A New Merit Badge

ALMKE, GERMANY – JULY 31: Scouts singing prior to their dinner at the camp on July 31, 2010 in Almke near Wolfsburg, Germany.

During my lifetime I spent twenty-five years serving in the Boy Scouts of America as a volunteer. I love Scouting, and all things Boy Scouts. As a father, I often wondered why my daughter had to belong to the Girl Scouts, and not to the Boy Scouts.My daughter loved going camping with us as a family, but never got a real camping experience as a Girl Scout. My beautiful wife Barbara served as a leader for her daughter’s troop, and I served as a leader for our son’s troop. So, we both knew what the other was doing, and we often traded experiences. Except, that Barb’s experiences with the girls were so different from ours in the Boy Scouts. I can only say, well, they were girly things. I often voiced my opinion that my daughter would have had a more meaningful experience had she been in one of my scouting groups. Actually, she was. She traveled with us to scout family camp, and had that close experience, and she visited her brother’s campsite with her mom, and got that experience, but it just wasn’t the same. Her merit badges were so girly while the boys had he-man type badges to work on.

Too many years have passed since my kids were in scouts and now I find myself in a conundrum about letting girls into BOY Scouts. I think the feminists are reaching too far into the man’s world. If God wanted girls like men he would have granted them testosterone instead of estrogen. Except, that once in a awhile nature screws up, and grants a bit too much of testosterone to women, and too much estrogen to men, and we have a new conundrum of knowing which sex we really are. I do know one thing, i.e. that boys of scouting age are developing their testosterone supply, and experiencing it’s effect on their bodies, like becoming basso instead of soprano, and developing huge muscles, with hair all over. In the meantime the estrogen is making women’s bodies soft, and their breasts big, and their voices stay sopranoish, and they learn their mother’s coy attitude toward men.

Now, I have a new conundrum, i.e. should the Boy Scouts add a new merit badge for sex, and another one for motherhood?

So many questions, so little time left to know what the future holds.

Amazing Movement

My fellow Lions have been telling me for the past year to sign up for the Lions International 100 Year Anniversary Convention. I listened, and argued with myself about going. One day I got up enough nerve to begin filling out the registration form online. When it came time to pay and to pump in my credit card numbers the program locked up and I backed out. The Convention began on Friday, June 30 and runs until July 4th. Because it is the 100th anniversary and the Lions Club was founded by Chicago businessman Melvin Jones, it is in Chicago. Three days ago, I decided to let go and volunteer to work the event. I talked myself into giving up one day away from Peg and to serve the cause. E-mail is wonderful. I messaged the Volunteer volunteer and he accepted me graciously. I told him I would work in any capacity. He assigned me to the Parade of Nations. The Parade was on Saturday and this was on Thursday. The hook was that I had to register to attend the event to work the event. I busied myself for the rest of the day deciding on how to get their, where to park and how to proceed. Finally, I decided I would go down to Mc Cormack Place on Friday to register, so I wouldn’t be rushed on Saturday morning. Lion Ralph told me to be at the parade registration tent by 7:00 a.m.

On Friday morning after breakfast and after getting Peg out of bed, I drove the thirty-five miles to Mc Cormack Place and arrived at the convention center at 11:00 am. I had to be home by 2:30 to help with Peg again. I found the line going to room 102 and stopped dead. The line was easily three people wide and a hundred yards long. I wasn’t worried, I had plenty of time. After forty minutes spent chatting with Lions from India, Philippines, and Malta I made some forward progress. Still not to worry, I can still make my deadline. A Lion volunteer appeared, and asked what we were in line for. I told him what my situation was, and he walked me ahead to serpentine line immediately outside room 102. It was half filled. Great I thought, a short line. I met more Lions, this time from India, Philippines, Indiana, Hawaii, and London. At twelve thirty I made it through the door of room 102 only to find another serpentine which was full. Luckily, there were about six registrars moving us along. There was a second serpentine line in the room next to ours. It also served by six registrars. I learned that these people were all non-english speaking Lions.

An amazing thing about all these lines filled by people from everywhere is that there wasn’t a crabby person anywhere. I would have thought that if you just arrived from Australia (eighteen hours non-stop, and longer if connections have to be made), the night before suffering from a severe case of jet-lag, and were tired that you would really be upset by having to wait in another long line. It wasn’t the case, some of these people had waited in lines for hours in a couple of airports before they got to the convention. Lions Clubs International Foundation told us they planned on forty thousand people attending. By the opening day they estimated fifty-five thousand. I personally met several who made decisions at the very last-minute, and missed the deadline to get credentials by mail.  So, there we were waiting and telling stories about our clubs and activities. At 2:00 p.m. I called Peg’s caretaker to let her know I would be seriously late. I got home at 4:30. Peg was fine without me.

On Saturday morning the opportunity alarm went off at five a.m. I crawled out of bed, showered, dressed and left the house by 5:30. At that time of the morning on a Saturday of a holiday weekend the traffic moved at seventy-five all the way to the turn-off for the Outer Drive. I sailed through the construction zone past Mc Cormack Place and onto the Drive. I exited at the light before Randolph, and turned onto Michigan Avenue to disappear into the underground garage under Millennium Park. It was so empty I was able to park within fifty feet of the exit to Randolph Street. I had about a mile walk ahead of me to the parade registration tent, but I was so early I just took my time and sauntered along. About midway between Randolph and State I saw something strange. A City of Chicago dump truck fully loaded with salt and a snow plow parked at the curb. A driver sat behind the wheel. Strange I thought, they can’t be waiting for a snow storm. A few yards further on the opposite side of the street sat another truck with the plow and salt. I menatlly filed it, and proceeded to the reported check-in tent. I got to the spot only to find myself there all alone, no tent, and not a single person insight. This can’t be, I’m right on the mark printed in the instructions. Not to worry, I still had plenty of time so I sauntered back a half mile to the official parade start point. Alas, a tent with Lions. I found someone, and checked in at 7 a.m. By that time, the only parade volunteer vests they had left were XXL or XXXL. I chose the double. I am a big guy around the belly and chest but thankfully, I am nowhere near XXL, I would have asked for an L, or an M. Finally, a volunteer registered me. A volunteer registered by another volunteer. I asked for my assignment, I got it from another volunteer. I was to go to the Purple Zone which was about four blocks back from where I came. I eventually learned that a purple flag defined an area for a specific group of countries. It was about half a city block long and ended at a grey flag. Further west at half block increments there were more colored flags. Luckily, I learned one of the volunteers there with me was another Lion who held the key to the event; a list of countries and the color of their staging area. In the beginning there were not many people at the area, but by eight a.m. things began picking up. The scheduled start time was 9:00 a.m. As more people came my job was to answer their questions. Most needed direction to their start zone. I’d find the lady with the list, and we’d use sign language to direct them. (we had a poster with the zone colors and arrows pointing the direction). The crowd got bigger and nine o’clock came, and went, but the parade did not begin. There was total confusion as Lions from 135 countries milled about looking for directions.

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My XXL Volunteer Parade Marshall Vest

As the crowd grew, the head Marshall had the north-south streets closed off. As they did that the traffic on La Salle Street (the grey zone) got really heavy as Chicagoans not knowing what was going on searched out ways to get around the blockage. My job shifted to holding back people from crossing the street against the lights. The Lions are all crazy I thought, they step out with their backs into the traffic lane without looking to take group pictures, or to look at their phones. Picture taking was in a frenzy as a group saw interesting costumes from another country, and they rushed to take pictures with them. Numerous young ladies handed me their camera and smiled at me to take their picture with a group.

One lady who happened to live downtown was on a suicide mission to cross the street when we stood in front of her with arms stretched out. She very indignantly shouted that she needed to get to the other side. My fellow Lion belly bumped her, and told her if she didn’t obey he would call a cop. She rebelled and yelled even louder. She shoved   him away and proceeded to bull her way past him. He grabbed her by the arm at which point she really hollered out “let go of me, and don’t you touch me again.”

” Lady,” I Said, “all we want to do is to protect you from getting run over, when the light changes we will let you cross.” She stopped yelling and waited. Had we let her go she would have been followed by a stream of people running behind her. Most of these people were from Asia and they are accustomed to crossing streets with lots of traffic, I thought, but one wrong move by me, and someone will get hurt. I stopped another Asian lady who was stunned by my direction. I told her “We want you to go home alive,” she smiled and stepped back. In general, the Asians were very respectful.

Just around the corner on La Salle Street stood the Joliet American Legion Band. Patiently standing at ease in lines ready to march into the parade. Dressed in navy blue suits, white shirts with black ties, and Captains hats they were there for at least two hours standing, holding their instruments. I wanted them to begin playing, but they remained quiet throughout watching the mayhem pass by them. I guess I’ll have to wait until the Sunday night concert at Frankfort’s Concert on the Green where they are playing the next evening.

By 9:30 a.m. the streets were filled with marchers from the countries but still there was no movement. The people traffic on the corners and the sidewalks slowed a bit as last-minute paraders scurried to their start zones. Finally, at 10 a.m.the parade began moving, and my role shifted to one of urging people to move along so there would be no long gaps between. I stood on the median on Wacker Drive and waved them forward to catch the group so they could stand and wait for more movement.” Hurry up, and wait,” I told them. From 10:00 am until 1:00 p.m. I stood and watched in amazement waving my arms forward as people from so many countries passed me by. China was my favorite. I didn’t even know the Lions had clubs in China. First they carried a banner as wide as the street announcing China, Then a very short distance later came another banner declaring China, and below that the name of the city they represented followed by row after row of Chinese Lions waving flags. there had to be ten Chinese cities represented, each with hundreds of marchers. My favorite was the city that did a Dragon Dance as a special attraction. In addition to their hundred marchers the dragon snaked his way around, and through the marchers to the beat of a very loud drum.

At one o’clock my legs were numb and feet hurt, so I decided to quit. I walked away near the end of the line, and headed to a coffee shop on La Salle that reminded me of the Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld. I ordered a bowl of chicken dumpling soup, it was the first and only thing I had to eat. I paid $6.79 for this small bowl of soup and thought how glad I am not to be working downtown. Inside the shop I met an Australian couple who were also snacking. I asked them why they weren’t marching. “We did,” they answered.

“How long did it take?”

“About an hour.” Gosh it started at ten, and it is now one and still going. I finished my soup and walked out to be surprised that there were no marchers left on Wacker Drive. I saw a crowd of orange vested volunteers at the corner of Wacker and State two blocks away. I walked slower than my start of the day saunter, and as I approached the tail end of the crowd two old lady Lions tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I knew where to catch a shuttle bus back to Mc Cormack Place. Here they were at the starting point of the parade route, and I had to tell them the shuttle busses were at the conclusion one mile south. I thought they were going to faint right there. I don’t know how they made it back, I’m hoping the lions marshaling the parade at the end would help them out.

I slowly walked the sidewalk south to Randolph, and made the turn east to find my car  when the answer came. There, parked diagonally across the street blocking four lanes of traffic were the two dump trucks loaded with salt, and their plows lowered to the ground. They were a deterrent to terrorists. Chicago can’t control gun violence but it was making sure the headlines would not read “truck rams parade killing. . .” My guess is they had trucks blocking every street crossing the parade route.

Good job Chicago, thanks for letting us use the city for a great parade.

PSA-170501-Road Info

Burma Shave

017aa4e838e7f192f4b3d10b48452b9e.jpg
A man, a miss,
A car, a curve.
He kissed the miss,
And missed the curve.

 

Burma Shave

I’m sure that Burma Shave actually saved some lives.  People laughed and then were more careful!  It was a REAL “service” to America, even though it was an advertisement and it was one of the RARE “really useful” ones! 

 To My Old-As-Dirt Friends and Relatives who qualify as “old as dirt.”

For those who never saw any of the Burma Shave signs, here is a quick lesson in our history of the 1930’s and ’40’s.

Before there were interstates, when everyone drove the old 2 lane roads, Burma Shave signs would be posted all over the countryside in farmers’ fields.  They were small red signs with white letters. Five signs, about 100 feet apart, each containing 1 line of a 4 line couplet… and the obligatory 5th sign advertising Burma Shave, a popular shaving cream.

*********************************************************

DON’T STICK YOUR ELBOW
OUT SO FAR
IT MAY GO HOME
IN ANOTHER CAR. Burma Shave


TRAINS DON’T WANDER
ALL OVER THE MAP
‘CAUSE NOBODY SITS
IN THE ENGINEER’S LAP. Burma Shave


SHE KISSED THE HAIRBRUSH
BY MISTAKE
SHE THOUGHT IT WAS
HER HUSBAND JAKE. Burma Shave


DON’T LOSE YOUR HEAD
TO GAIN A MINUTE
YOU NEED YOUR HEAD
YOUR BRAINS ARE IN IT. Burma Shave


DROVE TOO LONG
DRIVER SNOOZING
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT
IS NOT AMUSING. Burma Shave


BROTHER SPEEDER
LET’S REHEARSE
ALL TOGETHER
GOOD MORNING, NURSE. Burma Shave


CAUTIOUS RIDER
TO HER RECKLESS DEAR
LET’S HAVE LESS BULL
AND A LITTLE MORE STEER. Burma Shave


SPEED WAS HIGH
WEATHER WAS NOT
TIRES WERE THIN
X MARKS THE SPOT. Burma Shave


THE MIDNIGHT RIDE
OF PAUL FOR BEER
LED TO A WARMER
HEMISPHERE. Burma Shave


AROUND THE CURVE
LICKETY-SPLIT
BEAUTIFUL CAR
WASN’T IT? Burma Shave


NO MATTER THE PRICE
NO MATTER HOW NEW
THE BEST SAFETY DEVICE
IN THE CAR IS YOU. Burma Shave


A GUY WHO DRIVES
A CAR WIDE OPEN
IS NOT THINKIN’
HE’S JUST HOPIN’. Burma Shave


AT INTERSECTIONS
LOOK EACH WAY
A HARP SOUNDS NICE
BUT IT’S HARD TO PLAY. Burma Shave


BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL
EYES ON THE ROAD
THAT’S THE SKILLFUL
DRIVER’S CODE. Burma Shave


THE ONE WHO DRIVES
WHEN HE’S BEEN DRINKING
DEPENDS ON YOU
TO DO HIS THINKING. Burma Shave


CAR IN DITCH
DRIVER IN TREE
THE MOON WAS FULL
AND SO WAS HE. Burma Shave


PASSING SCHOOL ZONE
TAKE IT SLOW
LET OUR LITTLE
SHAVERS GROW.
 Burma Shave

 

Do these bring back any old memories? If not, you’re merely a child.

If they do – then you’re old as dirt. LIKE ME! I loved reading them.

Have a great day!

 

It Is a Plane, No A Car, No a Dri-fly

Terrafugia-Flying-Car-Concept.jpg

Ever since I was old enough to read Popular Mechanics magazine I have been fascinated by flying cars. There have been many concepts proposed over the last seventy years, and in the past few years there have been some working prototypes made and demonstrated. The video below is ones such concept demonstrator that might actually be practical.

Flying cars sound so great  when compared to sitting in traffic jams on six lane highways. Imagine what the traffic jam would look like if the same number of flying cars were involved in transporting people to and from their jobs as there are cars today. I think we would need to wear helmets while jogging for fear of being rained upon by falling debris. The number of mid-air collisions would be so great it wouldn’t be long before flying cars would be outlawed from urban areas. At least cars are restricted to well-defined roads and rules for governing movement on those roads like controlled direction, stop signs, speed limits, etc. Where would we put stop signs in the atmosphere, and if we did stop for one would we fall from the sky?

Drone technology is bringing us closer to achieving practical flying cars, and it won’t be long before we are faced with a completely new set of regulations regarding how we dri-fly.
https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/D4uSWtazRCM?rel=0

Super Bowl, & Land Of Opportunity

I have to admit that Super Bowl LI was exciting. This was the first time in ten years that I watched. I must admit, however, that I didn’t see the entire game. Atlanta was winning 21-0 when I tuned in. I watched the half-time shows and then kept watching to see if the Pats would come back. I felt certain that if they could score quickly in the second half they would win. I saw the Pats score one touchdown. That’s about the time I noticed my wife Peg beginning to fall asleep in the wheelchair.I turned the tv on mute and we put peg to bed. It has been my habit to hold her hand and to say my prayers while she falls asleep. This can take anywhere from fifteen minutes to forty-five minutes.  The idea of living with regrets doesn’t appeal to me, so I made myself follow the ritual even though the game was not over.

I finished my prayers, Peg was fast asleep and I covered her with a second blanket then dressed down into my PJs. I emerged from the BR to see the score was at 28-28. Oh well. I watched the overtime and thought the Pat’s deserve the win for such a remarkable comeback. They are certainly a model for positive thinking and that it ain’t over till it’s over attitude.

Everyone always remarks about the fabulous commercials during the Super Bowl. I want to comment on two that stood out. The first was a picture story about a mother and daughter from a Central American country who leave home to find a better life. The story ends too soon with a message to go to the sponsors website for the conclusion. Someday, I may do that. There is no doubt that this mother-daughter team prevailed some awful hardships to make it to America. I was near tears watching them overcome the hardships of their journey. The message was they are willing to undergo tremendous hardship to get to the land of opportunity, except for one thing, they didn’t bother to get a proper entry VISA. I’m sure no one ever told them they needed such a document, but someone else must have told them to just walk in because America’s doors are wide open.

The second commercial was also about immigration. This one involves a young man with big dreams and proper credentials who journeys from Germany to Saint Louis, Missouri. There, he meets a fellow immigrant and the two of them team up to form the Anheuser-Busch brewery. The immigrant is not well accepted in this story. He is different, and people tell him so, but he overcomes the hardships and he prevails. His story is not different than those of my father and the many immigrants I lived with growing up. My dad was called  Hunky, others were called Dago, Kraut, Kyke, Pollack, Chink. There was a degrogatory name for every ethnic group in America. My parents and the parents of my many childhood friends all overcame the slurs and prevailed. They worked hard, they  learned the language the best they could, and became citizens. Their safe space was America, and they did not need the ACLU protecting them. They didn’t want to change America into their home country with their ethnic culture, but they didn’t give up celebrating in their howetown garb, or to play their failiar music, or to dance the dances they left behind. When their clebrations ended they reverted to being Americans.

Both stories are compelling. They tell the story of America. They show that America has a huge heart. The M-D  story, however, told me that we seem to have forgotten that our responsibility to immigrants is to give them a key to enter the house, i.e. a proper VISA. With the VISA the laws permit free and equal opportunity, but breaking into the house without an invitation marks them as unwanted criminals.

The immigration laws of the United States are very fair and well drafted. However, over the years our leaders from both sides have decided to ignore them. Instead of asking Congress to revise the law to allow free entry, they have opted instead to disregard the laws, and to complain that the system is broken. The system is not broken, it is a sensible workable law. If we want to accept more immigrants we should change the law to raise, or to remove the limit. Evidently, we don’t pay our Congress enough to work very hard on writing law. They spend more time worrying about becoming reelected than they do about keeping America viable, and strong.
Congress has invented many ways to circumvent the laws to allow more immigrants in. One way is the add-on to allow family members of those who are already here to come without vetting. Another is a law called DOCA passed to allow children without adult accompaniment to enter and to stay. There are many more ways.
So, instead of changing we continue to allow free entry and then complain about illegals spreading about the country.
Refugees are another exception. We have taken huge numbers of Vietnamese, Cuban, and Syrians. The Cubans and Vietnamese have assimilated, we are not yet certain about the Syrians. Maybe they will, and maybe they won’t only time will tell. If they don’t I am sure we will pass laws to change our ways. Except, the horse will be out of the barn when we finally close the door.

Those Were The Days

One of my most favorite times was the nineteen fifties. Those were the years I went to high school, and college. This video represents everything we loved and hold sacred to this day. I remember listening to Elvis’ big hit “You Ain’t Nothin’ but A Hound Dog” on my first day in college.  The  iconic Chevy and Ford car designs are still loved and most recently are being popularized by the car companies with updated 2016 looks. Those days all predated cell phones, computers, and video games. Heck, we were just getting used to black and white TV. Girls were still pure, and boys were just as horny as ever. If you wanted sex you got married. Religion was still a big thing, and most of us are still active believers. Democrats and Republicans fought like cats and dogs, but somehow managed to agree on issues that were good for the country. Foul language was not tolerated although it existed in private. Women were respected, could cook, could raise babies, and clean, and work too.  The one thing women were not, was educated like they are today. doctors still made house calls, and accepted payment in installments. Emergency rooms, if they existed, were for the mortally wounded. Jobs were plentiful, but did not always require brainpower, rather common sense ability to talk to people and to sell. Most of our fathers were laborers or tradesman. Mothers stayed home to babysit us as did every woman in the neighborhood. There was no need for surveillance cameras everywhere because our mother’s eyes and ears were everywhere. They even had eyes in the back of their heads. Telephones were just coming into homes, some even had private lines. TV broadcast from six in the morning until midnight, and the stations signed off with a prayer, or the Star Spangled Banner. Political conventions were not televised, but were covered extensively by reporters. Newspapers were everywhere. Men made a living selling news, and magazines on busy street corners. Milk, and ice were still being delivered to the front door. Vendors sold fresh fruits and vegetables out of the back of a truck by stopping at several places along a street to shout out their wares. Coal was still a big way to heat homes, and was delivered at your curb. Some people even had the coal company shovel it into the house. My dad shoveled and hauled the coal from the street to the back of the house down the steps into the basement and back through the house to the bin at the front. When I was thirteen I began helping by shoveling, and by fifteen I got the job done by the time dad came home from work. Mother saved and collected old clothes to send to her niece in Yugoslavia, a communist country. Their small two acre farm was confiscated for the good of the common people. They went hungry in Yugoslavia. My Dad did the same for his parents in Czechoslovakia, another communist heaven.

Those were the days, my friends, I would relive them without any complaint.

What To Do?

GJ Color

This BLOG has been going through the doldrums, and is slowly evolving into a huge pile of excrement. Grumpa Joe has let his personal life affect his attitude towards most of the enjoyable things in life. When he first initiated Grumpa Joe’s Place his goal was to spread positive thinking, and the merits of personal development. Not long after he opened the doors wonder boy Barack Hussein Obama arrived on the scene by declaring a run for the presidency. Grump Joe saw through him instantly, and spent the next eight years trying to educate the public about the man’s socialist (communist) background. Then, life stepped in, and rolled the dice causing Grumpa Joe to point his priorities into another direction.

Currently, Grumpa is trying to resurrect his motivation toward blogging. He is seriously thinking that Grumpa Joe’s Place is dead. He struggles to point himself into a new direction while also maintaining focus on taking care of his wife. He still has a few faithful followers from whom he would like an opinion. What direction should he take?

  1. Quit, and shut the blog down
  2. Shift the focus to educating the world to the evils of Islam
  3. Focus on writing fake news articles of obvious absurdity
  4. Publish a series of love letters to former girlfriends
  5. Re-publish other people’s work on current affairs
  6. Republish memes by others that satirize politics
  7. Original political cartoons
  8. Original fictional short stories
  9. Travel log of places I have visited
  10. Recipes of favorite foods
  11. A log of personal thoughts about anything or everything
  12. Serialize my book Jun-e-or
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