wayweird

“Hey, whatcha you guys watching,” inquired Dad of my brother Frank and me.

It was Thanksgiving Day, 1975, and after stuffing ourselves with turkey, dressing, Brussel Sprouts and all the other T-Day delicacies we had settled down in front of the T.V. to fart away the afternoon and take in the St. Louis Cardinal-Buffalo Bill football game.

“We’re watching O.J. go in from the 3 yard line to put those damn Bills ahead 12-7,” I reported as I removed myself from his easy chair.

“Good! I hope they bury those bastards,” he grunted as he sunk into the seat of honor.

“Why are you rooting against an NFC team, Dad? They’re a gutsy bunch. I like the Cards myself.”

“No true Bears fan can ever cheer for the Cardinals.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?

“Jesus! Read your history books, son! Don’t you know that the Bears and the Cardinals have been at each others throats since the Cards were playing at Comiskey Park?”

“What are you talking about? Why were the St Louis Cardinals playing on the South Side of Chicago?”

“Didn’t you know that Chicago had two professional football teams until 1959?”

“Now, you’re pulling my leg again. Just like the time you told us you piloted the plane that dropped the bomb on Nagasaki!”

“Nah! This is the truth. Go to the library and look it up if you don’t believe me. You should hate the Cardinals even more than the Packers. They cost the Bears a championship or two.”

So I did, and his story checked out again. My old man knew a lot of good stuff.

Anyway, the Bills went on to thrash the Cardinals 32-14 in that Thanksgiving game, but I never could work up the animosity towards the red birds that my dad said a good Bears fan should feel. They were just too far removed from my times and my Chicago for me to do that.

In fact, I’m pulling for the Cardinals to win this Super Bowl. NFC all the way, Baby! Besides they’re really from Chicago.

P.S. It’s even funnier to learn that the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Cardinals were once one team. Yep, they merged in 1944 because of personnel shortages caused by World II. They were known as the “Card-Pitt”, or derisively as the “Carpets”.

Yeah, it’s true. Look it up.

What a conflicted mess.

“Hey Tom! Bring me a can of beer out of the refrigerator,” commanded my father as he watched the Cubs lose another one on the black and white TV.

“I’m only 8 years old. I shouldn’t be touching this stuff. It’s against the law ya know,” as I handed him the can and the can opener.

“Nah, you’re in the clear as long as you don’t drink it. Consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to run down to the tavern and bring it home in a bucket,” said Dad as he punched a small hole in the top of the Schlitz can.

“Whadaya mean bring it home in a bucket?”

“When I was your age I had to run down to the corner tavern and carry the beer back home to Grandpa in a bucket,” he explained as he punched a bigger hole across from the small hole.

“Why’d you do that Dad? Didn’t it slosh out of the bucket? How come you just didn’t go get some cans of beer?”

“Because beer didn’t come in cans back then, and even when the beer cans came out Gramps still liked it from fresh from the tap. And the buckets had a cover on them so the beer didn’t spill out,” Dad answered as he handed the can opener back to me and took his first refreshing swig.

My dad was always telling me and my siblings how primitive things were back when he was growing up and sometimes I had a hard time believing him. But this explanation checks out.  My father was a child of the roaring ‘20’s in Chicago. Although Prohibition in the U.S. was in effect from 1920 to 1933, my dad would have been ten years old when beer was legal again. Back in those days no one had any qualms about sending kids to fetch the suds.

In fact before Prohibition that means of delivery seems to have been quite common. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, fresh beer was carried from the local pub to one’s home by means of a small-galvanized pail. Rumor has it that when the beer sloshed around the pail, it created a rumbling sound as the CO2 escaped through the lid, thus the term “growler” was coined.

Before World War II, city kids used to bring covered buckets of draft beer from a local bar or brewery to workers at lunchtime or to their parents at dinnertime, a practice called “rushing the growler.”

So the Old Man wasn’t kidding me after all. Beer cans weren’t always with us. Do you know what?

The “official” birthday of the beer can is January 24, 1935. That’s the day cans of Krueger’s Finest Beer and Krueger’s Cream Ale first went on sale in Richmond, VA. Life just keeps on getting better and easier every year.

Happy Birthday Beer Can! What would we do without you?

As long as I’m strolling down memory lane I might as well clue you in on a great tourist attraction that I had the pleasure of visiting whilst stationed in Germany towards the end of the Cold War. Rosenburg Castle overlooking the town of Riedenburg was where I saw my first ever falconry flight demonstration.  According to Riedenburg’s Tourist Bureau the show is still in town - twice a day from March to October.

If you’ve been to Renaissance Faires or even Medieval Times here in the States you just might be shaking your head right now and thinking that you’ve been there and done that. All I can tell you is that anything you’ve seen of falconry in those venues is a pale shadow of what Riedenburg has to offer.

First, although Renaissance Faires and Medieval Times go all out to get the feel of those savage days of yesteryear they just can’t pull it off the same way an authentic German castle does. They can’t because they’re fake and Reidenburg is real.

Second, the location on that hilltop in Germany is breathtaking. You can’t beat Riedenburg for atmosphere. On a clear day with sunshine and blue skies you’ll feel like you’re next door to heaven. On days when the black thunder clouds come rolling in the experience is awesome…even though they cut the show short. I’ve been through both situations. The video clip below shows Prunn Castle which is 5 miles to the east of Rosenberg. Check out the hills and the river valley. This is where Medieval Times really happened. Sure as heck beats a field in Wisconsin.

Third, the falconry demonstrations I’ve seen since my days in Germany have been good. The falconers have put in a lot of work with their raptors. The birds are well trained, and they’re a wonder to see. In the States you’ll see Peregrine Falcons, Harris Hawks, and Kestrels, but at Rosenberg Castle you’ll see these raptors and more. They have the big birds of prey there - Condors, Golden Eagles and Buzzards. I think there was a even vulture up there as well.

When we were visiting, people could walk right up to the birds on their perches and get a real good look at them before the demonstation. That vulture type bird even hopped around in the court yard and chased the kids around until a handler stepped in to save the day.

The next clip is not from Riedenburg, but it captures the feel and atmosphere you’ll find there.

The falconers at Riedenburg put on a show I know I’ll never forget. They started out with smallest raptors and worked they’re way up to the largest. Once a bird was done with its routine the handlers just let it fly around the hilltop. By the time the show was over, the sky surrounding the castle was filled with these airborne hunters. Picture the flying monkey scene from the Wizard of  Oz.

So don’t think you’ve seen it all. If you’re ever in Bavaria and have a chance to take in the falconry show at Riedenburg, jump on it. It’ll be well worth doing.

Back in the olden days, during the Cold War, the Army made sure its officers and senior NCOs were not only well schooled in U.S. doctrine and tactics, we had to know the way the Soviet Army planned to fight as well.

I remember taking a test that required me to sketch out the exact location of every armored vehicle in a Soviet Motorized Rifle Regiment’s attack formation. Man, I had that stuff down cold. I couldn’t do it today to save my life, but back at Ft Benning, Ga. in 1982 I could read those Red Army formations just like Brian Urlacher reads the Detroit Lion’s offensive formations now.  

Some of the instructors at the Infantry School liked to set the mood for these “Know the Enemy” classes with music from the Red Army Chorus. I stumbled across these video clips the other day. Boy, they sure triggered some memories.

This first one is the one we heard the most. It’s called “Off We Go” (although only the most studious amongst us knew the title at the time) and was created by the Red Army Chorus in 1945. That was their big year you know

 The Soviet Army tune that came in second at our infantry school classes was “Katjusa”.

Now for some reason, “Kalinka” did not make it to Ft Benning when I was there, which is rather surprising seeing how popular it has become in American culture. You hear the organists play it at baseball and hockey games all the time. Yul Brynner sang it in the movie Taras Bulba as well. Go figure.

While we’re discussing the subject, you might as well check out another version of “Kalinka”. I think that the guys in the audience would agree that these performers are much easier on the eyes than the singer in the last clip.

Anyway, thanks to the Red Army Choir for perking up the curriculum and helping us remember their maneuver arms doctrine. Those were some of the liveliest classes we had at the U.S. Army Infantry School.

“Government, even in its best state, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state, an intolerable one.” ~ Thomas Paine

“That government is best which governs least.” ~ Thomas Paine

It seems Mr. Paine and I see things the same way. We both hold to the concept of “enumerated and separated powers,” which means two things:

1. That all powers of the federal government not enumerated in the Constitution, are assumed not to exist.
2. That the executive, legislative, and judicial branches are each authorized to exercise only those powers designated by the Constitution and no others.

The harsh realties of this world demand that we have a strong central government to impose civil order, protect us from foreign invaders, and secure individual rights. Yet at the same time its powers must be strictly limited to ensure that government itself does not trample on our rights.

The essence of this philosophy (and the essential structure of our federal system) is captured in the Ninth and Tenth Amendments of the Constitution. The Ninth Amendment addresses individual rights. It states that “the enumeration in the Constitution of certain rights shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.” The tenth addresses federal powers. It tells us that the national government may exercise only those powers enumerated in the Constitution - such as the power to coin money and raise armies. The powers that are not specifically enumerated are reserved to the states or, depending on state law the people.

In other words no matter how worthy a goal may be, if there is no constitutional authority to pursue it, then the federal government must back away and leave the matter to the states or private parties.

Additionally, the Ninth Amendments unenumerated rights include all the rights associated with individual liberty with two big constraints:

1. Our exercise of such rights must not interfere with exercise of those same rights by others - basically your rights end where my nose begins.
2. We may not impose obligations on others - except their obligation not to use force or fraud against us. My rights end where your nose begins.

Once we ignore this we are on the road to slavery and tyranny.

Unfortunately, we began our departure from this system with Roosevelt’s New Deal and it appears we will continue racing away from it with Obama and company.

Not long ago I read a blurb in a popular magazine that was very similar to the one you see below:

Dear Dr. Mind-Mender:

I’m afraid of high places like tall bridges or even the top shelf at the grocery store. It’s not because I’m afraid I’ll fall - it’s because I have an overwhelming urge to jump! I’m not suicidal, but I do want to experience that sense of flying or floating. Naturally, I know that if I did jump I’d splatter all over the pavement and they’d have to pick me up with some real heavy duty paper towels - so the desire to do so scares the hell out of me. What do I do?

Butch Cassidy

Initially I thought the writer was a real nut case, but then I calmed down a little and looked at myself.  Although I’ve never wished to jump, I do have a special fear of heights which became very apparent during a small misadventure when I was 15 years old.

In May 1970 I was a sophomoric high school sophomore and the John Hancock Building in Chicago was a new landmark. The observation deck on the Hancock’s 94^th floor was a major attraction and everyone just had to pay it a visit.

Actually, I had been looking forward to the trip. After all, what could be better than having Chicago at your feet? The year before some of us had been up on the Board of Trade’s observation deck where we had discovered the joy of throwing campaign buttons out the open windows and watching them ride the wind through the high rise canyons of the Loop. I expected even better of the John Hancock.

We needed to switch elevators to reach the 94^th floor. Yes, I know that these days an express elevator shoots all the way to the top at 20 mph, and even back in 1970 we rode one of those  ear popping rocket cars most of the way, but I remember having to switch. The second car had only to cover four floors or so.

Anyway, the long anticipated moment finally came when the last ding signaled our arrival. I was ready to view the Windy City from new heights.

Or so I thought…

Once those elevator doors parted, my enthusiasm unexpectedly changed to terror. There weren’t any walls!

I had expected to walk into a room with at least waist-high walls that had windows. Instead I was thrust into a mile high bubble. Sure, there was a solid floor and a solid ceiling, but everything to my front, left and right was a giant picture window.

I took two steps onto the deck and froze.

It seemed as if there was nothing supporting me. Chicago was truly at my feet, but I felt like my feet were planted on a tiny postage stamp. Vertigo seized me. I felt light-headed, giddy, on the verge of fainting.

“Oh my God,” I thought. “What if I black out and piss in my pants!”

“Get moving Tom! You’re blocking the people behind you,” chided Roy Janiowiak.

“Oh, yeah,” I mumbled.

I forced myself to shuffle two more steps forward and then sidled a few more feet to the right to clear a path for the other tourists. Once they had surged past, I hurried straight back to the central wall/pillar that enclosed the elevator shaft.

Once I had my back to the wall my dizziness subsided and the urge to urinate disappeared. I could even look out to the smoggy horizon without cringing, but looking at anything in the foreground scared me to death.

What was wrong with me? There was Mike White standing a couple feet away from the edge blissfully shooting photos. Harry Poulous was even leaning carelessly against a window pane looking straight down on Chicago Avenue. The only way I was getting to where they were standing was by crawling on my hands and knees.

What a shame!

Eventually Harry talked me into approaching the windows, but he practically had to hold my hand to get me to within 4 feet of them. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I hated it.

In the years since I’ve been on a bunch of aircraft - both airplanes and helicopters.  I’ve even done some rappelling off towers and cliffs. I’ve always been comfortable on aircraft, even fighting to sit at the window.

Although I’ve had to push myself to do the rappelling, as long as I’m attached to a rope I’m OK. But if you put me on top of the world with only my two feet beneath me and no third point of contact with Mother Earth, I’ll quiver like jelly.

What’s up with that?

 It happens all the time. The aroma of pumpkin pie resurrects memories of grandma for some of us. The rapid fire explosions of a string of fire crackers transport some combat veterans back to the horrors of a distant battlefield. Maybe an old song makes you think of a lost love or laughs shared with friends you haven’t even thought of in ages.

I had one of those moments yesterday when I found myself repairing a friend’s broken drawer. Somehow she pulled it out of her dresser and it broke apart. Next thing I knew I was pulling useless staples from the edges of the wreck and fitting the pieces back together.

I’m not a handy person. It amazes me that I ever got that drawer back in operation. But as I worked on my little repair project, memories of my Polish grandfather came unbidden. Thomas Kapelanski could do just about anything with his hands.

He was an accomplished blacksmith back in the day when blacksmiths were the equivalent of CarEx. He could work with wood. When I was a tot he built me a wooden rocking horse - one that would be the envy of any antique collector these days. He could knock out folk tunes on the mandolin, balalaika, and accordion.

I sort of got to missing that old guy as I fixed that drawer. I wish he was still around. I wish I had paid more attention to him while he was here.

But on the other hand, perhaps he was there with me looking over my shoulder and guiding me.