Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Navarro County Fees

My wife is the chosen one - that is, she was chosen as the Treasurer of our (HOA) Home Owners Association.  It might be debatable if being chosen is a blessing or a curse.  There is no salary;  there are few benefits.   I cannot think of one of the benefits at the moment.  One of her curses is gets to go to the county courthouse and file papers to have liens taken OFF properties.  When people don't pay their dues or road assessments, the HOA can file liens to get the money.

We went to the courthouse last week to get 3 liens removed from one property owner.  he is trying to sell his lot and needs a clear title.  There has been a great deal of bad press about HOAs.  In our case we just follow the written rules and do what needs to be done.

Okay enough of that - "Small Fry" is on the radio by the Hi-Los.  Nice.

Walked into the county clerk's office and did the paperwork.  My wife went to the counter (she is the official treasurer  - I am the chauffeur).  I sat in a hard back brown chair.  Boring.  I got up and looked at the stuff on the table and counter.  There was a schedule of fees of Navarro County.  Who'd a thunk.  Yep, a list of fees.  Makes sense.  I took one of their papers.  Here are a few of the fees:

$23   Birth Certificates
$21   Death Certificate   -- yes, it is cheaper to die than to be born
$79   Emergency Intervention proceeds for funeral and burial expenses  -  Ok, the question, does this mean
         that a person dies broke and another has to pay $79 to get the govt. to pay for the funeral.  Or what?
         It must happen quite often if it has to be listed on the county fee list.
$72   Issuance of Marriage License
$12   Issuance of Marriage License w/cert   == I have another problem.  Doesn't it seem like it should cost
         more if you get married with a "cert?"   Certs are expensive.  You'd think people getting married would
         be  a bit more responsible and use some mouthwash instead of going to the courthouse for a package
         of certs.   Still doesn't explain why it is cheaper.
$25   Liquor certification -- hmmmm  known many a drinker who didn't have one of these.
$300 Application for guardianship if ward is over 12 or older - includes service of citation
$221 Application for guardianship if ward is under 12
         I will add here that these two items are poorly written.   They should be redone.  It reads like a 12
         year old cannot be guarded.   And 12 or older -- can someone get guardianship of me at my age?
$15   Filing your Will for safekeeping.  Interesting.  Never ever not once considered giving my Will to the
         County for filing.  Who would know to go look for it there?
$12.50 assumed name filings (DBA)

ENOUGH OF THAT.  Not great reading, but one more piece of paper can come off the desktop and rest in my Star Wars trashcan.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Newspaper stones

Apparently, I have written 8 blog entries that were never published.  One is just above this post.  Below was probably written last April in 2012.  Very little of it is world shaking - you will be able to read one touch of Obama distaste about halfway down.  that's it.

Sometimes I just like to sit and read the newspaper.  Papers have so much to see.   I need to clear off the top of the desk and list some of these paper things.  That's it.
There are so many things about computers and different programs that are foreign to me.  Once a week guy named Jim Rossman writes a Tech Adviser column.  This time it was about Gowalla.  I have not the slightest idea what Gowalla is....nor do I care.  seems it is in Facebook.  Now, I didn't know that you can hide certain things in Facebook by hitting an  X.  Not gowalla. 
     To hide Gowalla:  look for Gowalla in gray at the bottom of the post.  or go to www.facebook.com/gowalla.  Once you are there, column on the left & find link to block gowalla completely.    I wish you the best.
Here in Corsicana I saw a church named:   Missionary Baptist Church.
Right across the street was a newer looking church:  Straightway Missionary Baptist Church.
I bet there is a story there of conflict and gnashing of teeth.
Thurs., April 28th paper has an article that Leprosy in the south has been tied to Armadillos.  You can look this up if you need more info.   I just find it interesting.
same page article title:  1 in 4 US kids reared by single parent.  That seems a bit sad to me
I have seen the copy of Obama's birth certificate.   I watched the press conference where Obama tried to make fun of people who doubted.  Two points:  1.  he could have stopped the whole thing about 2 years ago.  He was a fool to let it continue    2.  at the end of the announcement, he said he had more important things to do.  Then he left town to be on Oprah's show in Chicago followed by two fund raisers in New York City on the same date.  Say what you might, the man is a jerk.
Budapest, Hungary - have approved a plan to name a park after "Elvis Presley in commemoration of his support for Hungary's anti-soviet revolution in 1956. 
Headline in Dallas Paper:  We Recommend  No candidate in Dallas city council District 7
I have been known to read an Obituary at times.  Old Joke:  just checking to see if I am listed.  Some are interesting.  An obit can be quite long or just a few short lines.  Some papers charge per line - others do it for free.  Am always checking what they did in life.  One today told of Willie Benjamin Colburn Jr who was born March 12, 1030  to sharecroppers Willie Benjamin Colburn, Sr and Jewel Clemmons.  The daddy died 8 yrs later and this Willie was put in the Corsicana State Home (an orphanage at the time).   He did okay it seems.
     The one I enjoyed reading - and please don't think I am making fun - Bunnie Dean Simmons Born was born in 1934.  The part I liked was ( I quote the Corsicana paper): she taught kids to play instruments...
This is as far as that post got before it was interrupted and forgotten.  You make up your own endings - or go look up Bunnie on your own.  I bet she was a dandy.
My Fritz teaching My boy Oscar

The other day my wife dropped a frozen weiner (weineeee) on the floor. Before she could bend over, Fritz had it and was llllooooonnnnngggggg gone ( dachshund can be lllllooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnggggggggggggg as you may well know ) == he had something similar to a frozen treat at 6 flags. Yum.

premarital animals

Animals have been a part of my life since way back when.  There are two divisions:  premarriage and marriage – there is no post marriage.

We lived in Dodge City, KS after WWII  (normally, I might say “the war,” but since there have been so many “the wars”  let’s describe the actual one.  WWII ended when I was about 5 – not quite 5 – but close.  We moved to Dodge City about this time as my dad began working for Standard of Indiana (this company is explained at a later date as well as his job title and job progression – which at this moment seems somewhat unimportant).  My father had taught as a civilian ground school person during the war at Tinker Air Force Base near OK City.

I never knew many details, but when he came home he brought a dog – a mutt if you will.  Wobblepump.   Somewhere one of us kids has a photo of Wobblepump with a flyers hat and goggles looking out the cockpit of an open air army plane.  I was always told that Wobblepump was the mascot of the base – surely, if he were, there would be a photo of him in some war yearbook.

Wobblepump was the first dog I remember.  There is little to tell since  I was merely pushing 4 and have a limited amount of recall of that time.  They tell me he was hit by a car later and died.   I have a vague remembrance of my father burying Wobblepump on the shore of the river that runs through Dodge City.   I would think that boothill would have been better for a veteran pilot.
My brothers may remind me later.  I can remember having a dog when we moved to Levelland – and, it seems we had a cat which loved to wrestle and scar our arms.   For the life of me, I cannot remember that dogs name.   It would get out and start running.  We lived in an oil camp of 5 houses near the gasoline plant.  It would run from one end to the other and scare the little ole ladies in their yards.

At one point my father chained the dog to the clothesline – long wire – and the dog would run back and forth most of the day.

While this next bit is a stone for another time, dad bought little tiny cars for us boys before little tiny cars were in fashion.  In JHS Jim and I would drive those cars around the oiled roads near the house.   These roads connected oil wells and other stuff.   We would race from the house down these road and that silly dog would run after us.  Eventually, it will raise one of its back legs and run on only 3, alternating which leg rested.  We would do that for hours at a time with the dog on our tail.  What a mutt.
Our last dog was Koko – maybe spelled Coco – it never came up, the spelling that is.  Jim & I were at the local science fair being held at Levelland JH when my dad walked in.  It must have been cold cause he was wearing a coat.   In his pocket a little tan head popped out…Koko.   She was a tiny tiny Chihuahua – tan in color and as wide eyed as a tiny puppy might have been around all those big people.

It wasn’t long before she forgot her size and took over the household.  I would suppose she lived about 15 years – we were in college when she left.   That dog had a mouth that wouldn’t quit especially if a stranger were near.  Bark Bark Bark – really tough.   I remember some lady visiting one afternoon.  Koko was acting tough.  This lady picked up saying, “You’re not so tough,” and commenced to put her fingers in Koko’s mouth.  That dog bit as hard as it could.  No blood or injury.  Her bluff had been called.

My mother bred Koko one time.  People are funny about that kind of thing.  I’m gonna breed my dog and get rich from all the puppies.  She had one pup.  It was a white long hair Chihuahua.  How?   The puppy was beautiful.   Again, my folks were not ones to listen to others.  They gave that puppy to my future wife, Brenda.  I think her parents did not want to take the pup in.  It was beautiful.

Of course, Keeta – as it was soon named – became the pet of Brenda’s parents – slept in their bed – the whole shooting match.  BJ’s mom Josephine, once told me that a man had offered her $500 for Keeta.  I’m telling you, a white long hair Chihuahua is a rare critter.  Both Keeta and Koko and long unproductive lives making each household it’s very own.

One final note.  As I age and recall, I know that my pets would have been treated differently.  They were wo loving and kind.  Yet, we didn't hover over them in the manner I do today.  Some will say I am silly today.   I do hope that I will meet all my beloved pets later and be able to apologize for my lack of attention and care.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Thomas Tayler

THOMAS TAYLOR:   I  met Thomas in the 7th grade.   He played a cornet as I did, and we were in band together.  Thomas wanted to be a great musician but somehow missed the mark too often.  This is not to say he was a bad player; no, he played well for a high school kid.  Missing the mark:  when we were both Juniors in H.S. and it came time to play at the UIL solo contest – held in Brownfield that year – I had been taking lessons from Ted Crager (formerly Monterey HS director – then to a Florida university) .  Ted is a paragraph by himself.
Ted prepared me for contest.  He selected the music and taught me how to play the songs correctly.  I did all that he asked and used our best piano accompanist at that time, Lutine Harris  (again another person who could use a paragraph alone).  She & I practice in her living room.  We were very comfortable with the music.
So we load up in the bus and head 30 miles south to Brownfield.   It was to be a long day of waiting – short performance – waiting for the results – then, waiting while everyone else finished. . . a long typical day for musicians at contest.  After we arrived, we all piled out of the yellow dog and scurried inside to wait together, properly.  All did except Thomas.  He stayed on the bus to practice.  He started practicing about 9 in the morning and didn’t stop till his performance time somewhere short of 3 p.m.  Six hours of practice is long for anyone.
Thomas was exhausted.  His performance showed how tired he was.  He suffered a bad rating from the trumpet judge.  That shouldn’t have happened, but it did.  Thomas was lucky like that.
I can remember that Thomas gave me my first sex education lesson. . . 7th grade.   Thomas was knowledgeable because he had an older sister in high school.  He said that he had seen her naked.  Since he lived in a small little shack that seemed to have curtains instead of doors, it was possible.  .
On a band trip – riding in the school bus – Thomas explained something to me that has stuck for all these years.   Understand in those days in Levelland, boys were on one bus – girls were on a different bus.  Imagine if you will an inexperience naive 7th grade boy, barely into puberty listening attentively.   Thomas pointed to his underarm – that place which gives out wonderful odors if not conquered.  Then, he pointed to the top of his shoulder as he rambled.  He explained that God – yes, God – had made these two products in order for the girl’s shoulder to nestle inside of a boy’s arm pit for that closeness we all desire.  Maybe as a 7th grader, you didn’t desire closeness, but I can tell you that I did.  Boys will be Boys.  Girls will be Girls.  And, in my case the two rarely met.
Thomas bought a car in the 9th grade.  By today’s standards, it was a junker….2 door blackish Ford with a big ole V8.  It was loud and not so fast as he thought.  He installed something on the engine that caused it barely to turn over – high compression.  I can still hear the starter:   RRRRRR  RRRRRR (real slow) RRRRR  RRRR   BAROOOM! RUMBLE!  Shake and massive dreams about muscle. 
Thomas painted that car himself with a paint brush.  It was all that he could afford.  If I remember it was somewhat multicolored.   Yes, his family was quite poor.  Thomas did all that he could to overcome that.  You might really admire his efforts.
In the period of time after my graduation from college and subsequent band job, Thomas started working for a Lubbock music dealer, Delahunty. (Delahunty could use his own paragraph someday)   Through Delahunty’s efforts, Thomas opened a sheet music store which attached to Delahunty’s instrument store.  He worked hard at this.  Meanwhile Thomas took flying lessons and became a pilot of his own plane – no small task.  Again you have to admire someone who overcomes poverty to progress in this world. 
Thomas Taylor died one evening.  He was flying somewhere in New Mexico (I believe) when his plane went down.  I suppose Delahunty inherited the sheet music store.
You might wonder why I even bring him up.   When I get to my description of my wife someday, you will see Thomas’ name there.   It was his idea for me to take a gander at her.  We were in the 8th grade.  Thomas had a crush on a 7th grade, 2nd chair alto sax named Nancy Cole.   7th grade 1st chair sax was my future wife, Brenda Joy Cooper.  I didn’t even know she existed or even her name until he pointed it out.   There is no doubt, JH band was a rewarding experience for me – not so much for Thomas.  But thanks to him, I met a quiet sweet little girl – who played good alto.  I have never asked her whether she knew God had done what he did.

Goodnight Thomas Taylor – wherever you are.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Funeral trip w/ my father

FUNERAL:   I believe I was in high school.   My grandmother Olive Smith had died.  I would guess it was a stroke or diabetes related.  I didn’t ask.  It didn’t come up.   We lived in Levelland at the time, and she had been living in Edmond, Okla.   My mom had already gone to the City.
So my father ushered us three younger boys in the car (Jim, Mike, & Pat-I think Marshall was off at school and met us) and struck off for OK City.  If  you have never traveled the byways of the Texas Panhandle then you don’t really understand the desolate features.  Our route left Levelland, through Lubbock, on to Wichita Falls, turn left through Burkburnet and straight north to Ok City.
Somewhere between Lubbock and Wichita Falls we were listening to the World Series - I believe it was the Series; it was a game between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Yankees.  Nobody knows why, but I was a Dodgers fan….not much of a fan for sure, but on that day, a Dodger fan.  My father egged me on and supported the NY Yankees.
Totally uncharacteristically he offered to bet me on the outcome of the game.   I didn’t have much money – usually just what my mom let me pilfer from going to the grocery store.   I bet my 50 cents and was totally convinced it was a good bet.  Even today, it would take an earthquake to get me to make a wager on a game – even 50 cents.   To say I am cheap when it comes to gambling would be not quite accurate.  I am waay more than just cheap.
Driving through the bleak Panhandle, windows down in the Hudson, we drove north.  That game cost me 50 cents and helped shape the nervous way that I am.  Yes, he took the 50 cents, and we drove on and on.
Sometime as we drove nearer OK City my father broached the subject of funerals.  It took him a spell to get his thoughts out.  I shall paraphrase.  He explained that funerals were not for the person who had died.  Funerals were for the living.  His fairly long explanation, I think, set the mood and behavior for us at that time. This was a rare occasion.  

I don’t remember a great deal about that funeral.  I do remember sitting there quietly and somberly (c’mon, is somberly a real word?).   While several of my cousins wailed openly during the services, we Metze Boys survived till it was over.  The funeral is not too much of a memory.  I do know that it was the first trip to grandmother’s house in which she did not open a jar of Strawberry preserves “just for me.”   That was what she would always do.  Homemade strawberry preserves and biscuits.  I knew that I was special.


When it was time for us to leave the City, our entire family re-packed into that Hudson and drove straight west out of Oklahoma through Amarillo.  We never went through Amarillo.  Always before it was south through Wichita Falls.  My father had a love for Beverly’s Restaurant and her fried chicken in Wichita Falls.
Again uncharacteristically my father chose to drive through Amarillo, and we stopped to eat at Underwood’s Barbecue.  He loved Underwood’s.  They had the best hot rolls.  We stopped and ordered.  Keep in mind this was not a happy trip.  Mom was still quite upset; funerals can put a damper on most any party.  My father ordered ribs.  He never ordered ribs that I remember.  But, he did this time.
He began a systematic devouring of those ribs.  He had grease up to his elbows and slathered all over his face.  The whole thing was a riot.  Everyone was laughing and having a great time with his antics and the ribs.   This was not the father that I knew.  In case you didn’t figure it out,  eating BBQ ribs at Underwoods and having a great time – this is one of the things that you do for the "living."  He was great getting us in a better mood.   I miss that experience now.

Friday, January 18, 2013

3rd Grade in Kansas

We traveled a great deal in my elementary years.  My father's job with Standard Oil of Indiana looking for oil strikes demanded the moves.   We pretty much were in Kansas for the earlier elementary years - moving to Nebraska in my 4th grade year.

Frankly I am confused about where and when we lived in certain towns during those years.   I do know that my Kindergarten year was spent in Dodge City (see more in the future).  And we returned to Dodge sometime after that for a while.  Little brother Pat was still a baby on a bottle when we returned to Dodge, so it must have been sometime in 1948 -49.  I do know it was summer.   In between/or before our return/and after for that matter, we parked our bones in Syracuse, KS and Meade, KS.  Pat was born while we were living in Meade – but a few miles away at the hospital in Fowler, KS.  I guess mom had had enough of birthing at home.
In Syracuse – my 3rd grade year – we went to school at the local elementary.  I remember NOTHING about that year really – a few points follow.  My mom’s story was that I could print so beautifully that the teacher did not want to teach me to write – cursive.  So I didn’t.  Does that story sound somewhat phony to you?  Me too.  Mothers will be Mothers, and that is what she told me.
I was in the high school band during my 3rd grade year.  Band met in the gym under one of the baskets – the “conductor” stood beneath the basket and we rehearsed.  Brother Jim was in this band too as a 4th grader.  I can only guess the quality of the organization if  3rd and a 4th grade cornet players were included on the roll.  My 3rd grade teacher would release me to walk to the gym for rehearsal.  I’m sure it was a quality rehearsal with all the bells and whistles.
There was no air conditioning in the gym.  C’mon folks this was about 1949 or 50.  It was hot in the gym.   One of my fondest memories was sitting on the back row of that band with other cornet players.  I learned so much from them.  You want an example?  I can remember on more than one occasion, while the director was doing something else since the cornets were so fine that we needed little extra attention, the older boys taught me a trick.  You lay your hands on your lap, palms up – close together.   Now spit on each hand and wait.  Eventually a fly will roost on the spit and  WHAMMO!! You slam your palms together to kill the fly.  They were quite good at that while I lacked certain coordination.  As you know I never was much of an athlete.  Band was good.
Sometime during our stay in Syracuse, the band marched in a parade.  I can see the parade route in my fertile mind.  It started in front of the school on top of a hill and went straight down to the city center.  The band lined up to march – it was very nice weather – perhaps Christmas or Homecoming, who can remember that much.  The band lined up to march.  The director had me go stand on the curb as the band marched off down the street.  I stood there with my King cornet, full regalia uniform and watched them fade into the distance.
If I had any pride or brains….I would have dropped out of band that very day.  Jim, the 4th grader, marched down the street.  I bet he was really cute.  He had a Reynolds cornet.  I stood and waited.  If there were a climax to this adventure, that has faded.  We moved in time to start the 4th grade in Nebraska (that stone will come later). 

more will follow, night.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Band in Odessa

You just never know what they will remember 50 years from now.
As I age memories flail in and out of my mind with little regard to my position at the time. I can be sitting in my car, in church, on the back porch - no matter - wham !! like a meteor from space a memory flashes across the brain that has not surfaced for years and years. Some are good. Some not so good.
Just now, quietly sitting in front of my mindless computer game, I flashed back to the 5th grade. I attended Lamar Elementary in Odessa, TX for the entire 5th grade. An amazing thing since my father moved with the oil company regulary until that time. 5th grade had its ups and downs. I forget the downs.
We moved to Levelland in time for the 6th grade. During that summer I attended Summer Band at one of the Odessa Junior Highs. Frankly, I can't remember a great deal about that time. It was a band hall. Band directors waved in front of us. I sat and blew on my King cornet, happily, oblivious of anything around me.
I do remember one particular rehearsal. We were playing some stupid little song that future 6th graders muddle through, when suddenly the director stopped the band. I put my horn down and waited for his jewel of knowledge.
The director was J. R. McEntyre in his youth before he moved up to run Premium H.S. I just realized that spelling Permien is not in my spell check. Premium H.S. is funny enough though. I will look it up later. Spelling has not flashed across my mind this morning.
J. R. McEntyre slammed down his baton - Stopped the full band - and looked straight at me - It was "that" look - Nobody moved especially me. Loudly he barked out, "DO WANT TO COME UP HERE AND DIRECT THE BAND?" I was too stupid to understand what he really meant. Apparently I was showing great leadership in the future 6th grade cornet players, and they were following me.
Wisely I kept the mouth shut. I distinctly remember thinking, "Yeah, that would be fun." I froze, he glared, we all waited, J.R. restarted the band. To this day I have not the slightest idea what I did wrong. I don't want to know. I am sure J.R. doesn't remember the episode.
My folks were good friends with McEntyre...or maybe they thought they were. I don't know. Over the years I talked to him on several occassions. Is it Permian? Yeah that seems right. During one year, my band director, W.R. Wheeler packed me up and another couple of kids, and we drove down to Odessa for the marching contest. I believe we stopped off and picked up Gilligan from ?? ?? ?? Lamesa??
I was young at the time. I remember listening to Permian march and play. Never before had I seen a high school band so fine. They stopped in the middle of the show and played "Saints Go Marching In" featuring the trumpets. I was in Heaven. Side note - since Bill is reading this - I remember hearing him say at that contest - He remarked something about how good it was, but the piccolo was out of tune. I was in awe.
That's it.
Y'all enjoy the rest of the day.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

heading try - and logging

found the word "heading" / trying it

That's over. I do wonder what the heading will appear as.

In my youth, my father worked for Standard Oil of Indiana.  This company became Amoco and ended as BP.   Yes, that villainous BP was indirectly responsible for me being able to go to college and become a band director.  My father wanted me to become an accountant or an optometrist.  Surely you see the connection between the two.  It was his fault that I played the trumpet; my father should take partially the blame.  That is not the subject of this stone...neither is "heading."

He worked his way up the ladder at Amoco.  Originally he was a logger.  He had a logging truck.  And he was a logger.   Not with lumber, cmon, this is an oil company.  The first I remember his logging came when I was about 5 or so.  We lived in Dodge City, Kansas.

Back when - when companies went looking for oil, they would drill a hole or so - then a device was put down the hole.   I think they made explosions, and these were recorded on the device which was logged (catch the word, logged) in the back of this panel looking truck.  Yep, me fadder, ran the truck which made the charts.   We were so proud.

He moved up the ladder over the years.  We moved to Texas and no longer had to live in cheesy motels.  Not much more to this.  Y'all enjoy the rest of the day.

Somewhat eventful day vs. plumber

EVENTFUL DAY   (not worthy of becoming a sitcom though) - no births or deaths.
1.  We have lived in this house for 4 1/2 years.  It was new; we had it built.   Last week, I noticed water standing in the shower after the water was turned off.  Maybe in your house that is normal, but in my house it is not. . .big ole drain hole.   Backing up water, bad.  Backing up computer, good.
After the problem resurfaced again yesterday, my wife got the plumber's friend  (plunger)  and started pumping away.  I joined in the festival and water was going nowhere - nowhere -  except all over the shower walls.  At that moment she discovered the sink wasn't draining either.  Instead it bubbled up black stuff about 6 inches into the sink.   Not good.   Black stuff in sink, bad.   (fill in the rest)
I called my ex-next door neighbor (Lelanie Petty - has a local insurance company in town)...make that texted her:  "Do you know a plumber?
Her response:   "yes."
After prodding, she gave me cell number of a local guy - long story shorter:  He  came out with his able assistant - ran the machine through the line - pulled out gobs of gray hair and other stuff.  I made a point of pointing out the wife's grey hair.   Mine is not grey.  Mine is distinguished.   

So I took the plumber into the other bath, water closet, reading room.   The tub in there has never drained properly.  He worked on it.  No gray hair.   This time he pulled out a piece of flexible plastic pipe from the drain.  It was left by the initial tub installer.    

Now they both drain like real troopers.   $247.   Yep.  $247.   I suppose there would have been a cheaper way.   Sledge hammer and drill bits.   I liked the plumber.  He didn't even make fun of me.  Actually he was real serious the whole time.  I woulda thought plumbers would be a bit more jolly.

Cisco Santa Claus bank robbery, 1927

Whoever wrote this article has a way with words. I would love to find more info on this - Surely this has been made into a movie. We were listening to a car talk guy on 570 (sat morns) - he always tells stories which he calls "The backside of American history."
Today he told of the 1927 Santa Claus bank robbery in Cisco, TX. The above article leaves a few things out that he injected - such as .... well, I forget. But his story telling was more detailed.
I think, if I were looking for a screenplay to write, this one might be pretty good - with more research of the before and after...and embellishments.
I remember one: when the guy was lynched at the end, he was pulled out of the jail by 1000 people who hung him from a tree. The rope broke. He laid on the ground in a fetal position saying something like, "God forgive me; have mercy." The crowd had mercy. They got a new rope.
1927 seems a long time away. But I was born just 13 years later. Levelland was established ???? in 1926. Side bit to the above story. That part of the country was pretty wild because oil had just been discovered and the towns were thriving with new railroads. A guy named Hilton came to Cisco to buy a bank, couldn't, was so upset with the available hotel conditions and seizing an opportunity, built a large hotel - starting the Hilton chain of hotels. That hotel still stands.

defensive weapen


(ASIDE NOTE: things show up on my computer from out of nowhere. So this photo did same. It was attached to a word document in which a band director was telling a story about some experiences as a beginning band director. He use the phrase that instruments are not defensive weapons. I wish I knew who sent this to me and how it was downloaded without my reading. I enjoyed that band director stone. I do wish people would send more of them to me.)   

I see now that the photo didn't work.  It was a kid blowing a trombone at a dead squirrel in the street.  I thought it was a funny photo.

Trying to become a better blugger

It seems to me that for a person to have a great blog he must accomplish certain things.  #1 is regularity.  Now I know that regularity may mean one thing for an older person like me and mean something else to the younger generation.  In this case - this case only - I mean the writer, in this case me, must actually show up and do some writing on a regular basis.  I find this difficult.   Between reading the paper, watching TV, playing online poker with me older brudder, church choir, the Corsicana Swing Orchestra, and various other projects, including playing ball with my boy Oscar - hugging Bruno - loving Greta and Liesl - and feeding poor skinny Fritz - well, folks, time is a premium.  I need to write something every day.  My argument against this is the word "inane."  Wish I really knew how to spell inane.  

#2  Readership follows humor or drama (maybe top chefs too).  There is not much drama in my present life.   I don't race cars, compete in 26 mile runs, run for political office, have a hot new girlfriend relationship every month, drive a motorcycle, attend chili cookoffs - you get the picture.  I don't even have to try and tune an oboe anymore:  that can be real drama.

So consistency and subject matter are not seemingly at my eager beck and call.

Sure there are other issues in my life.  But, I do not choose to share them or my related connecting thoughts.  Here is an example.  I am not sure why, my church leaders asked me to be on a committee, the Staff Parrish Relations Committee....SPRC.  I think our purpose is to hire and fire and approve issues about the church staff such as salaries  (which must later be approved by the budget committee before forwarding to the major church council).  During this past year, our preacher of 12 years was moved to another Methodist DFW church and his replacement was the preacher he replaced.  Didja get that?  Our Preacher (A) left here to go to a church in DFW area.  He was replaced by Preacher (B).   A replaced B at that church.  B replaced A at this church.

Now as a member of the SPRC, I have been told why this swap was necessary.  I think that I could whip up some Drama  about all of this if I choose.  The new guy has instituted changes which meet his personality and has asked for future changes.  I could try to create drama about all this.  I don't.  I don't care.  I like the old guy;  I like the new guy.  We all need to move on at times.  They both did.  I have in the past.  Certainly in my career as a band director, I moved on at times.  You could see the writing on the wall  "Get out of town before they get you."  Drama, I don't need.

One member of the committee was talking about the work we do - how nice and sweet it is.  I pointed out that if an issue, a real issue comes up with the staff, we are going to be in the deep mix of it all.   Let's just pretend that one of our two preachers does something wrong.   I mean, really wrong - not just forgetting the words to the Lord's Prayer.  Which group is going to feel the heat.  Yep.  The SPRC.  So with that said, let's move on.

another blug follows on another page when I get to it...

Here is a final bit.  Didja ever wonder why I don't have any advertisements on my page.  They won't let me.  Thinking I was being funny, in a previous post many moons ago, I suggested the reader click on an advertisement so I could earn a penny.  I was told  that each click amounted to a penny.  I thought the line was funny - "click here and I will get rich, rich, rich."
Somebody upstairs in the Blog world actually read that.  C'mon, who in the top echelon of Blog Heaven is going to read that post and then get upset?  They did.  My advertisements were pulled and all of my money was returned to the advertisers.  Boy did I learn my lesson. Now instead of slimy advertisements sprinkled all over my site, I have this clean view.

Would I add advertisements if offered and forgiven?  Betcha Life I would.  I want my penny!  Would I ever suggest that you click on the slimy advertisement.  No, I would not.   I am cured and reformed.  Now if only I could get the Blog God to forgive me.....There needs to be a 10 commandments of blugging posted on my wall above the monitor.  I am cured.  Frankly, we are never cured.  But I am making my way through the Blog 10 step program for Advertisement Abuse.

with that, we close.
g'night   Mtz