Black and White Days

If you’ve been paying attention since I’ve been writing this blog, you know a lot about me.  You know I’m married. I’m a published novelist (available on Amazon or B&N), a produced screenwriter and I taught screenwriting at the University of West Florida when I lived in Pensacola.  You also know I’m a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel and did two combat tours during Viet Nam.  So, what’s you point, you ask?  I’m getting to that.  You also may recall from other blogs that I don’t sleep a lot at night which means I look at a lot of really bad…I mean REALLY bad television between midnight and six am.

My grandson once asked me if I was born during black and white days.  I wasn’t sure what he was talking about or how to answer until I realized we were watching an old cowboy movie on television and it was in black and white.  I’m just happy the movie had sound, so he didn’t ask if I was born during the silent era, but I digress.

I hadn’t thought about it much until lately.  I love old movies and many of them are from the black and white era.  I can’t imagine Casablanca or some of the early Hitchcock films in color.  We know Rick wore a white dinner jacket in the film and we know the Maltese Falcon was black but do we need to know what color hat Ilsa wore?  The blood was red on the knife in Psycho, but black did the trick when it scared us to death at the time.  No need for color.

I started thinking the other night/early morning.  How many black and white movies or television series are still available to be seen?  A not so quick scan said I could watch an episode of The Lone Ranger from 1949.  No, that’s not a mistake.  I didn’t even know there was television in 1949.  How about an episode of Dragnet from 1951?  Just the facts, Ma’am, just the facts.  Sorry, couldn’t resist. Andy Griffith?  More episodes than you can watch in one night. Whatever your favorite show or the one you have heard your parents, or heaven forbid, your grandparents talk about…”they don’t make ‘em like that anymore”…is on some cable channel someplace.

And now the granddaddy or grandmother of them all:  I Love Lucy. Every episode ever written, filmed or produced is playing someplace right now.  To set the record straight.  I am not a fan of Lucy. It gets even worse.  I think people who commit treason or crimes against small children or ding my car door with theirs in the parking lot should be placed in a room with nothing but a straight back, wooden chair and be forced to watch reruns of old I Love Lucy programs 24/7.

I thought that was the worst punishment a person could undergo until last week.  It was about 3 am and I was flipping channels in a half sleep/half wake mode when I hit stop on my remote.  “This sounds interesting” I said to myself.  I’ve seen a lot in my life, much of it not so good and I don’t like to talk about it, but this one trumped everything I had ever seen. Living color.  Full sound.  No beating around the bush.  It was right out there for everyone to see and she was proud of it.

Doctor Pimple Popper has taken the lead over Lucy and I may never change channels again without being damn sure of what’s on the other side of the remote.

CHRISTMAS CARD, OH, CHRISTMAS CARD

It’s that time of the year again, and I’m ready.  Sorta. Kinda. My tree is up.  My lights are on.  My balls are hung, uh, you know what I mean…my stocking is ready to be filled, the gifts are wrapped and beneath the tree, and there is some Christmassy stuff in the front yard.  All that has been ready for weeks.  The only thing left was the annual mailing of Christmas cards.  Therein lies the problem.

For years when I was growing up and we got Christmas cards at home, my mother very carefully opened them, read every word, saved the envelopes and taped the cards to the doorway leading from the living room to the dining room.  She never questioned the motive behind the card.  It was Christmas.  A card.  From a friend or family member.  Deck the halls…or the door.

But now, all of that has changed.  Back then she went to a store, bought a box of cards, pulled out her address book and the cards from last year to make sure she didn’t miss anyone and she mailed out cards.  Not any more.

Now when we pick out cards we have to be sensitive.  Politically correct.  Conscious of others feelings.  Instead of a box of cards, we have to be aware of the message, the cover, the sentiments and what is wished.  Can’t send a Christian card to a friend who is Jewish.  That I understand and we have some cards that wish the recipient a Happy Holiday so they can pick the one it relates to for them.

After a career in the Army and moves all over the place and more schools for my two daughters than I can remember, and a wife who is from England with relatives all over the world, for years at Christmas time our mailbox looked like a mail drop for the United Nations. The cards had stamps from countries all over the world.  One friend who worked for a government agency known only by their three initials, always had a return address in Washington, DC no matter where they were in the world.

This year when we did our Christmas cards my wife put then into a stack and told me to take them to the post office.  The rest of the directions were lost on me, evidently. I went to the post office, saw a line around the block and decided to just drop them in a nearby post box and go home.  On the way I called home for some unknown reason and my wife asked if I got stamps for the cards going to England, Australia and New Zealand?  Oops…Have you ever gone in a post office at Christmas time, waited in line for an hour, got to the window and asked if they could go empty one of their boxes so I could get my cards and buy stamps for them?  If you do, you will find that the Christmas spirit, like Elvis has left the building.  While they were digging through the box, my wife called and told me I did not pick up the stack needing stamps so I didn’t have to go through the box. Christmas or not, I was told to never come back.

In case you’re in the same quandary with regard to what cards to send to whom, I have a great suggestion.  Do what I do. For my friends who celebrate in ways at times I don’t understand, like my Muslim, Buddhist, Shinto, Cao Dai, Hoa Hoa, and others, I address a very nice envelope, put their name on it with a non-offensive stamp and leave the envelope empty.  Let them figure out what the card would have said if I had sent it.

Remember When…

It seems this time of year is defined by the music we hear. It’s on the radio and television commercials use Christmas songs as background music or as a way to sell the consumer everything from cars and exercise equipment to catheters and incontinence supplies delivered discretely to you home and charged to Medicare.  The songs are supposed to remind us of times past, or friends, or places or something pleasant so we are in the mood to spend money.

That got me to thinking. I don’t sleep much and I’m usually awake around 3am.  I may go back to sleep around the time I need to get up, but from 3 to 6 I do what I call my “creative thinking.”  This is when I remodel my bathroom, tell that guy at the grocery store back in 1973 what he could have done with that cart he thought I hit his car with and important things like that…or…I watch television.  Have you ever watched TV at 3am?  I have every cable channel known to man and the best I can do is fifty channels selling me everything from oil-less fryers, to cosmetics guaranteed to eliminate wrinkles to a course on how to make a million dollars in the stock market. If I don’t watch those, and I’m lucky there is an NPR station showing an old rock and roll review between pitches for a fifteen CD set of all of their music, or a CW series or Celtic or Soul or some other decade of music.  Now to the point of this.  I knew you were waiting.

Those songs immediately bring back memories for me.  I didn’t realize how much of my life was tied to a song.  I hear one and I go back to the memory that song evokes, and I’ll bet it happens for you as well.  What song reminds you of your first love?  How about the one when you realized he/she didn’t love you as much as you thought? My parents were the Great Depression and WWII generation and when they heard an old song on the radio or the Lawrence Welk Show (not me…they watched it, I just suffered through it) they would always comment about “remember when…” and it was usually a pleasant memory unless it was a popular tune during the war and was a favorite of a long lost friend.

What did you listen to in high school?  College? What did you dance to at your first prom?  That song you played on your record player, 8 track, cassette player or CD when you and he/she always…fill in the blank.

For me, and I’ll bet two songs that have a universal meaning for anyone who served in Viet Nam.  They were almost as popular as the National Anthem. It didn’t matter if we heard it on AFVN, on somebody’s cassette player or from a band with singers who could barely pronounce the words, when WE GOTTA GET OUT OF THIS PLACE IF IT’S THE LAST THING WE EVER DO, or I WANNA GO HOME came on we stood, yelled, sang along and generally made fools of ourselves, but we meant every word of it.  Most of us got out of that place, and got home but many didn’t and those songs will always remind me of them.

My good friend Lieutenant Bill….was a Charlie Pride fan and drove us nuts playing his songs all the time. Bill was captured alive one day and when the prisoners came home I looked for him. I scanned the names of those who had died in captivity.  He wasn’t on either list.  Someday, I hope and pray that he gets to GET OUTTA THAT PLACE…

A Christmas Secret

 

For anyone who was ever in the military from 1941 through 1990, one of the highlights of the Christmas season was the possibility to a visit by Bob Hope and his USO troupe to your base.  He started stateside in California in 1941 and from then until his last trip in 1990 he brought a little bit of home to the troops in some of the most desolate places on earth during each war or conflict where they were deployed.

He did shows on aircraft carrier decks, in open fields at army bases and in rear areas.  He was always accompanied by several other entertainers and most important to the thousands of men, (my apologies to any lady who reads this) a couple of beautiful female dancers, singers or perhaps those with no talent who just looked good.  The shows were free, open seating, no pulling rank to get a front seat, however if he was at or near a hospital you could always find a row or two of wheelchair and other medical devices down front.

I never got to see a show in person, but I did hear two of them live on a radio during Viet Nam.  In 1968 I was on a four day patrol and at the designated time, we were just setting up an ambush site when he came on the radio.  I turned our PRC 25 (if you have to ask….) to the right frequency and listened for a few minutes until it got to be too dangerous to have him on the radio and not have it on the right frequency.  My RTO (see above) wanted to listen through a set of headphones but since I was a Lieutenant and he wasn’t, I won.

The next time I got close to a Bob Hope Christmas show was in 1970.  I was in the Mekong Delta in Viet Nam and got called in to our Corps Headquarters for a Top Secret briefing.  I had no idea what it was about.  We’re invading North Viet Nam?  Cambodia?  It’s over? The President was coming to town?  Nothing as mundane as that.  We were required to show our identification cards, secured in a briefing room, and waited for a 2 star general to arrive.  Once he came in, his briefing officer put a slide on the overhead projector (again, see above) and the TS briefing began.  We were being given Bob Hope’s itinerary and travel route.  Five days later, a helicopter flew over our outpost at the end of the world in the Delta and the pilot informed me that he had Bob Hope on board.  Hope had a call sign which I can’t remember now, but he did not use his name for security purposes.

Years later, I had to pleasure of meeting him in Los Angeles and he was a genuine gentleman in every sense of the word.  The reason for this trip down amnesia lane?  Today was an incredibly powerful day as President George H.W. Bush was laid to rest.  I not only met but I worked for 41 in Washington, DC.  As I watched the funeral, it was hard not to get emotional and I thought of the Bob Hope show.  He always ended his show with Silent Night. To this day I can’t hear that song without a tear in my eye.

No joke.  No cute ending here.  Just a fond memory and a fond farewell to two icons. 

They’rrreee Herree

They’rrreee Herree

Every generation is told the one behind them is the future and in most cases that future generation has been looked on with great pride and anticipation of their taking over and doing a better job than the one they replace.

No matter how old you are or what your generation is called, you and unfortunately I, are on our way out. We are going to turn things over to those behind us whether we like it or not.  We see on the news how the country and the world is shifting.  The direction its shifting depends on your political view.  It’s happening all over the world and not just here in the US of A.

Okay, I’m off the soap box now and getting to the point of this blog.  I have mentioned it in the past, but a quick review. (There will be a test at some point)  I have been teaching at the college level for several years in Washington, Florida and now here in Georgia.  My class has always been a writing class, either screenwriting or fiction.  The students have ranged from entering freshmen, a few high schoolers who were dual enrolled and a couple of graduate students over the years. Based on this I feel I have a good handle on the upcoming generation.

At the University of West Florida, I taught a course called Writing for Television, Film and Radio. Notice the first word in the description? That will make sense in a minute.  The name of the class was in the school catalog, on the door to the classroom and on the syllabus I handed out during the first meeting.  

Wait….do I see a hand in the back of the room?  Young man sitting back there on the very first day of class.  “Uh, ‘scuse me but will there be any WRITING requirements in this class?”  Let that sink in for a second.  My smart-ass response?  “You’re in analytical geometric algebraic geography.  How much writing do you think you will have to do?”  “But..but…it say’s right here that this is a television and film class?”

Two weeks later this same individual handed in his first writing assignment.  I brought all the papers home to read and grade.  When I got to his…well…my 12 year old granddaughter was doing her homework alongside her 7 year old brother at the kitchen table. I handed the paper to her to read. Her response?  “Papa, when did Logan learn how to type?”

Moving right along to the present.  I went to a local supermarket last week to get a few things. When I got to the cashier, it was a young lady I recognized from a class next to mine where I now teach. We exchanged pleasantries and when she totaled the order, I said I wanted $20.00 back. “I’d like two tens’ please.” She looked in the drawer.  “Sorry, but I don’t have any tens.”  I’m not hard to please, so I said, “Okay, just give me a thirteen and a seven.” Wait…wait…it gets better…She looked in the drawer and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a thirteen.  Do they really make them?”  There is a small branch bank in the store, so I suggested she go to the bank and ask them for one.  In the meantime, I said, “Just give me a sixteen and a four.”

I didn’t realize the manage was standing nearby and heard the conversation.  “Sir, if you need specific change, please ask for it at the bank.”

I stopped by an adult beverage store on the way home, bought a bottle and paid for it with a brand new fourteen dollar bill.