Two-Timing Tribulation

(Another example of the fact that before a person can be old and wise, he must be to be young and stupid.)

While in the Army, I had two girlfriends back home who lived at opposite ends of the same town. Since the town was over four miles long, I figured they would never meet. Besides, they were about a year apart in school.

The girls themselves were very different. Tracey was a tall, thick Irish girl. Babs was a short, chubby girl. They had very different backgrounds and personalities. As I saw it, they had little in common.

I told them both that they were the only one for me.

Well, it came to pass that I received angry letters from both of them. They berated me for being a two-timer and cheater. It turned out that not only were they in the same school; they were in the same gym class.

Someone who knew both and had heard them cursing me got the facts for me.

One day in gym class, these two got talking about boyfriends. One mentioned having a boyfriend who was in the Army. The other replied that she also had a boyfriend in the Army.

“What’s your boyfriend’s name?” one asked.

You know damn well the reply was not Nick or Joe or Pete.

“That’s my boyfriend’s name,” said the other.

They took out pictures of their boyfriends to show each other. Yes, it was me. In fact, they both had copies of the same picture.

Obviously, I went from being the love of their lives to the biggest creep on the planet. And they made sure I knew how they felt. Talk about angry letters!

They both would have flipped if they knew I was having a steamy relationship with a woman who lived a couple miles from where I was stationed.

A couple weeks later, I was trading stories with one of the Air Force guys. He was from Texas, where towns are often fifty to over a hundred miles apart. He had been seeing two women who lived far from home. One lived about 100 miles to the West, another about 75 miles to the East. The airman figured they would  never find out about each other. And like I did with my girlfriends, he told each one that she was the only one he loved.

It turns out that there was a big regional game and two teams were in the bid for the championship. These were the teams from the schools of his two girlfriends. And somehow, the two girls got talking to each other after the game. Both mentioned a boyfriend from his town who was in the Air Force. Out came the pictures and...BUSTED.

Caught is caught, whether they live 4 miles or 175 miles apart. Coincidence? Or maybe an outworking of Jung’s Theory of Synchronicity? Who knows. One thing is for sure., When two girlfriends figure out they are sharing the same boyfriend, it has a tendency to make you feel stupid.

If you have found this article amusing, feel free to read the other articles on this blog.

American Legion Fundraiser

American Legion Post 54 is celebrating its Centennial next year. (1919 - 2019) We are one of the oldest posts in the country. Several events are being planned. As a fund raiser, we are selling certificates to get a professional car wash at Freehold Raceway Car Wash in Freehold Township. I have several of these tickets. You get exterior wash, wheels & tires cleaned, interior vacuum, dash dusted, windows inside and out, towel dry. If you are in the Freehold area and would like to support us and get a great car wash, contact me. Tickets are $19 each.

Thanks in advance!

A Norwegian Viking in The Irish Store

 A Walk through a Mickey Market.

We were visiting one of the cute seaside towns and decided to walk the main street. It was a pleasant day. Audrey noticed an Irish gift shop. She wanted to go inside.

Both of Audrey’s parents were born in Norway. She did not know the nuances of Irish things. I was less enthusiastic, seeing as the preferred market are people trying to prove how Irish they are, even if their family has been in the United States since the Potato Famine (1838).

We went in the cute little shop. A couple of skinny little Irish women were behind the counter. Audrey noticed a little statue of a leprechaun that looked like Uncle Patty. This was the start of the journey.

Next, Audrey saw a sign advertising “Irish Fashions.” This piqued her interest. She hurried to the racks with Irish clothes. Irish fashion? If you are of Irish ancestry, think of the frumpy clothes your great aunts wore to indulge in the Hibernian science of Bingo. That’s right: Irish fashion is Old Lady’s Bingo clothes.

Irish Fashion

Then Audrey noticed the various tins of crackers and “cookies.” “These look interesting,” she said.

Yeah, interesting like the old Chinese curse: ‘May you live in interesting times.”

I remember a sunny day when I was about 5 years old, My grandmother had taken my brother and I when she visited our great aunt. Aunt Kathleen was an off-the boat genuine Irish harp-ette. She brought out a platter of crackers for us. Crackers? We knew what those things were.

Before we could refuse, our grandmother said, “Take one and say thank you!”

We were trapped. In Irish culture, it is considered unforgivable to refuse food. Any food. Even those Irish crackers that, when chewed, were like munching on large-sized aquarium gravel.

And here I was, watching my wife look at tins of these jawbreakers. Aaaagh!

Next Audrey looked at the shelves of Waterford Crystal. It used to be made by Irishmen in Ireland. (I heard that nowadays, a lot of it is made in China by Chinamen.) She saw large crystal urns.

“Oh, look at those. Are they vases? They must be made for huge bouquets.”

“No,” I replied. “Those are all whiskey decanters.” I replied. After all, these were made for Irish people, not a bunch of tee-totalers.

Then Audrey’s gaze fixed on a glass model of the Titanic. She has always been fascinated by the whole Titanic story. In fact, she must have seen the movie about 16 times.

“Why would they have a model of the Titanic?” she asked.

“Well, it was an English ship...” I replied.

“So?” she said.

“And it sunk.” Audrey understood, since she knew about the old feuds between the Irish and English.

As we were getting ready to leave, Audrey noticed Claddagh rings behind the one counter. She thought they were romantic.

“How wonderful,” she said. “Are these for married people?” she asked.

“No, they are made to sell to Americans trying to prove how Irish they are.”

So ended Audrey’s first tour through Irish boutique culture.

Note that people from Ireland do not buy that stuff. They think it is hokey crap. The Irish make it to sell to Americans, Canadians, New Zealanders and Australians of Irish ancestry. These people think that having these things makes them more Irish. Like I implied before, how Irish can they be if their families have been living outside of Ireland since 1838? Or in the case of latecomers, since the Civil War?

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There was a so-called Irish store in another town and Audrey wanted at look. It had the usual gee-gaws and souvenirs and all. In one corner was a glass-topped counter that had Civil War items. There were odd pieces of brass, cap badges and such.

Audrey was curious as to why an Irish store would sell Civil War relics. I explained that a large number of soldiers on both sides were Irish.

The store did not feel right. The fellow behind the counter got talking to us. He mentioned that he was Polish, not Irish. It turns out that he also did not understand some of the nuances of Irish stuff.

We left and shook our heads. It has to be the screwiest Irish store I ever saw. In a genre of screwy stores, that is saying a lot.

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If you enjoyed this story, please read some of the other articles in this blog.

The Rune Class That Did Not Happen

Where we used to live, the local New Agers were a source of amusement. They were a catty bunch. What they said face-to-face was often very different to what they said behind each other’s backs. The New Age community was actually a bunch of competing cliques. They were superficially cordial to one another, but harbored a rivalry stated in whispers.

Some of the New Agers knew who I was due to my giving a few classes in Norse esoteric practices. Intuitively, they knew I was not one of them. One of our neighbors was part of a New Age clique. Dorothy was an older woman who had a couple of old poodles. On some days of the week, you could see women in their late 20s and early 30s hovering around her apartment entrance. They were emotionally needy types seeking Dorothy’s guidance in order to fill whatever they thought was missing in their lives.

Dorothy told us that she got into the New Age because she began to see things. She said she could see ghosts, aliens and other strange phenomena. My wife ands I doubted her psychic abilities. The old woman was friendly and personable, so we did not make anything of it.

One day, Dorothy asked if I would consider giving a class on the Runes for her group. The coordinator was a chiropractor. She asked me to call him. Back then, giving classes was an easy way to make extra money.

I called the chiropractor. Right away, I had to keep from laughing. He was one of those pretentious people who try to talk as if they are artsy. How they really sound is like the stereotypical caricature of a gay man. Think of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s portrayal of Truman Capote.  I had run into this type before.

The arrangements were made for the class. The way we arranged it, people paid a certain amount. The host and I split the profits. The price we agreed upon for the class was $20.

A couple weeks later, I dropped copies of some of my texts at the New Age shop. While there, I saw a brochure that advertised classes. It had the chiropractor’s name on the cover. For some reason, he had not sent me a copy. I looked to see how my class was listed. It was. And to my dismay, it was listed at $9. That was less than half of the agreed-upon amount.

When I got home, I made a point of calling the chiropractor. He answered in his pretentious artsy voice. I told him there was a problem about the price. He said I had not been definite about the price and he did not expect to pay me what I asked.  When it comes to money, I am always definite and clear. I held my ground.

“Well, I guess we won’t have your class, then,” he said. This was funny. I knew by the tone of his voice that he expected  me to relent and beg to let me give the class. That surprised me only for a moment. Obviously, he did now know with whom he was dealing. After all, if you try to screw the average person out of his cut, he is not going to give you what you want. In that instant, I realized something. Most of the New Agers would have given in because they so wanted to be recognized. They would have begged for the opportunity to give a class.

But I am not a New Ager.

“Okay, then we won’t,” I said. There was no sound for a few seconds. The man was stunned by my reaction. He fully expected me to relent, as if giving a class were a privilege. I laughed and hung up.

That is part of the New Age mentality. These people were so intent on being a somebody that they would do anything for a chance to give a class or otherwise show that they were not just part of the crowd. They reminded me of people who would take a cut in pay just to get a better title.

Needless to say, I did not give the class.

For a couple of months afterward, Dorothy gave us the cold shoulder. She ignored us as if we were not there. Audrey and I laughed about the whole thing.  “She can see aliens and ghosts and spirits, but I guess she can’t see us,” we joked.,

At that point ,we pretty much had our fill of trying to do business with New Agers. Though we only dealt with them for a few months, that was enough!

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If you have enjoyed this story, you may enjoy some of the other articles on this blog.

Peculiar Extremes: Bigots, Encounter Groups and Mate-Swapping Clubs

Names have been changed to protect the guilty

I had a friend named Jack who was into some of the hard Right thinking. He subscribed to several of their periodicals. He was an educated and intelligent man who ran his own business. I had worked for Jack for a while. His penchant for the Rightist stuff seemed paradoxical, as he was usually a cultured and thoughtful fellow.

The Rightist periodicals were rather bizarre. I had looked over some of them. The articles covered a wide variety of subjects from Jew-baiting to racism, international conspiracies and anti-government rants. Interspersed between them were advertisements for laetrile, gold
 speculation and other crackpot investment schemes. Most of the people shown in ads were fat old men in white shirts and ties. Most of these rags were printed in the format of tabloid newspapers.

A small, Readers-digest-sized periodical was American Mercury. This one usually had pictures of the Founding Fathers on the cover, implying patriotism. Inside were the same racist rants, paranoid conspiracy chatter and anti-government diatribes as the other rags.

These rags claimed to support White folks. They were opposed to non-Whites, Jews, non-Christians ( me!), liberals, Democrats, Republicans, Catholics, Gays, junkies and a few others. Some were more extreme than others. Most of it was devoted to spreading hate. The factual content was minimal at best.

Jack really liked that stuff. Yet even he took half of it with a grain of salt.

One Saturday, Jack and I were going to a party at another friend’s yard. He decided to stop at his shop on the way. While there, a person assumed the shop was open and came in. He was a young Black man in a tye-dyed tank top and “Daisy Duke” shorts. Jack was by the front desk.

The man asked Jack if he could do a quick job for him. I could see that he had a typewritten sheet of paper with a few corrections. Jack told him he was closed, but could do it for him. He asked the young man to come back in half an hour. As soon as the man left, Jack smiled and said, “Beer money!”

Jack may have had his racist side, but when it came to business, all customers were treated well.

Jack set to work on the Selectric. This was a simple job that required no paste-up. As he typed, he laughed uproariously. In a few minutes, he withdrew the page, proofed it, and set it down on the desk.

“Look at this,” he said. Keep in mind, this was the 1970s.

I had to laugh, too. The flyer was announcing the formation of “encounter groups” for minority homosexuals. The lingo was typical 1970s jive talk. Terms like “hip”, “groovy” and “out-of-sight” were interspersed with other information.

The man came back. Jack handed him the copy in a folder. The customer was pleased and more  than happy to fork over $20. Both Jack and I were able to keep a straight face. In 1976, $20 would buy plenty of beer.

Of course, he could not wait to tell his cronies about the “Black hippy-dippy tooty-fruity.” For a fellow with Jack’s attitudes toward race and such, this was a treasure too good to keep to himself.

From my viewpoint, Jack’s reaction to the customer was more amusing that the transaction itself. He was a like a school kid who could not wait to tell his friends about the kid who pooped his pants in grammar class.

Before you get politically correct, remember that in the 1970s, people made fun of Gay folks. It was considered acceptable. And “encounter groups” were something of a joke, too. They were a hold-over from the hippy days. Nonetheless, we made beer money and the Black man later became a repeat customer.

****

One of Jack’s accounts was a swinger’s club. They met at different places. Jack did the typesetting for their bulletin, flyers and announcements. He had a thick file on them that included articles, ads and other information. There were excerpts from various porn magazines and other such literature. Jack liked to let his friends ruffle through the file.

In case you did not know, a swinger’s club is one where members have sex with someone other than their spouses. Couples meet and pair off with each other’s spouse. Larger gatherings can best be described as orgies.

The folks running it were a couple in their early forties. The husband was a good -looking man. The wife was an unattractive, flabby chick with a gravelly voice. She looked more like a Skid Row barmaid than someone associated with a sex club.

One day, they needed a flyer for a rush job. The gist of it was: “Anyone who did it with Debbie needs to be checked out by a doctor.” Apparently, Debbie was one of the guests at their gatherings and had the clap. And from what the couple said to Jim, Debbie was very popular that weekend.

Jack worked out of his house the first couple years of his business. His office was the room behind the front room. I was working late to help get a large job finished. Normally I’d be gone before his right wing cronies arrived for their weekly gathering. Jack and I finished up as his friends arrived and sat in the front room.

We were just about finished when who came to the door, but the swinger club couple. They wanted him to do a quick flyer. Jack let them sit in the front room. He figured his friends would be patient and the swingers would wait patiently.

Wrong!

I was just about to leave when the fun started. Apparently, two of Jim’s friends were talking about something “conservative”. The swinger husband jumped into the conversation. He claimed to be conservative and also said he backed Castro in the 50s. Meanwhile, the swinger wife locked eyes on me and said, “How old are you?”

I stated my age. And I instantly regretted it. For all I knew, she was the type who liked younger men. And believe me, she gave the word “unattractive” new dimensions in meaning.

“I have a 29 year old married Swedish woman who would be perfect for you," she said. I caught my breath. I had seen their printed material - in fact, I helped make some of it. I knew the kinds of folks with whom they worked. And making it with a married woman? That is dangerous territory. The brother of one of my former classmates was murdered over a married woman. Trying to preserve my ego, I declined. At least the swinger wife wasn’t talking about me doing her!

Jack sized up the situation and immediately showed the swinger couple into the office. I stayed in the front room in case he needed me to do a rush job. His friends asked me who the couple was.

“They are one of our more unique customers,” I replied.

In a few minutes, Jack ushered them out of his office. We were glad to see them go. I waited to see the couple get in their car and drive off.  Then I left. That was enough weirdness for one day.

Like many such groups in the 1970s, these swingers were poorly organized and careless. They had a lot of screwy incidents, conflicts and other nonsense. You learn a lot when you do someone’s typesetting. More than a few times, we designed “rush job” flyers and notices after some incident or another erupted at one of their gatherings. If I remember correctly, they disbanded before Jack moved into a larger office.

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In trades such as typesetting, you have to keep a straight face and take all customers. The only time to refuse a job, other than for technical reasons, is if it is illegal or very offensive. I remember one day we did work for a handful of religious institutions, from a Catholic parish to a gospel choir to the local chapter of a Satanic organization. The goal is to produce an end product that fits the customer’s wishes.

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Friends are friends. I do not demand that they agree with all of my principles. By the same token, I expect they do not demand the same of me. Some of my friends have odd beliefs to which I could never subscribe. Still and all, they are friends and will remain so.

I have friends who would not like each other for various reasons. It bothers me, but I cannot force people to change to suit my whims. Jack is an example. He knew that I did not agree with his racial and political beliefs and he respected that. Though I have not heard from him in 30 years - he moved far way - I like to believe some of his views mellowed with age. At heart, Jack was a good man with a generous spirit. Buried beneath that veneer of Rightist philosophy was an intelligent and cultured person. Paradoxes? Yes! But if you look at the folks in my world, who isn’t a paradox of one sort or another?

If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to check out the other articles in this blog.

Of Norsemen, Chinese Pirates and German Gunboats

My father-in-law told me of his father’s adventures as a merchant seaman. Like many young Norwegians, Alf took to the sea once he passed the age of confirmation. (In old Norway, people considered confirmation the age when a child became an adult.). This was age 13 or 14.

In the years before World War I, several Chinese ports were controlled by Western countries. For example, part of Shanghai had been run by several Western nations. Called the International Community, it was policed and governed by the  British commonwealth the United States, Denmark, Italy, France and Germany. The Germans also controlled the ports of Tsingtao, Hangkow and Tianjin

Alf  was on a ship headed for one of the German-controlled ports. They were probably sailing on a square-rigged windjammer. These sailing ships were faster than the steam ships of the time, used no fuel, and hauled bulk cargo. On the way into port, they found themselves being followed by Chinese pirates. The Norwegian ship hastened into port, pursued by the Chinese.

They made it!

Once into port, the incident with the pirates was reported immediately to the port authority. The ship’s captain gave the location of the pirates. Within minutes, a German gunboat left port to hunt down the Chinese sea wolves.

Some time afterward, the German gunboat returned to port. Hanging from its lines and railings were the Chinese pirates. The German Navy (Kriegsmarine) knew how to send a message to others who might try their hand at piracy in those waters.

German Gunboat. Lots of places from which to hang pirates.

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