the young girl who would one day give birth to me standing with her doll next to an Evergleam aluminum Christmas tree. The smile on her face. The wonder in her eye. Christmas was coming.

I began to lament the fact that the photo wasn’t in color. I wanted to see the deep blues and greens that decorated the house, the color of her doll’s dress, the color of my mother’s cheeks. Maybe there was a huge snow storm and she had just come in from outside. I wondered how many days it was until Christmas.

Page after page, I was greeted with tidings of great joy. Photographs of long deceased relatives celebrating Christmas at my grandparent’s home. There were pictures of people eating, children unwrapping presents and even some solo shots of the annual Christmas tree itself. But there was one thing they all shared in common: the warmth of family.

I spent the longest time browsing the Christmas section of photos. Probably longer than I’ve looked at any of them in years. All the while I was thinking about where I was in my own life at the time they were taken and what I was feeling at the time. Then I began to wonder why I seemed to gravitate more towards these Christmas photos as opposed to other ones. Certainly my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary pictures from 1983 were more important than a picture of me with my first dog at some unknown Christmas was, right?

Wrong.

Aside from the religious and trivial commercialism that comes with it, here’s the thing you need to know about Christmas photos:

Christmas is the one holiday where memories are made and easily recalled with photographs. I can look through pile after pile of old Christmas photos and once again see the gaudy flashing star that sat atop the tree every year; the colored lights in the window and decorations that adorned the walls; the Polaroids of me sitting with my grandfather on his Archie Bunker recliner and even the year Santa brought me Stretch Armstrong and his buddy Stretch Monster.

Even though I may not be able to recall the exact year, I KNOW that they were taken sometime in December. It seems to me that Christmas photographs are the only ones where you can narrow down memories from years into days.

Here’s hoping you make more of your own this holiday.

Childhood Memories, Thought and Opinion

The McDonaldland Crime Syndicate

Back in the day if Mom and Dad drove anywhere passed a Mickey D’s you know darn well a whiny blonde haired boy in the back seat was begging them to make a pit stop. I loved seeing the Golden Arches. The burgers, the fries, the shakes…. I loved eating there. Much more so then as opposed to now because eating that stuff now tends to put weight on me for some unknown reason.

But I have to admit that the thing I loved the most about going to McDonalds in the 1970’s wasn’t the burgers or fries. No, the best thing about going to the place where billions and billions are served was another chance for me to see what Ronald McDonald and his homies were up to. Ronald sure had the coolest bunch of friends ever that all lived in their own world. A world filled with talking chicken mcnuggets, trash cans and trees. A world I got to visit for the most part only when my parents grew tired of listening to their whiny child on their way home from the store.

I still fondly recall trying to collect all of the promotional glasses and plates they’d have. Not because I’d ever utilize such items for eating or drinking again mind you. On the contrary, my goal was strictly to have something with the McDonaldland characters on it: the coolest bunch of dudes ever.

You know who they are. Characters like Ronald McDonald, Grimace, The Professor, Mayor McCheese, Big Mac and Birdie the Early Bird (for all you breakfast lovers out there).

On a whim the thought struck me today to read up on my old pals. What I found was shocking. Has anyone else noticed the evil crime syndicate that’s being run out of McDonaldland? Take a look at these biographies of characters and you tell me. Fatty fast food is the last thing our children need to be worried about. The truth is larceny has been running amok in McDonaldland:

Hamburglar – The Hamburglar was a pint-sized burglar who first appeared in March 1971 and was one of the first villains on the commercials. He is dressed in a black-and-white hooped shirt and pants, a red cape, a wide-brimmed hat, and red gloves. His primary object of theft was hamburgers.

 

 

 

Captain Crook – Captain Crook was a pirate who first appeared in July 1970 and is similar in appearance to the famed Captain Hook from Disney’s 1953 movie Peter Pan. Unlike the Hamburglar, this villain spent his time trying to steal Filet-O-Fish sandwiches from citizens of McDonaldland while avoiding being caught.

 

 

 

 

Fry Guys -They are characters used to promote McDonald’s french fries. When they first appeared in 1972, they were called Gobblins and liked to steal and gobble up the other characters’ french fries.

 

 

 


Griddler – A short-lived McDonaldland character. He was featured in 2 commercials in 2003 to promote the McGriddles by stealing them from Ronald and his friends.

Even my boy Grimace started out on the wrong side of the tracks:

Grimace – a large, purple character who was first introduced in November 1971 as the “Evil Grimace”. In Grimace’s first two appearances, he was depicted with two pairs of arms with which to steal milkshakes and sodas. “Evil” was soon dropped from Grimace’s moniker, and Grimace was reintroduced in 1972 as one of the good guys.

It seems like almost everyone at McDonalds has taken to a life of crime. And to make matters worse, the only two real “good guys” around: Mayor McCheese and Big Mac (an actual police officer) both disappeared from McDonaldland years ago and haven’t been heard from since. Coincidence?

I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to question which side Ronald himself is on. Which makes me wonder how it all began….

Childhood Memories, Things I Think

Eight Things I Think: Best Christmas Specials Edition

Does anyone remember the intro to the CBS holiday specials? Check it out here

I remember the sound of my heart beating faster as the rainbow colored word “Special” did a complete three-sixty. Watching this intro now three things immediately come to mind:

1. I was a child whenever I saw it.

2. It was probably around 8pm in the evening. Most definitely before 9 when all “good” children were in bed.

3. Most importantly something really, really cool was about to be on television.

Although it was used through out the year for holiday specials this little intro always reminds me of Christmas and the days I watched them growing up. And since it’s that magical time of year again all of these shows are back on for another generation (or three) to enjoy.

Which leads me to the subject of today’s blog.

Every year there seems to be new Christmas/Holiday specials on. ABC Family even devotes the entire month of December to “The 25 Days Of Christmas” where they showcase a plethora of new shows mixed in with familiar classics.

Sadly, none of the new stuff can compare to those timeless shows of the 60’s and 70’s.  It still amazes me that a cartoon or clay-mation show from forty years ago can tell a better story in 45 minutes then a state of the art, two-hour Hollywood made for TV feature.

One of the things I’ve always loved about these specials were the villains and how in the end they all were redeemed. Whether it was by finding out the true meaning of Christmas or if necessary, getting all of their teeth pulled.

Although I could probably give you at least a dozen I’ve narrowed the list down to eight and can now present to you my picks for The Best Christmas Specials of All Time.

You’ll notice that this list contains a lot of Rankin-Bass favorites and for good reason. These two gentlemen were masters at making specials that appealed to viewers of all ages. All of these shows were, and thanks to magic of cable continue to be, specials I enjoy watching every year.

Let’s see if you agree:

8. Mr Magoo’s A Christmas Carol (1962): What’s not to love about watching Charles Dickens’ classic tale told with the wacky blind guy in the title role? I’ll admit the songs were pretty crappy but the ghost of Christmas future literally scared the crap out of me.

7. Twas The Night Before Christmas (1974): A Rankin-Bass cartoon with great songs and a wonderful story. A disgruntled little mouse sends Santa a mean letter and then has to redeem himself by fixing a clock in the center square of town to atone for it.

6. Frosty The Snowman (1969): Ok, I’ll admit it. I cried my eyes out on more than one occasion when Frosty melted.  But let’s get this straight – I was a child…yeah, let’s go with that.

5. The Year Without a Santa Claus (1974): A Rankin-Bass feature where Santa decides to take a year off because no one appreciates him. It’s up to two misfit elves to go to Southtown and find people who have the Christmas spirit.

This show also featured the Miser Brothers. Nothing more needs to be said.

4. Santa Claus is Comin’ Town (1970): The true origin of Santa Claus. I was deathly afraid of the Winter Warlock. That is until he got his Choo-Choo Train and turned good. And what’s not to love about Topper the penguin and his cute little scarf?

 

3. How The Grinch Stole Christmas (1966): Another great story about redemption. I loved the Grinch’s dog Max. Most kids of my generation were familiar with the animation. It was done by Chuck Jones who was most popular for his work with Bugs Bunny and Tom and Jerry cartoons of the same era.

2.  A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965): Whether it’s the Charlie Brown tree, Lucy getting kissed by a “dog”, Snoopy winning the lights and display contest or the message Linus delivers…it’s all wonderful. But the thing I remember most about this show was the music. Vince Guaraldi’s jazz from that special is one of the most recognizable sounds of the season to this day.

1. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (1964): There is absolutely no arguing that this is the greatest Christmas special of all time. I own a copy of this DVD and STILL to this very day watch it when it’s on TV. This is THE special I remember most when seeing the CBS “Special Presentation” intro. The only show that has run consistently every year on that channel since 1964.

Rudolph tells the story of a misfit reindeer with a light-bulb nose who teams up with an elf who’d rather be a dentist. Along the way they encounter a bunch of misfit toys that children no longer care for. And ironically, Santa somehow seems to have forgotten about them too.

 

I loved the music and characters but, like all Rankin Bass specials do – I was petrified of the Bumble snow monster until the very end.

Finally, and although technically not “Christmas”, I need to give an honorable mention out to Rudolph’s Shiny New Year (1976). If for nothing else than the picture below.

As December begins and the hustle and bustle gets into full gear I hope you’ll take the time to watch some of these specials again and make more memories. Also, let me know what your Christmas Special list would look like.

Merry Christmas to all!

1980's, Childhood Memories, Life

School Daze

The last time I roamed the halls at the current Easton Area Middle School it was still called Shawnee Intermediate School. Although additions were made structurally and the grade levels and names may have changed the building itself is still pretty much the way I remember it to be from when I was a student in the early 1980’s.

Today was a special chance for me to spend the entire day with my daughter at her school and see what a typical day for her is like. Suffice to say, it had an impact on me.

First off let just say that there are several things that I’ll always remember from my time spent at Shawnee:

1. The Planetarium. The absolute coolest place in the school. The only time where if a visit to the planetarium was included as part of an assembly kids got excited.  Sadly, today it’s just a normal room now.

2. Shawnee was the place where I first heard of the band Duran Duran.

3. Reading the book 1984 by George Orwell in Mr. Pfister’s English class in the year, yep you guessed it, 1984.

4. Going to Mr. Heath’s Earth Science class where every morning began with him literally giving us the weather forecast. Mr. Heath would have a map of the US taped on the board complete with approaching cold/warm fronts and “H” and “L” letters representing the respective pressure systems.

5. Dale Wilson carrying around a briefcase and self-publishing his own newspaper. Why this one sticks out is a mystery to me.

Regardless, I thought of all of these things as my daughter and I walked through the doors this morning. Although I felt safe and secure, seeing the levels of security on campus reminded me that about the only thing still relevant in these hallowed halls was that big brother was now watching more than ever.

After spending the morning having breakfast we made our way to her homeroom. Once there I was quickly introduced to one of her classmates named Eric. Upon meeting me he immediately asked Jillian, “Does he know about David?”. “SHUT UP!” Jillian replied as Eric just chuckled. Later I would ask her what that was all about and Jillian told me that Eric thinks she likes David, another student in her class (one which she is quick to say she doesn’t)… Ah, young love.

It wasn’t long before the class clown/troublemaker made his presence known. Chad (name changed to protect the innocent), a ten year old boy who looked more like a linebacker was literally dancing around making “beat-box” sounds when the teacher’s back was turned. I think the level of commotion going on and students asking questions made her oblivious to his actions. Other kids were cracking up at his antics and as soon as the teacher turned back around he immediately would stop. Then sure enough, as soon as the teacher went back to work in a small group he’d act up again.

I had to laugh when I thought what the odds would be if I came back five years from now and Chad was still in the same class beat boxing?

BRRRING….School bell rang and it’s off to music class. My favorite. Usually there would be two periods of math but since she was signed up for band  I got to sit with Jillian in a small group for clarinet lesson.

When the bell rang again we made our way to Math class. As we arrived the teacher, who was working out a problem on the board asked “Were you at music?”. When Jillian responded in the affirmative the teacher replied, “Oh, too bad. You missed some really great problems here”. It was all I could do to keep from saying: “Uhm, yeah…right…SURE she did!”..

Before I knew it lunch had arrived. We scurried our way into the lunch line. A smile appeared on my face when I discovered the tater tots were exactly as I remembered. Memories of the second period lunch at the high school flooded my senses.

About the only thing I lamented about lunch was that there were no green beans. Oh how I missed stabbing the green veggies with my straw. Trying to see how high I could fill the plastic straw before squeezing it’s contents back out on to the cardboard tray.

As we ate I asked Jillian what was next. “Science Class”, she replied. “But our normal teacher is not here today. We have a substitute”.

Substitute. That word triggered the memory of Mr. Stone, the universal substitute teacher in school. Mr. Stone worked as a substitute in pretty much every subject and to this day I’m not even sure what he was experienced to teach. When he was in for a sick teacher it was like study hall because nothing was about the only thing accomplished.

After Science, we made our way back to homeroom and then the funniest thing ever happened.  The teacher wanted to take attendance again and she asked students to please acknowledge with a “Here” when their name was called. Now. most well behaved students would simply give the “here” as their name was called, although some thought to give more cool responses like “Yo” or “Hi There”. But when the teacher called out Chad’s name, he decided to answer with the “beat box”. The teacher asked him to answer properly, but the damage to me was already done.

I laughed…and I laughed…and I laughed. For some reason, him doing the beat box at that particular moment in time hit my funny bone. I was covering my face looking down at the desk with tears started coming from my eyes. I don’t know what it was that was so damn funny when he did that, but I almost had to leave the room. All the kids, including my own Jillian sat there laughing at me laughing. I don’t know how I was able to pull it together, but class continued.

The day ended with of all things an assembly. We entered the auditorium to watch The Bach Choir of Bethlehem perform a few selections. Maybe its because I’m in a choir myself or perhaps because I’m well beyond the middle school years but in either case I found them to be very entertaining.

As we walked out of school and headed home I had a new found appreciation for my daughter. Seeing her interact with others, openly raising her hand to ask questions and actively participate in school is quite the opposite of the way I was. I thought about all the memories she would now be making in these halls over the next four years.

And I couldn’t be more proud.

Childhood Memories, Thought and Opinion

The Economy Hits Home

If you don’t mind I’d like to opine a little bit on the current state of the economy and how we all need to be wary of it.

From pretty much the day I was born my mother has worked at a local non-profit hospital. She started out in 1971 part-time in the registration department and then worked her way up (if that’s what you want to call it) to become a “Senior” clerk in central registration making the exorbitant amount of $15 an hour. Her primary job was to register patients for surgery and deal with health insurance companies.

Over the years she’s worked every shift. Missing out on many activities of myself and my siblings while working the 3-11 one. Imagine being a parent and for five days out of the week the only time you see your kids is in the morning before sending them off to school. That’s what she did for years. To this day I still remember the telephone number we used to call her. It’s ingrained in my head from calling it so much to tell her how school went.

Ironically in 1990 I got my first  real job at that same hospital with her help. By that point she had already been there for almost twenty years. For me, my job was literally being the trash man on the second shift. If there was garbage in that hospital I hauled it away and put it in the dumpster. It didn’t take long for me to work my way “up” and eventually out of hospital garbage and into computers.

But this post is about the economy so now let’s get to the meat of it.

About ten years ago the ownership of the hospital changed hands. It could no longer survive in its current form and went from being a not for profit hospital to one whose sole purpose was to get paid. I remember Mom telling me many times how she didn’t like the demands that were being placed upon her. Having to demand money from people coming in before any surgery, no matter how life threatening. Reluctantly she did it anyway out of fear of losing her position.

Recently I began to get frustrated when I would ask her to come to some activities (my daughter’s softball games, dinner for example) when she would always tell me she had to go into work. Many times this was over the weekend because there was so much work to do and the hospital had no problems with having employees work extra. It was busy.

By now I think you might know where this is going.

Today she called me and told me that yesterday she, along a few other long time employees, had been called into the office and one at a time were told their position had been eliminated effective immediately. No reason like bad performance or excessive tardiness (things she never did). They were simply told to go back to their desks, clean them out and leave.

Forty years as the model employee making a paulty salary let go. Forty years.

She will recieve a small severance package but how long is that supposed to hold up in an economy like this? She is 65 now and may be eligible for social security and her pension but now the huge cost of health care (something  that was provided by the hospital) is now gone. With the cost of COBRA insurance being $600 a month my guess is that she is going to bypass getting anything to supplement in the event she gets sick. God forbid if something happens to her.

On a side note my Mom, who is an active subscriber of this blog, will now have to find a different way to get them. They were always sent to her work email address.

The moral of this story is that no matter how well off you think you are or how comfortable you may be with your job, the rug can be pulled out from under you without warning at any moment.

Just ask my Mom.