Thanks Walt, It was Fun!

 

He was born on a mountain top in Tennessee, he was raised in the woods so he knew every tree, he was king of the wild frontier and to a much younger version of myself he was a hero, before I had an idea of what a hero was. Walt Disney had a hand in creating this phase of hero worship I encountered. In the mid 1950’s, Walt made sure that every young boy in America knew about Davy Crockett.

I was not exempt from the craze that swept the country in 1955. Of course, my parents have to share some of the blame in this mania. Hey, I didn’t go out and buy Davy Crockett coloring books or that little yellow plastic record with that song that I played over and over again. I wasn’t a hard sell though, I was all in, lock, stock and Ol’ Betsy’s barrel.

You would have thought that a character that made such an impression on me would have been someone I would have learned much more about. No, it didn’t happen that way. Actually, I have to admit that it wasn’t too long after the craze that Davy was replaced by Zorro!

But, just like a lot of kids during that fling, I ate and slept everything to do with Davy Crockett. My parents had a friend who apparently knew of little Jimmy’s fondness for the frontiersman. He came to the house one day with a complete Davy Crockett outfit. I say complete and it was, it included the coon skin cap, faux buckskin clothes and, this was the cool part, a plastic replica of Davy’s famous rifle Ol’ Betsy. Family lore has it that young James wore that outfit that whole summer. Decades later my mother would recall how the sweat would cascade down my face, but that coon skin cap wouldn’t leave my head.

Recently though, I decided to give Davy a little more attention. I picked up a couple of books about the hero from the Alamo. It was fun to read up on a lot of the stuff Walt Disney left out. First of all, it was never Davy. Everywhere he wrote his name it was always David Crockett. And, it was said that people always referred to him as David. However, Uncle Walt knew that Davy would sound better to all us kids.

The books painted a picture of a quiet unassuming guy, closer to a Fess Parker than the John Wayne portrayal. Apparently his main attribute was that David Crockett could tell a good yarn. This trait got him into politics, first local and then the United States Congress. The stories he told while campaigning is what made him a legend in his own time. Others went on to embellish his stories. In fact, short stories and plays were written about him to the point he became quite a celebrity around the young country. And, he wasn’t much of a fighter. He was in the Indian wars with Andrew Jackson, but his duties were mostly filled with hunting down food to feed Jackson’s army. In fact, Crockett would much rather hunt than most anything else. Also, when he took off to Texas, he really had no intentions of going to fight. He was hoping to find a new homestead. He was looking for land and hoping he didn’t have to pay any government taxes for it.

He did fall in with the Texans believing they could replicate the revolution of 1776. He just found himself in a rough situation, defending an outpost that really didn’t matter in the outcome of the Texas revolution. The men of the Alamo did hold out but the odds were against them. They all died defending the mission. Crockett’s death may have been heroic as Walt Disney would have us believe. However, evidence does exist that states Davy Crockett may have been part of a handful of Texans who surrendered but were then executed. 

It was never about how he died, not to us little kids in the 1950's. No for us it was about his adventures. His keel boat races with Mike Fink, his tomahawk duel to save his buddy George, his exploits in the Creek War along with Andrew Jackson and, yes, his trip to the Alamo! These adventures as portrayed in the Disney stories is what made Davy a hero to thousands of young boys. The adolescent medium of television made David Crockett the first TV hero to many baby boomers. Many more would follow, I told you about Zorro didn't I. However, I must say, it was fun to go back and spend some time with "The King of the Wild Frontier".

Fractured Flickers

 There was a time, quite a while ago actually, when if a friend told you about a show they saw on television, you could find that show easily. There were only three channels that it could be on. Three networks actually, CBS, NBC and ABC. If a show started to become popular, well everybody saw it, everybody talked about it. The day after a show aired, you could talk about it with friends, at work it was discussed around the proverbial "water cooler", neighbors would start up conversations "Hey Al, did you watch Bonanza last night", "Sure, I never miss it".

These days, you could watch a telecast of the Emmys and a dozen or more programs can be mentioned among the nominees that you have never heard of. Now your neighbor asks about the latest episode of  The Expanse and you have no idea what that means. 

How did we get here? How did we lose that shared experience that television was said to offer. If you're old enough, you might remember when they first started talking about cable. Cable will be fantastic it was said. There will be a hundred, maybe two hundred channels to choose from it was promised. No antennas, no commercials! You could watch movies uncut with no advertisements in the comfort of home!

Cable came. And, at first we all saw a lot of the same thing. If you got hooked up, the big draw was HBO. So we all got to see a lot of movies that had just finished there first run at theaters. It was cool really. Now at work, you could tell a couple of co-workers you just saw The Godfather and one of them comes back with "Yeah, I saw that on Wednesday." Back to chatting about it around the cooler. 

Those other channels started coming. There were hundreds and then some. Some of them turned out to be stations from other markets. There you were in Boston watching TV stations from Chicago or Atlanta. Well it was kinda neat but then you realize these stations were playing the same stuff you could see on UHF channels you already had! The three networks you already had were still your go to.

But cable evolved. There started to be a network for old "Classic" movies, then how about 24/7 news. Soon churches would televise prayer gatherings and preaching. Independent stations found a niche showing reruns. Apparently there was a need for Gilligan's Island all day long or a weekend marathon of The Brady Bunch. And, of course, the news channels begat other news channels. Now many news sources with many news opinions.

Cable opened up a Pandora's box of different content. Your neighbor was watching Turner Classic Movies, your co-workers were watching CNN, your mother was watching The 700 Club. The news you watched seemed to be somewhat different then the news Joe from the club watched. The "water cooler" didn't seem like a familiar place anymore. We all got caught up with programs we liked and to extent grew apart from others who were caught up with theirs. Streaming has added another dimension, you can control your content, when you want it. Now you can be watching every season of Breaking Bad or binge on The Wire while your sister-in-law is having a Walking Dead  marathon.

Did cable play a part in fracturing our sense of community? Now that we all watch different things and we no longer all listen to Walter Cronkite have we lost a sense unity? Does viewing many opinions divide us? I guess the optimistic outlook would be that having many sources should be a good thing. Diversity can be healthy I suppose. Now as a friend tells us of a new show we have to listen more closely. We may not be paying the extra $10.99 for Hulu+.

Georgetown on my Mind

Father's Day and D-Day have now gone by the board and for obvious reasons thoughts of my father have been running through my brain. The solitude of a bike ride helped stoke a lot of those thoughts. As it turned out, that bike ride took me through a couple of local communities. I was riding on what was once a railroad track that stretched through parts of Essex County in Massachusetts. My ride took me into Danvers and Topsfield. However, the interesting part to me and to this story was to find out that this trail continues into Georgetown.

Georgetown, just the mention of the word brings back bundles of memories from my youth. As a kid, my family had a summer camp in Georgetown. My old man, remember I mentioned him earlier, built this camp. It was one of his big achievements. It was a simple A frame structure sitting on cinder blocks at the corner of an intersection in a community of other summer camps. Oh, but it was way more than just that.

We have an old shoe box full of pictures with a handfull of black and whites showing Dad with a couple of buddies building this camp. This was right around the time I showed up on this planet, some of my very first memories involve the sound hammers and saws as this place took shape. I can remember when the place was at least ready to move some furniture in. The first refrigerator had no electricity, we had to bring a big block of ice with us and stuck it in the ice box on top. We had an old couch, a couple of easy chairs, some beds and finally a stove powered by propane. But, believe me, this place was like heaven.

The camp was in walking distance to a little beach on Rock Pond. Right next to the beach was a little, and I mean small, country store. It was just the spot for some penny candy and a bottle of Moxie. In the lot next to our camp was The Clubhouse. See, all the camp owners in the area had formed an association. Dues for the association went towards the upkeep of the beach and the roads with this clubhouse being a meeting place. But, The Clubhouse was more than that, they had bean suppers on Friday nights, they had dances for the adults on Saturday night and they had games for the kids.

Taking the trip to downtown Georgetown was full of memories, as well. At that time, downtown Georgetown was like being in Mayberry, RFD. On Sundays, we would take the trip to go to church, Ah, but after church, we got to go to the drugstore. This was an old Rexall drugstore with a fountain. Dad would let us sit at the counter and order up a rasberry lime rickey while he picked up the Sunday paper. Oh, and by the way, their comic book selection was to die for. I got one dime on Sunday, my choice had to be a good one. I would usually walk away with the latest copy of "Sgt Fury and his Howling Commandos".

Those summers in Georgetown were perfect. Many times we shared weekend there with the Smith family. My father and "Smitty" were best buds. Smitty helped put the camp together. When the Smith family came with us, me and my partner in mischief, Dottie Smith, would spend hours on the beach, explore the surrounding woods, read comic books, pretend to be cowboys fighting indians or just lie in bed listening to the sounds of the big bands being played at the dance nextdoor at the Clubhouse. Yeah, summer time in Georgetown, you couldn't get any better than that.

D-Day plus 4

So, we have just had the 75th anniversary of the D-Day invasion. I always try to acknowledge the occasion, remembering the day in some little way not only because of the history of the event, but also as a little tip of the hat to may old man. My father served in the Army during World War II. However, he didn't go over to the beaches of Normandy on that fateful day. He was assigned to the 4th Armored Division which was attached to General Patton's 3rd Army. It was pretty much accepted at the time, and mostly by the Germans, that Patton would be the one to lead the invasion of Europe. Supreme Allied Commander Dwight D. Eisenhower was banking on that theory.

Eisenhower played into the German's thinking and he used Patton as a decoy. He had Patton set up his command in an area across the English Channel from where conventional wisdom dictated the invasion was suppose to happen. You might say Ike was trying to create fake news. The Germans had a lot of spies in England and were trying to get information as to when and where the much anticipated invasion was going to occur. So, the Allies were trying to feed information to these spies that would keep the real plans for D-Day secret. A big part of the fake info was creating a fake build up for the invasion. In a small way, Dad was part of this fake army.

I know there were many veterans of the war who felt it hard to talk about their experiences during that time. Yet, my father opened up quite a bit about what he lived through. Many Sunday afternoons as we waited for Mom to finish cooking that all important Sunday dinner, Dad would sit and tell us stories about his time overseas. Hell, by the time I was out of highschool I felt like I had lived through the war myself. I remember those days sitting and listening to my father's stories. I remember as each June 6th started to come around again and how he would relate what was happening leading up to that June in 1944. As far as he and the rest of the troops in his unit were concerned they would definately be involved in the "Big One".

All around the camp where he was based in England there was a major amount of activity. Hundreds of trucks, tanks and jeeps drove around the base throughout the day and night. New equipment was delivered daily, including inflatable tanks and aircraft. The rumor was that the blown-up vehicles were to make it appear that Patton's army was much bigger than reality. This was true in a sense, however the big reason was to convince any snooping Huns that this was the true build-up for D-Day. My father and the rest of his unit had no idea they would be left behind when that Allied armada set sail for the shores of France.

Dad and the rest of the 704th Tank Destroyer Battalion learned of the events of June 6th 1944 much like everyone back in the US of A, from the radio broadcasts. After the Longest Day unfolded, the 704th like other units still left in England went on high alert. Once they got over the surprise of not being part of the 1st wave, they prepared for what was to come. The 704th and the rest of the 4th Armored Division headed south to Southhampton England. They shipped out on July 11th and landed on Utah Beach the next day. They moved up to the frontlines almost immediately and joining other forces they started the Breakout. Even though the D-Day invasion was beyond huge it still wasn't a done deal that war was won. There was plenty of fighting left to do.

As a kid, I often wondered about the stories my father told us. Later in life I read a book by Ken Follet, "The Eye of the Needle" and watched several documentaries detailing the story of the "fake army" and they told of the inflatable tanks with other aspects of the build-up. Also, a member of the same company my old man was in kept a diary of the unit's movements through France and into Germany. The author's name was Norman Macomber and I remember my Dad mentioning him several times. One day in the early eighties, Dad received a package in the mail, it was a bound copy of Macomber's diary. He had had it printed and copied, then sent to the surviving members of "C" Company. I have read and reread that diary many times. I no longer have to wonder about my father's stories - they're all in there.

Getting in That Christmas Spirit

So, here it is. We're getting down to crunch time. The big jolly guy takes to the stage Sunday night. And, we're all suppose to have that Christmas spirit, right? I'm sorry, but sometimes it doesn't quite hit me. I suppose, the fact that I don't have to get into buying too many presents anymore takes me out of the game a little. I haven't rubbed elbows with the anxious crowds at Macy's for a few years.   So no, sometimes it takes a while for that holiday feeling to grab me.

The wife and I never had children, so we have not had to go through the toy purchasing frenzy that many parents find themselves in at Christmas time. We've had small hints of it back when the nephews were young. Having them over to help decorate the tree always brought that Christmas spirit to the front. Wrapping up presents for the other nieces and nephews when they were kids was always fun. They're all in their thirties now and probably buy they're own toys.

No, these days I have to dig a little deeper to bring out that Christmas spirit. I've tried the Christmas music and not right after the turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. I waited until the first week of December. Then, after a few days of Bing and Nat it just wasn't doing it for me. So, I had to turn to my old stand by - Christmas movies!

Now, I'm not one to sit and watch hours of the Hallmark Channel. Did they start playing Christmas movies Labor Day weekend? I know some people like it but I really can't watch much of that kind of thing. That would get me in the spirit of canceling cable.

So, I'm more of a Christmas classics type. The first one out of the gate was "Holiday Inn". I actually put that one on the weekend after Thanksgiving which is fine, it has a lot of holidays not just Christmas. I played with the idea of watching "It's a Wonderful Life" but I've gone through George Bailey's life so many times that it's not quite as wonderful as it once was.

What I decided was I had to go with a trump card, appropriate this year I suppose. Scrooge that's the ticket! "A Christmas Carol"! But, which version? There's a lot to choose from. Dickens little tale been box office gold over the years. I've always been partial to the Reginald Owens version, although the Cratchit kids are a bit annoying in that one. In 1979, there was a made for TV version called "An American Christmas Carol" with Henry Winkler playing a Scrooge like character set in the Depression. It's worth watching. I also recommend a British made version with Alistair Sims. They skipped the real title and called it "Scrooge".

Of course, there are animated versions. Disney came out with one in 2009 with Jim Carrey. That one might be geared towards the kids a little, but it's done well. I have a real soft spot for the 1962 cartoon version, "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol". That might just be the one that will do it for me.

Since I picked a few versions on DVD in the past couple of years, I think that's what I need to do to get the yuletide juices flowing. I'm sure Mr. Magoo and Reginald Owens could make the spirits bright. Then, I'll be ready to welcome Christmas and get myself comfortable that night to witness a true holiday classic, the annual Dr. Who Christmas Special. God bless us, everyone!

Plenty of Time to Read

So, I've been retired for just about two months now and I'm getting quite used to living without an alarm clock. I come and go as I please, as they say. It's kind of amazing how you can fill your days with things that aren't work or actually job related. You can really start to forget a lot of the trappings of what was once your work life. I don't know how others make this transition to the retired life but for me, I sometimes wonder how I found the time to go to work.

I've been filling my days with a lot of different activities. A lot of things are getting done around the house. A lot of long walks have taken place, a lot of them. I've even tried a little hiking in New Hampshire's White Mountains without a huge amount of success, a story for another time maybe. I have gotten reacquainted with old friends, other retirees who also have the time to do as they please. One thing I haven't been doing is keeping myself as informed as probably should.

Way back when I was a working man, the department I worked in had someone who always picked up a copy of the local newspaper. Break time was my time to sit down with a cup of coffee and catch up. Police logs are always interesting in local newspapers. You get a good appreciation for the many calls the local police departments deal with on a regular basis. The number of calls they get from people who can't find their keys, for instance. Or, the lady who often sees men on boats, in the harbor. Or, the crime wave in one township of a number of houses having cook books being thrown onto a porch or deck.

The other pastime the papers were good for was obituaries. I had one lady in the department who would check the obits, make sure she wasn't in there and declare, "Well, I guess I have to go back to work". However, it was useful in the event that you did see someone you knew and find out if you had to prepare for wake later that night.

And, that leads me to the purpose of this essay. Since retiring I have been remiss in keeping abreast of the local news. I've not read a local newspaper for two months. I get a Boston Globe each Sunday, I glance at the headlines, I check the sports page and then look at the TV listings to plan my evening, but that's it. So, I've missed reports of car keys that may have been found or of any new recipes have caught on locally. I have also missed out seeing the obituaries which can be a bad thing.

Recently, a friend whom I've known since childhood lost his remaining parent. Years ago, we lived across the street from each other. We played the neighborhood together, went to school together, we were close back then. My parents were friends with his parents and even when my family left the neighborhood we all remained friendly over the years. I didn't see the obituary for his father and I missed a chance to go and pay my respects. I feel bad about that.

Coincidently, last week I ended up having breakfast with my friend just days after his father's funeral. Oddly enough, nothing was said about his loss and I still had no idea. We parted and planned to get together again. It was later that day that I found out about his father's passing.

I have since called my friend and gave him my condolences and apologies. Of course, he said there were no apologies needed but, I knew there were. I recalled how he was present when I lost each of my parents.

So, now I've added checking local newspapers to my routine in retirement. Believe me, those police logs are worth it.

Take a Hike, Pal!

So, I've got this question I've been wrestling with lately. It's not one of those burning questions that keep me up at night. Nevertheless, I keep wondering about it. I wonder at what point does a walk become a hike? Is it a distance thing? Yeah, a hundred yards and you're just out for a walk, as soon as you step out to 301 feet, well, now you're taking a hike. Maybe its the terrain. You're walking down the sidewalk or across a parking lot, as soon as you go off road with a little gravel under your feet you've changed gears and you're hiking. It's a little thing, but its been on my mind.

I've been thinking about it lately because in the last few weeks with this warm weather pattern, which is undoubtedly caused by global warming, I've been out several times for long walks. Could these have actually been hikes? I can remember back when I lived with my folks, my old man would occasionally say he was going to take a hike up to Rich's, this was a department store in Salem up the hill from where we lived in Lynn. Now, I've done this trip, many times before I had a license. It's not that far. Other times after making that announcement, my father would go out the door and get into the car. Did he mean he was going to hike from the car to the store? Rich's parking lot wouldn't be considered huge. Now, I'll agree, that once he was inside the store he may have done a lot of walking around looking for whatever items he needed, would we call that hiking.

Like I said, I've been out there stretching the legs not only because the planet is on a path to destruction but I'm trying to keep up with the Jones's. On Facebook, I have several friends who have mentioned getting into hiking, recently. Some of these friends, none of them, by the way, named Jones, are folks I grew up with and knew in high school. So, I'm attempting to keep pace with other old people.

Unfortunately, several months ago I started having a pain in my right foot. I went to a doctor, at least my assumption was that he was a doctor. I did, in fact, see some of those framed certificate things in the office. However, I never got close enough to read. Anyway, upon a brief examination, he declared I was suffering from gout. Now, I enjoy good food and I'm fond of many wines and ales. So, I supposed it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities to be inflicted with the so-called disease of king's. But, after blood work and further co-payments, the fine doctor rescinded his diagnosis and convinced me he had no idea what was causing the pain. So, my plan was to obtain new foot wear and just walk it off or, perhaps, hike it off.

I'm glad to say that my plan has not made anything worse. In fact, a new pair of New Balance Walking shoes have made some long walks if not comfortable at least quite bearable. Now, the question is, can I actually hike with these shoes and, really, have I been hiking all along. I believe the question does have to concern terrain. Even though this global warming thing will, I'm sure, eventually make winters in the White Mountains of New Hampshire seem like early fall, I don't think it's going to happen on my time table. I would like to get back into hiking through some of the trails in that area. However, I think I'll have to wait until mid-spring. Also, I don't think the New Balance shoes will quite handle the rough trails in, say, the Crawford Notch area. I may have to start checking out real hiking shoes.

In the mean time, I'll have to settle for going for walks. I can spend the winter enjoying good meals. I can sit down with a few nice glasses of port and burn plenty of wood in the wood stove. Who knows, maybe next year we can have those warm fall days in the middle of February.