Category: Childhood Memories

Childhood Memories, Movies and TV

Ultraman

Here’s a story worth re-telling. Last year while paying a visit to a local Best Buy I took notice of a “Bargain Bin” of DVDs they had set up in the middle of the store. The bin contained piles of DVDs they were trying to unload and every DVD in the bin was $5 each.

I curiously perused the piles of Paul Blart: Mall Cop and Vin Diesel throw aways not really knowing what I was looking for. Anything but the aforementioned ones might have peaked my interest.

As I reached the bottom of the pile my eye caught something that took me back to my childhood. It was if a huge vacuum had just sucked all the sound out of the area I was standing in. My heart began to race and I swore a tear started to run down my cheek.

No way. It couldn’t possibly be… but it was…the HOLY GRAIL.

The Complete Collection of Ultraman on DVD. The swirling clay introduction, the orange suits and motorcycle helmets, the 1966 Corvairs they used to drive and of course, Ultraman himself.

I think we as a society have grown soft when it comes to our super heroes. Oh sure, we still want the hero in the tights to rescue the beautiful girl and save mankind from the forces of evil. But the truth is, we’ve become accustomed to watching CGI animated superheroes saving the world from these baddies. Like Tobey Mcguire as Spiderman hanging from a rope with a green screen behind him that will later become the city of New York.

What ever happened to the good ol’ days of watching some dude in a rubber suit kick another dude in a rubber suit’s ass in a miniature city all within thirty minutes? The kind of show that gets the adrenaline of seven-year old boys raging in the 1970’s?

Sadly, those days are gone.

Here’s the premise of the show taken from Wikipedia:

The storyline begins in the near future. Sinister aliens and giant monsters constantly threaten civilization during this period. The only Earth organization equipped to handle these disasters is the Science Patrol, a special worldwide police force equipped with high-tech weapons and vehicles, as well as extensive scientific and engineering facilities.

Led by Captain Mura, the Science Patrol consists of Arashi, Ito, Fuji (the only female member) and Hayata. The patrol is always ready to protect the Earth from rampaging monsters, but sometimes (ahem, MOST of the time) it finds itself outclassed.

When the situation becomes desperate, Hayata, the Patrol’s most capable member, holds the key to salvation in the form of the “beta capsule,” which, when activated, allows him to transform secretly into the super-humanoid-powered giant from space, who becomes known to the people of Earth as Ultraman.

While active as Ultraman, Hayata’s human body goes into a type of deep coma, reviving only after the threat has been neutralized and Ultraman willingly departs.

Victory is never assured, however, as Ultraman’s powers (his very life force) rapidly depletes in Earth’s atmosphere.

At the beginning of each transformation from Hayata-to-Ultraman, the warning light on the giant’s chest begins as just a steady blue color. But as Ultraman exerts himself, the color timer changes to red, then blinks-—slowly at first, then with increasing rapidity—-as his energy reserves get closer to exhaustion.

As the voice-over narrator reminds the viewer, beginning first with episode 2 and for each episode thereafter, if Ultraman ever reaches the point of total energy depletion, he “will never rise again.” How terrible!

So the formula is simple: Every episode a giant monster (aka dude in rubber suit) attacks. The Science Patrol goes into action and tries to defeat it. Of course, they can not. Just as all hell is about to break loose, Hayata raises the beta capsule into the sky, activates it, and becomes Ultraman (aka dude in rubber suit). Ultraman does battle with the giant monster and just before his time on Earth is about to expire he vanquishes the creature using one form of his cosmic powers and then flies off.

I don’t mean to brag about the show but for a seven-year old boy named Jimmy Wood, this was ‘da BOMB!!! I remember the best part was the anticipation for Ultraman to show up and open a can of whoop ass. Whenever Hayata would raise the Beta Capsule and the voice said: “Using the Beta Capsule, Hayata becomes Ultraman!” the whole house could have burned down but I wasn’t moving from the TV.

Ok, stop laughing. Ultraman was the cornerstone of my life as a kid. I remember literally RUNNING home from school to catch his exploits. It didn’t even matter if I missed the beginning of the show either. The story line didn’t concern me. As long as I was there when the Beta Capsule was activated and the can of whoop-ass opened I was a happy boy. Believe me, even now there are days where I could REALLY use that Beta Capsule.

But kids today don’t seem to get it. I tried watching it with my own daughter but I think her interest in it is simply to laugh at me and call me a dork. That’s ok because it’s true. I am a dork.

A dozen years ago Hiroko Sakurai, the woman who played Fuji on the show, actually came all the way from Japan for a Sci-Fi convention in New Jersey. She couldn’t speak a word of English but I stood in a long line to get her autograph and my picture taken with her. It was exciting to do as an adult so I imagine I would’ve been standing in a puddle of my own pee if I went as a seven-year old.

I know, I know. It’s not a show for everyone. “To each his own” and all that crap. But consider this as another reason to own the collection:

Like Kung-Fu movies watched late at night, Ultraman can work better than any sleep aid you’ve ever tried. It’s all natural, more powerful than Ambien and Lunesta combined and has ZERO harmful side effects.

So the next time you can’t sleep, pop in a DVD and enjoy. I recommend Episode 15. It puts me out within ten minutes. You might sleep for days….Trust me, if you’re not a fan and can make it through the first two episodes without falling asleep you should seek professional help for insomnia and sleep apnea immediately.

Because if nothing else, watching Japanese dudes wrestle in rubber suits and airplanes where you can see the strings controlling them on camera induces sleep faster than tryptophan from the main course on Turkey Day.

But Ultraman is STILL cool. It was the best $5 I ever spent.

1980's, Childhood Memories, Movies and TV

Spider Man 4

This is the final full length installment of the Spiderman Home Movies. I know what you’re thinking: you’re sad to see them go and I can understand your pain. After all, these movies were a labor of love for two amateur film makers back in 1985. But alas, all good things must eventually come to an end.

This final short features our hero Spidey (played by my friend Mike) as he does battle against an evil bank robber (played by none other than yours truly, the author of this blog).

It also features a rather ominous omen in one of the final scenes which regular readers of this blog will immediately pick up on. For others, I’ll explain after you watch it.

Basically the plot is simple: A crook in a ski mask has just robbed a bank and is attempting a get-away when Spidey shows up.

And now, for the final time I present to you: Spiderman…

Some neat and interesting tidbits:

1. This short features a cameo by my Siberian Husky “Sheba” who passed away in 1986.

2. You see the shell of what would become my Dad’s 1965 Ford Mustang on the right side of the hill.

3. The 1977 Malibu Classic car is the one I most remember being driven around in when my parents would take me to see the Trains.

Unfortunately though, watching this short again also brought back one eerie memory for me:

The scene where Mike (as Spidey) attempts to stop the Crook from escaping in the Vega by holding the car back. Spidey winds up getting run over in the movie. In the movie this was fiction but it almost became reality for me shortly after filming.

If you haven’t read that story – here it is.

Was this an omen to what was going to happen? I’m not sure. But by watching it now you can get a visual representation of what it was like for me on that fateful day.

All courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Spiderman!

1980's, Childhood Memories, Movies and TV

Making Movies: Spiderman 3 – The Black Costume

Back in May of 1984 Marvel Comics released issue #252 of The Amazing Spiderman. As an avid Spidey fan it was no coincidence that Amazing Spiderman was the first comic book I ever subscribed to. But what was ironic was that this particular issue just happened to be the very first one I received in the mail.

You see, this was also the first issue where Marvel surprised readers by giving Spiderman a brand new costume. Something I did not particularly care for. You can check that story out here (A fun read).

The change away from the classic red and blue tights Spidey wore to a plain black design posed a dilemma for two young film makers (my friend Mike and me). If Spidey was going to change costumes then we also had to change as well in order to keep our films relevant.

A call went out to the hard-working people in our design department (Me and Mike). Under a tough deadline and with no money for anything but film and developing it was going to be a real challenge. It was a challenge we gladly accepted. After all, if there was a “new” Spiderman in town then it was our duty to showcase him.

In the end, it all worked out.

Spidey vs The Mime Part 3 introduces the new black costume. It was the only film we made that doesn’t have the wall crawler in his classic red and blue jammies (or in our case, the jeans or red shorts with tube socks).

Our story opens with the Mime returning to town to wreak havoc (what exactly that “havoc” is isn’t revealed). Meanwhile a short ways away our friend Peter Parker is busily sewing his new black costume. Suddenly his Spider-Sense starts tingling. He realizes that once again, The Mime is near so he gets the chance to try on his new duds.

Appearing as Spidey he jumps on to the nearest roof and spots his adversary. Let the fun begin.

Watch the video and see if you can spot the classic 1980’s reference and the flub. They should be quite obvious:

For Spidey’s costume what could possibly be better than a 1980’s black Members Only jacket? It perfectly matched the maroon-colored one I wore as the Mime.

As far as the flub is concerned: did you notice the shadow when Mime was rolling down the hill after being punched over the fence? Yup, that’s Mike filming.

I remember when we first got this one back from the developers and loaded it on the projector up in my bedroom. We must have watched it two dozen times. It was so good.

Now a days, kids can make films a thousand times better with the equipment that’s available. Had this technology and the Internet been around in 1985 I think Mike and I would have accepted at least a pair of Academy Awards by now.

Sure, you see the clothes hanging out on the line. And some shots are out of frame. And sure, Mike’s shadow is visible. But as far as the black costume is concerned, I think we hit a home run.

What do you think?

1980's, Childhood Memories, Movies and TV

Making Movies: The Return of Spidey

Friday…FRIDAY…FRIDAY!!!! Did I mention that today is Friday? And what could possibly be better than Friday? Just one thing – a Friday with your friendly neighborhood Spider man. Or in this case, another home movie from 1985 with me and my friend Mike bringing the wall crawler to the silver screen.

I have to tell you, these movies were so much fun to make. Way better than playing Dungeons and Dragons or taking a walk downtown to the comic book store.

I think the cost to film just one of these shorts and have it developed was somewhere in the range of $20. Roughly equivalent to a billion dollars as far as a kid from 1985 is concerned. So for us to forego seeing a rock concert or buy a video game and instead try to make a movie was a huge investment and something that we did not take lightly.

Once again, let me set the scene for you:

In our last episode Mime (the bad guy in this story played by yours truly) narrowly escaped the clutches of Spidey (played by my friend Mike). Mime is now sitting on some steps next to a hill contemplating his next move when suddenly he hears someone approaching. He looks and sees that it’s Peter Parker, a young punk kid from school.

At this point Mime (who does not know the kid is actually Spidey) decides to have a little fun. He hides behind a fence and trips Peter as he walks by.

The “clumsy” child falls and then rolls down to the bottom of the hill. Distraught about his predicament and knowing that the evil Mime has just attacked him, Peter starts crying and immediately runs behind the fence to become Spidey. (Hey, no one said our Spidey didn’t get emotional).

That’s when the fun really begins.

This film would be the first to introduce the special effect of teleportation. It was a technique that we would also use in subsequent Spidey shorts as well and was rather simple to produce. Here’s how it worked:

In my role as the Mime I would touch my fingers to my temples to indicate I was about to do some amazing mind trick. Mike would then stop filming and stand perfectly still. Once I was out the scene Mike would begin filming again and PRESTO! I had “magically” disappeared. We did the reverse of this effect to make me reappear somewhere else. Pretty cool huh?

In addition to teleporting, this short also features a comedic showdown on the stairs and a daring escape by the heinous villain.

One word of caution: much of this footage is out of focus so do not adjust your settings. This error was actually the case when we originally got the film back from the developers. But the story idea is still there.

Enjoy!

Some notable 1980’s references:

1. You’ve just got to love Spidey’s summertime costume. A red shirt/shorts combination with red mittens for gloves. Believe it or not, Mike’s “Coke is It” red t-shirt was all the rage back then. This was the logo used most by Coca-Cola back in the mid 1980’s.

2. The classic tube socks worn up to our knee caps.

3. The laundry hanging out on the clothes line. It may seem trivial these days but back then washer and dryer combos were quite expensive. Most families only had just the washer and would hang clothes out on the line to dry in the summer or take the wet clothes to the laundromat to dry in winter.

As was always the case when filming, the challenge in making these shorts was that everything had to be done in one take. Any kind of screw up couldn’t be erased. This episode shows two examples of mistakes. One of which we were able to “fix”.

The first mistake you’ll notice is one scene where Mike was filming and you see part of his mitten filling the shot. Obviously, there was nothing we could have done about that. But the next flub we knew about immediately and were able to quickly bounce back from.

Originally, Spidey was supposed to capture the Mime on his first attempt at spinning the web. I was the cameraman at the time and was pulling on the “web” as Spidey shot it but accidentally let go of it and it bounced back onto Mike’s arm.

We spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out what we were going to until at last it dawned on us. We both looked at each other, smiled and said: “Spidey’s Web Shooter Jammed!”. It was the perfect opportunity to film it again and this time get it right.

Having rediscovered and sharing these movies has been a great experience. I’m even considering sending in my resume to George Lucas. I think I’m a shoe-in for a position in the special effects department. What do ya think?

Have a great weekend!

Childhood Memories

Trains

I was driving through South Side Easton this morning and made my way down into the little borough of Glendon. My journey was leading me along winding roads running parallel to a stretch of train tracks.

At one point during my drive I made a right hand turn to get onto the Glendon bridge and noticed below me a convoy of trains rolling along. They were big silver, metal cars, all looking identical and all carrying their cargo through the rural town and on to parts unknown.

Normally, seeing a convoy of trains like this would be something I’d see in my peripheral vision and ignore. After all, trains have become some what of a nuisance to me these days. Especially if on the rare occasion I have to stop and wait for them to pass by. But this time seeing them was different. For I suddenly remembered just how important trains were to me when I was growing up.

So if you’ve got a moment and care to listen to a 45-year-old man reminisce for a while, then please read on.

Photo: Bob Worman
Photo: Bob Worman

When I was a kid, trains were always in abundance running through the city of Easton, Pennsylvania. Back then, you couldn’t travel down the Smith Street hill and into the heart of the downtown district without seeing them pass by on an overhead bridge at all hours of the day.

I was even able to see them running over the river across the Pennsylvania border into New Jersey via a clear shot I had from a hill next to my home. On warm sunny days in my upstairs bedroom I could clearly hear the whistle of the engine from miles away, and would always make a mad dash downstairs to watch them as they went by.

I remember they looked as small as Matchbox cars from my vantage point but that didn’t matter. Once I knew they were coming, I’d stop everything I was doing and just watch them go – admiring their beauty. It always made me a bit sad whenever I saw the little blue caboose go by. Because that always meant the show was over and I’d be forced to go back to watching Scooby-Doo, playing Chutes and Ladders or whatever else was occupying me at the time.

There were (are) two main train trestles that run through the downtown district. The first one is located at the bottom of the Smith Street hill and runs adjacent to Canal Street. This one’s rails ride through the borough of Glendon and eventually reach the city of Bethlehem (the location I saw them at this morning). I believe years ago this was probably the rail that also transported people from outside of the area to their jobs at the Bethlehem Steel plant.

The other trestle; located adjacent to the first, crosses over the Lehigh River and into New Jersey. This was the one I could see from my house as a child. At least until the trees and foliage grew too tall and all I heard was the whistle of the engine.

Whenever I would tag along with my parents on short, local trips around town, I always made it a point to bark out commands from the back seat of our ’77 Malibu Classic on the way home. And as we approached the bridge the commands would get progressively louder, eventually turning into full-on pleas of despair as we approached:

”Mom? Dad? P-L-E-A-S-E can we go see the trains???!!!”

For just on the other side of the trestle you drove under you had two options: drive up Smith Street Hill and into South Side Easton (and home) or, make a slight right and drive along Canal Street…..WHERE THE TRAINS WERE!!!

On good days (or when my screaming and crying became too much for my parents to bear) we would make that slight right and my excitement would build. For what was cool about driving along Canal Street was that the train trestle would be at ground level with you for the longest time. Then it would slowly rise upwards onto a bridge, revealing yet another train trestle behind it. It was like almost like a curtain that was magically unveiling. As the trestle rose, you would slowly begin to see what lied beyond — the coolest sight ever! An arsenal of parked TRAINS!

To most people, trains are those big box things on wheels that carry cargo from town to town. Or maybe a mode of transportation for a hobo carrying a polka-dot covered bindle over his shoulder. But to a young boy like me, it meant so much more. To me, the trains were works of art.

Photo: Bob Worman
Photo: Bob Worman

I’m not talking about those ugly flat-bed trains with nothing on them. Or those black oil tanker trains that are bland and boring. No, I’m talking about the cool colored box car trains that would ALWAYS be parked there. Shiny yellow cars that said “Railbox”, or bright red ones that had the initials “CR”. Then there were the ones that had the moniker, “Southern – Southern Serves The South” emblazoned upon them. Or maybe there would be blue cars with funky lettering on them that kind of looked like a mix between an “N” and a “D”. And lets not forget the odd-ball ones some malcontent had used to spray paint their devotion to AC/DC or Led Zeppelin.

It’s kind of funny how my wife scolds me for forgetting to take out the trash every week and yet I can still recall vividly the exact words and letters printed on the side of a box car train in the 1970’s. Perhaps its because I remember telling Mom and Dad to slow down as we drove,  so I could savor every moment. I wanted it to last forever.

Eventually, we would pass the trains and make a left-hand turn up a side street and make our way back home. What’s funny is that I can’t recall a single thing I did after we got there. All I could think about for the rest of the day was the beauty I saw in those trains.

As the years went by, that damn thing called adulthood started setting in (cool then, sucks now). Girls, cars and music all began taking precedence and the trains became less and less important to me. And even when the time came that I got my own car and could go anywhere I wanted, I still had no desire to go see the trains.

To this day, I drive Canal Street very rarely. I really have no need to go and to be honest, it really is kind of ”out of the way”. Which is probably the exact same reason my Mom and Dad must have had whenever I would beg them to drive along it. But on the occasion that I do drive it for curiosity’s sake, it’s now just a ghost town on the trestles. Not one box car, nor any train for that matter in sight. Sometimes, progress sucks.

As I thought about this today, I realized that seeing the trains was something I really miss. And in some silly way it was just another thing that makes me understand the need to really enjoy the little moments in life you have right now. Because you never know when those moments will be gone forever.

So, here’s hoping you make it a point to find time to go see the trains.

Childhood Memories, Life

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

I remember a song we used to sing in kindergarten at Porter Elementary School. It was in my afternoon class and every so often Mrs. Rapp would gather a gaggle of us five-year olds together around this lime green, out of tune upright piano.

We had just finished eating our vanilla wafer cookies and half pint cartons of milk and were settling in to a nice sugar coma when she would begin to play a little diddy that went something like this:

“♫ What do you want to be when you grow up? What do you want to beeeeeeeee?”♫…

Then she’d go around the class and ask us to yell out what we wanted to be. I was confused. To a five-year old being a grown up felt like a million years away and even then I knew that I’d probably change my mind about it at least a million times before it actually arrived.

But as my turn approached my confusion turned into stress. I always wanted to say something cool that wasn’t the typical fireman, doctor or astronaut that everyone else in the gaggle was saying. And it certainly wouldn’t look right to be a copy-cat of someone else. But in the end I chose the fireman and to this day still don’t really know why (maybe it was the cool red truck).

What do I want to be?

One of the earliest things I remember was wanting to be Spiderman when I grew up. I wasn’t too keen on getting bit by a radioactive spider mind you, but a kid’s gotta do what a kid’s gotta do.

You can even ask my brother if you don’t believe me. He caught me many a time climbing the walls in my sleep yelling out that I was indeed the wall crawler. And on warm summer mornings after a rain storm I remember walking past spider webs shimmering  in the sunlight off of my front porch and saying to myself: “someday…..someday”.

I think the superhero theme was something I always aspired to be. I was very introverted growing up and some how could relate with those guys having a “secret”. Maybe it was the feeling of being able to put a mask on and suddenly become someone larger than life. Someone people admired.

That’s who I wanted to be…then.

Over the years I’ve gone through phases of who I want to be. A fireman, a doctor, a rock star, an electrician, an actor. Strangely, I wound up being a Clinical Systems Analyst (something that looking back would have floored Mrs. Rapp if I had told her) but in many ways I’ve been all of the other occupations at one point or another:

– I was a fireman who put out the ultimate pierogie fire that you can read about in a previous blog.

– I’m a physician whenever my daughter trips and falls on the sidewalk.

– I’ve been a rock star (albeit not professional, yet) for perish the thought, 25 years now.

– I can change a light bulb and swap out a light fixture with the best of them.

– I’m a great actor. Just ask me when a user calls me at work because they keep locking themselves out of their computer.  I play the role of “Happy, Helpful Jim” to a tee.

I may not have become Spiderman but I think it’s safe to say that in some ways I’ve even achieved being a superhero too. I can see it in my daughter’s eyes with simple things like when I’m helping her with her homework or when she watches me teach the dog how to sit and shake hands.

But I don’t think I’m finished. I’ve been wanting to be a writer for quite a while too. Oh sure, I’ve gotten a letter written to a fictional vampire published in Dynamite magazine at age eleven. And I’ve also been featured in the Letters to the Editor in a Conan the Barbarian comic book. But I want more. And I think everyone feels that way because there’s just an endless amount of things to experience. There’s nothing we can’t do. The sky is the limit as they say and there’s always some thing else to “be”.

So if Mrs. Rapp gathered me around that lime green out of tune piano right now and asked me the question again, I’d probably still be confused. But this time I think I’d have to tell her the truth –  that I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

1980's, Childhood Memories

Making Movies

The other day, while doing some “pre-spring” spring cleaning I stumbled upon a bunch of old 8mm film equipment and movies down in my basement. You know how you have some things in your possession that are, for all intents and purposes, useless but yet you still can’t bear to part with? Well, this equipment is one of those things for me. Something I should have thrown away long ago but still managed to find a place for every time we moved into a new apartment or house over the years.

I don’t really know why it never made it to the landfill but I would soon be glad it didn’t reach its final destination.

Even though the high tech gadgetry that’s available in today’s video equipment has sent my 8mm camera and film projector the way of the dinosaur, I was intrigued to see what kind of treasure was still being held on those old reels. So one night, I decided to go old school and set it all up.

There’s a certain odor that comes from things that have sat idle in a basement or attic for two dozen years. The smell of which seems to get stronger as you start un-boxing them from the places where they’ve sat in silence. Most especially when they’ve sat in an old attic with the extreme hot and cold seasonal temperature changes like these things did. It tattoos an odor on every piece that can best be described in one word: Old.

I suppose it was sometime in the fall of 1984 when my friend Mike and I made our first 8mm movie. I’m sure we would have liked to have made hundreds of them but we weren’t able to due to the high cost of film and processing. I’m sure a lot of it also had to do with the frustration that went along with making them. Unlike today, where you can take anything you can film and edit the video to death, with our 8mm camera you had only one chance to get it right. Every scene had to be done in one take. There was absolutely no going back.

The movies we made were nothing like the caliber of the Steven Spielberg/JJ Abrams blockbuster from last summer. Ours didn’t have zombies, train wrecks or even aliens. Heck, our movies didn’t even have sound at all. And where as the kids in that movie chose to go the romantic route and even include <GASP!> girls in theirs, we chose to go the manly route and make our movies about the greatest superhero of all… Spiderman.

I like to think that in some way the Spiderman movies we made gave inspiration to the three Tobey Mcguire films and the new Amazing Spiderman movie that’s coming out this summer. As you’ll see, considering the technology available to 15-year old boys, our budget and time constraints, I’d say we did a pretty good job. Especially for only getting one take to shoot each scene.

So let me set the scene for you: The setting for this clip is at my house. Spiderman (my friend Mike) has just returned from searching the city for Mime, the evil villain (played by yours truly). Mime is a Dr.Jekyll/Mr. Hyde type character that transforms from good to bad. He has issues (much like the guy who portrays him).

As Spidey is taking off his costume he gets blind-sided by Mime. Spidey quickly recovers and tries to capture Mime by spinning a web around him but Mime is able to escape and bull rush him.

Spidey uses his super jumping ability to leap onto the roof of a nearby house.

As Spidey makes his way across the roof top and back down to the ground Mime has transformed back to his normal self and makes his escape.

Academy Award of Golden Globe nominee? I think so. And now, without further adieu, I give you, Spiderman:

Some classic 1980’s references: My Quiet Riot t-shirt (told ya I was a metal head). Also, if you look at Mike’s sneakers after he jumps off the roof you’ll notice they are different colors. Remember when changing your shoe-laces was all the rage back in the 80’s?

I found myself laughing over and over watching this and remembering just how much fun it was to make. Mostly, I enjoyed the stunt of having Spiderman jump from the ground to the roof. This was actually a dummy that I had spent two hours making before filming. I tied jeans and the costume together with twine and stuffed the entire thing with crumbled up newspaper to fill it out. For only getting one take to film it turned out ok. It reminds me of something you’d see in an old Three Stooges short when they’d fall off a building.

In an age when anyone can post a You Tube video we sometimes take for granted all the technology that’s available to us. I  can, and have, video taped the world around me with HD cameras. I’ve recorded my daughter’s school and sporting events without batting an eye. The technology is even available on the cell phone I carry every day (just in case the moment strikes me). Back then, it was a whole process.

Our children can have a video of their entire lives if we so choose. A living, breathing memoir if you will. And yet, these half-dozen or so 8mm movies Mike and I made almost thirty years ago are the absolute only recorded things I have from my childhood that are not a still picture.

But thanks to that same modern technology, I’m able to extract these precious moments from the film and put them on to a digital DVD before the oxidation process completely destroys them.

It’s amazing to see just how I looked, moved and thought back in a time when the only responsibility I had was getting up for school every morning.

Childhood Memories, Music

A Guitarist’s Worst Nightmare
Me and Les Doing What We Do Best

Even if you’ve never played guitar before you will cringe when you hear the tale I’m about to tell. It’s something you might read right out of a Steven King novel. I’m warning you now that it’s not for the weak of heart.

I started playing guitar in the early 1980’s and struggled for years learning chord progressions and scales. Having to learn how to play on a cheap imitation Fender Stratocaster wasn’t of much help either. If you’re a guitar player you know what I’m talking about. The better the guitar, the easier it is to learn on. And although I played with what my parents could afford to get me, I still dreamed of one day getting a Gibson Les Paul. The guitar that players like Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin and Ace Frehley from Kiss played. A guitar that at the time I wasn’t worthy enough to play or financially responsible to own.

Someday.

My hard work eventually started paying off. By paying my dues as a working musician over the next few years I was able to purchase a used Gibson Explorer and genuine Fender Stratocaster. But the elusive Les Paul was always slightly out of my reach.

Fast forward now to 2004 and the local band I was in is at the top of our game. We had just successfully completed a long string of summer shows including one as the opening act for American Idol runner-up Clay Aiken.

Now, before you laugh consider this: Clay was almost God-Like at this time. His first album debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 and was, with 613,000 copies sold in its first week, the highest-selling debut for a solo artist in over ten years and an album that was eventually certified multi-platinum.

To help celebrate my hard work and musical devotion I FINALLY purchased my Les Paul just in time for the Clay gig. Much like being a car enthusiast who for years has driven nothing but clunkers until eventually getting their dream car, getting the Les Paul and the chance to play it at the ultimate show in front of 6,000 fans was a dream come true.

Needless to say, the euphoria of this combination of events had me feeling pretty good when the band rolled into the Franklin Township Fair a few weeks later.

The Franklin Township Fair is an annual event held in the wide-open boon docks of Northern Pennsylvania. With sponsorships from a variety of local businesses all supporting the volunteer fire company, the event raises a lot of money to help continue to fight the good fight.

I spent the early portion of the day setting up my gear on the big concrete stage we would be performing on. I had my polished Les Paul, strung with new strings, all tuned and ready to go and gently placed it on the guitar stand.

To make this day even more special, I had just finished recording a brand new song I had written and this was the perfect opportunity to listen to it on the big PA system for the first time. I placed the CD into the drive and pressed play. I then jumped off the stage and made my way out onto the midway.

I was able to completely ignore the smell of funnel cake and the sound of spinning wheels as people tried to match numbers and win gigantic stuffed animals. I just stood there and let the perfect balance of music seep into my soul. Not just any music mind you. This was my music and nothing beats the first time you hear the final mix of a song that you wrote.

Paging Steven King.

As I’m listening to the sound of guitar and lyric in blissful perfection another sound begins to fill my ears. It’s the sound of an approaching helicopter. You see, one of the “benefits” fair goers get to see as part of the festivities is a demonstration of a Med-Evac helicopter landing.

People nearby begin to get excited and cheer as the copter slowly descends and lands onto a small clearing next to the fairgrounds. I myself begin to get a little worried when the breeze coming off of the still spinning helicopter blades continues to pick up. I know the copter has already landed safely but the high wind on my face is definitely a cause for concern.

It’s at this point that everything turns into slow motion.

My attention is quickly drawn back to front and I now see set lists and cables blowing around on the concrete stage. A stage I am standing at least fifty or sixty yards away from. My heart goes into my throat as I now fear the worst. And sure enough, the worst happens.

My beloved Les Paul, the one I had spent twenty years of my life trying to obtain, the one that is now sitting on a guitar stand in what feels like a mile away begins to teeter and totter in the wind. There is nothing I can do as I watch it fall forward and land face down on the concrete stage.

I run as fast as I can to assess the damage. The guitar now has a two-inch crack near the head stock. And the nut, or portion where the strings attach near the tuning pegs, is broken off right where the sixth string passes making that string completely useless.

So here I am, pissed off beyond belief that my beloved guitar, and the only guitar I brought to the gig, has suffered damage and also knowing that I still had to perform for ninety minutes. How I was able to hold it together remains a mystery. The show must go on I suppose.

Not surprisingly, even with the damage sustained I was still able to play the guitar (minus the sixth string) for the entire show and it not once went out of tune. After all, it’s a Les Paul.

Insurance was able to cover the damages and to this day my beloved Les Paul is still rocking. Only now, it has its own identity.

And the dream continues.

1980's, Cars, Childhood Memories

The Day I (Almost) Became A Superhero
1976 Chevrolet Vega

I got into a conversation over drinks last night with a bunch of friends from high school. Guys I hadn’t seen in years. In between manly talk of girls that were gotten and grid iron glory the topic of real true greatness came up.

One friend told us about how he had almost been drafted by a local minor league baseball team. He pounded his chest telling us all of how if it hadn’t been for a nagging knee injury he would surely have had a career as a New York Yankee.

Glasses were raised and drunken chants of “Yankees! Yankees! Yankees!” could be heard by half-drunken middle-aged men from our little corner of the bar.

More grunts and groans soon surfaced with tales of lost treasure and a futile attempt to be cast as an extra in a Tom Hanks movie. Finally it was my turn.

I don’t really like to brag but there once was a day where I almost became a superhero. Now before you go having your doubts and laughing like they did let me tell you the same story I told them. I didn’t rescue a cat from a tree or save a girl tied to the railroad tracks by some nefarious fiend. But I did almost stop a speeding bullet once.

Well, in this case it was a car.

It was the summer of 1985, the year I was going to turn sixteen and get my driver’s license. As a child there are really only three birthdays you look forward to. The first one being your 10th birthday when you’re finally in “double digits”. Next is the year you turn 16 and get your driver’s license (and if you’re female, a “sweet sixteen” party might also be in the cards). Finally, your 18th birthday when you officially become an adult. At least as far as the courts are concerned.

I had already applied for my learners permit and could not wait to get behind the wheel of my own car. Any car! It didn’t matter if it was my Mom’s 1985 Chevy Spectrum or my Dad’s 1965 Ford Mustang…I just wanted to drive.

Growing up in a “car” family there was almost always a beat up clunker sitting on our property. Usually these cars would appear out of no where from relatives or friends when they were broken down. They’d then just sit on the hill next to our house until they were either fixed up or hauled away. As “luck” would have it, there was a car sitting on the hill that summer.

It was a 1976 Chevy Vega. A car that my brother Bones had driven until it broke down and he moved on to driving a truck. It was a white, stick shift beauty with red and blue pin stripes. I assumed that the unique color combination and pin striping had something to do with the Bicentennial celebration which made it even cooler to me. Even though I had only driven cars with automatic transmissions very short distances and had absolutely no idea how to drive stick I immediately fell in love with it and could think of no better vehicle to have as my first car.

A rare picture of where the Vega sat on the hill. The bottom right of the photo is the side of my house.

I had spoken to Bones about the car and he informed me that it needed a new carburetor before it could run. Day after day I would peer out the window at the Vega sitting on the hill and dreamed of me taking it out on the road for the first time. I could picture myself with dark sunglasses on cruising the strip and giving “the look” to the girls as I drove by. I couldn’t think of anything better than having a beautiful female riding shotgun in my first car. Unfortunately, my desire to get the car on the road soon became overwhelming.

It was a typical summer afternoon and I had absolutely nothing to do. Bones was away and it was only me and my Grandmother at home. I was so tired of seeing the Chevy Vega sitting lifeless and the thought occurred to me to move it down the hill. Although I knew it wouldn’t run the least I could do is put it in a better place so when we did get the new carburetor for it we could install it easier.

I went out to the car, hopped in and put it in neutral. I started to rock it back and forth a bit to get it to move but it wouldn’t budge. Suddenly a little voice in my head began telling me: “Bones is going to be pissed when he finds out you moved this car!” Sadly, this wouldn’t be the first time I ignored my conscience.

Inside the car I noticed the steering wheel was moving freely and I thought to myself “This should be easy” but as I continued to rock back and forth the car still wouldn’t move. A dilemma. What to do?

I exited the car and went around to the front to see what could possibly be keeping the car from moving. I noticed that a large brick had been placed underneath the front tire and my pushing from inside wasn’t enough to move the car over the brick.

What happened next still remains a blur to me.

For some reason I got the brilliant idea to tug on the front fender of the car to help get it “over the hump” if you will. Sure enough, I succeeded. The car started to roll down the hill. Only one problem, I was in FRONT of the car and not safely inside controlling it.

Did you ever have one of those experiences where your life flashes in front of your eyes? One where you relive all of the things that have happened to you in your short life span of sixteen years? Well, this wasn’t one of those times. I was too damn scared.

All I remember as I’m trying to hold the car back as we’re both going down the hill were the following four sentences: “Gotta stop this car… Gotta stop this car! … I CAN DO THIS!! ..Uh, oh – this is NOT going to end well.”

CRASH!!!!

The next thing I know I am pinned between a 1976 Chevy Vega, a metal swing and the side of my house. I am literally afraid to move because I think bones have been broken and internal organs damaged beyond repair.

As I’m slowly coming to my wits I hear a pissed off Grandmother coming from inside. “JIMMY – WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”.  Then she suddenly realizes that her favorite grandson (yep, I said it) was trapped in twisted metal and she immediately begins to scream “Oh my God…JIMMY!”

It’s at this point I realized that the damage to me wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened to the swing or the house and I somehow managed to get out of the twisted mess. Since it was quite obvious there’s nothing a seventy year old woman was going to be able to do to help me, she gets on the phone and calls my brother.

As I’m sitting on the side of the porch shaking like a leaf and looking at the gash in my lower abdomen I kept thinking of the beating I was going to take when Bones saw what happened. He was one of those brothers who liked to pummel you if you even breathed next to his food so I figured an extended hospital stay was definitely in my future.

Needless to say, I was relieved that he decided to give me more of a verbal than physical beating when I told him the story of how I stood in front of the moving car rolling down the hill and into the house. But one question he asked about my ordeal still sticks with me:

“Who did you think you were, Superman?”

I guess in some strange way I guess I did. At least for one day and I almost pulled it off. So whether or not you want to categorize this as true greatness you have to admit one thing. My story is way better than any baseball career or being an extra in a movie.

And I still have the scar to prove it.

1980's, Childhood Memories

Pay Check Friday

Ah, another Paycheck Friday. My favorite day of the bi-weekly cycle. I only wish there could also be a Pay Check Monday through Thursday to go along with it. I’d probably sleep better at night wondering how I’m going to save for my daughter’s college education. But if you stop and think about it, there aren’t too many days that can compete with the day the money is literally in the bank.

Presently, I’ve been a Clinical Systems Analyst for over five years now. Time sure flies doesn’t it?  I love my job and the people I work with. Seriously, I really do. Although some days may be challenging depending on the number of  people who call me with Malware issues they have from perusing the Internet.

By now you also know my love for revisiting the past. So as we celebrate another Paycheck Friday I’d like to share with you the story of my first job.

From April to October of 1986 I was THE biscuit baker at McDonald’s with secondary skill as fry cook. I wouldn’t even categorize me in with any other because quite frankly, there was no comparison. I was in a biscuit league all my own. Light and fluffy. Just the right amount of brown-ness to them every time. You wanted a Sausage, Egg and Cheese Biscuit? You came to The Woodsman. Yeah, my biscuits had them ALL coming back for more.

But my tenure at the golden arches was not all happiness and rainbows. Oh no, there was plenty of tribulation too. Disgruntled customers, pain in the ass managers and even whack job co-workers always made things interesting. One day in particular though I’ll never forget.

I was training a new employee, let’s just call him ‘Dude’ for the sake of argument. And also for the fact that I can’t for the life of me remember what his real name was. Anyway, I had already taught Dude how to make all of other batter dipped and deep-fried goodies on the McDonald’s menu and we were now onto the fine art of making twelve “regs” (as in regular cheeseburgers) and following it up with six macs (Big Macs). You have to learn the language of Mickey Dee if you plan to survive there.

It was the beginning of the lunch rush and the line was literally out the door but Dude and I were really starting to get into the groove. It almost got to the point where Dude was becoming one with the McNugget. But then, disaster struck.

I’m not sure if he did this deliberately or by accident but at one point during the commotion of dropping fries and Quarter Pounders Dude said “Oh, what’s this?” and proceeded to reach over and pull the fire alarm near the grill which caused massive amounts of foaming agent to cover the entire contents of the grill and all fry vats. Enough foam that, had there been an actual fire, would most likely have put it out and possibly saved dozens of lives. But unfortunately, this was not one of those times. Dude just looked at me dumbfounded as customers were informed that effective immediately, the store was closed.

So as I’m in the process of busting ass and helping to clean up the mess the manager starts looking for Dude but Dude is no where to be found. It’s at that point that one of the cashiers informs him that she had just seen Dude walk out the back door with two cases of frozen burgers, put them into his car and drive off. Dude sacrificed his job for a hamburger.

I have to be honest, amidst all the commotion of trying to clean up this huge mess, it did give me a chuckle when I heard the news. Although naturally, I also assumed that with the way management had treated screw ball employees in the past it was quite possible that Dude might wind up coming back next week having been promoted to now be my boss. But alas, they wound up firing Dude instead and I never saw him again. Go figure.

During those six months I did everything at that joint for a measly $3.35 an hour. I heard the torment of laughter from friends because THEY didn’t have to work all summer but I had to go make the biscuits. They’d even say things like “Burger Flipping Biscuit Bakin….Burger Flippin Biscuit Bakin” over and over ad nauseam.

It was a feeling that would break the heart of most working sixteen year olds. But rather than pound my friends into dirt I decided to channel that energy creatively. And it was that inspiration that helped  me invent and perfect the first McDonald’s Triple Cheeseburger. Yes, while most others were at home watching Scooby Doo and listening to Culture Club I was busting ass over the grill creating just the right combination of grease and pickle to make a triple-decker bomb.

Just thinking about it now fills me with pride and even makes me have more respect for Sponge Bob Squarepants.

Now, you might be saying to yourself, “There’s no way the manager would let you do that” and you would indeed be right. But you see, most night managers at McDonald’s liked to hang out up in the drive thru window. Quite a distance away from where I stood with my spatula. So I would appoint a lookout, some other of lower intelligence, to stand guard while I perfected my craft and alert me if a manager entered my zone.

Of course, no test would be complete without sampling the creation so frequent trips to take out the “garbage” were made. And on the way out there was also always a need to stop by the Chicken McNugget bin. You never know when those will have to be thrown out. That summer I made $3.35 an hour. I think I also gained 15 pounds.

It was then that my senior year of high school began and I quit my position as head fry cook/biscuit man. I would not have another job until school was out but still think often of Dude and my days at the Golden Arches. Well, actually, no I don’t.

So, as we celebrate the occasion of another direct deposit it’s nice to look back and see where it all began. Just like always, the money deposited is usually in the bank and gone by Monday on silly things as mortgage, food and electricity.

In my effort to eat healthy I’ve tried to minimize my visits to fast food joints.  Truth be told I haven’t made a biscuit since my departure but I’m willing to bet mine would still be the best.

And finally, in closing, just remember the next time you see or hear a commercial for a Triple Cheeseburger at Mickey Dee’s that you know who you can thank for its creation.

And you’re welcome.