Running an X-ray machine

Let’s have a show of hands. . . . how many readers are over the age of 70? I see some hands going up. Oh my . . . . quite a few. Those of you folks who are of that seven decade vintage may recall operating a genuine X-ray machine. And you – like me – may have been 5 to 10 years old.

In November 1895, Wilhelm Roentgen accidentally discovered a strange light that would pass through most substances – leaving a ghostly image of the object’s interior. A month later, Roentgen published his findings in a science publication. Since he didn’t know what the images were, he called them “X-rays.” During World War I, a device called a “fluoroscope” was devised to take images of soldiers’ feet – within their boots – to make sure they fit properly. And soon thereafter, the Foot-O-Scope was devised.

By the early 1950’s, approximately 10,000 fluoroscopes – we’re talking X-ray machines – were operating in shoe stores across the United States. Each one had three viewers – that allowed parents and children to see X-rays of feet – to see if the shoe fit.

I remember with clarity – when I was maybe 7 years old – going with my parents to the shoe store. And using the fluoroscope. I sometimes got to push the button or turn the switch to activate the imaging. I would then X-ray my feet while my parents watched through their own viewers.

The first health concern over radiation issues was released in 1948. By 1957, states began to ban these fluoroscope devices. The reason? Some shoe salesmen developed conditions associated with chronic radiation exposure. For me, I don’t think it ever became a problem though I do have 8 toes on each foot. . . . .

Ultimate Fighting

Who watches ultimate fighting?  The Sports Business Journal pegs the median age for those who watch ultimate fighting as men – 49 years old.   But when I ask “who” watches ultimate fighting, I’m more interested in what kind of human being enjoys watching men trying to kill each other.    

In my post of March 29, 2018, I spoke of Edward Gibbons’ classic work The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.  The reasons for Rome’s destruction are scarily similar to things happening today in America.  One reason for the Empire’s unraveling was the blood lust of Romans in the brutal gladiator  games.  

Is ultimate fighting any different?  For some aficionados, the more brutal and bloody the match – the better.  Yet read the statistics on UF “warriors” who have died in the ring (or shortly thereafter).  These guys are dropping like flies (or becoming vegetables).  Bump someone on the street too hard and you can be charged with assault and battery.  Extinguish a human life in the UF ring?   And you become a legend.

Who watches ultimate fighting?  I scratch my head on this one.  Yet now I read that President Trump will host an Ultimate Fighting Championship in June 2026 on the South Lawn of the White House. This – to celebrate America’s 250th anniversary. Good idea? Inappropriate? Disgusting? You tell me. . . .  

Charlie Russell

[A repeat from November 16, 2017] If anyone has received a greeting card or letter from me – it may have included a hand-drawn cartoon.   You can thank Charlie Russell for the artistic addition. 

Charles Marion Russell (1864-1926) was an American artist who painted iconic scenes of the Old West.  Charlie was born in St. Louis and moved to Montana when he was 16 years old where he got a job working on a sheep ranch.  Charlie chronicled the bitter winter of 1886-7 in a series of watercolor paintings.  While working on the O-H Ranch in the Judith Basin of Montana, the foreman received a letter from the ranch owner — asking how his cattle had fared during the winter.  Instead of writing back, the foreman sent the owner a postcard-sized watercolor painted by Charlie.  The image was that of a gaunt steer surrounded by wolves – on a gray winter day.  The owner showed the drawing to friends and displayed it in a shop window in Helena.  And Charlie began to get work — as an artist.

In 1897, Charlie and his new bride moved to Great Falls, MT where he remained for the duration.  Charlie was a prolific painter – with over 4,000 works (oil, watercolor, drawings and occasional sculptures) to his credit.  Today, the works of Charlie Russell go for big bucks — like “The Hold Up” which sold for $5.2 million in 2008.

Four decades ago, while visiting Charlie’s studio in Great Falls, I learned that he had adorned many of his letters with drawings.  And I got a bright idea. . . . .

If you want to see some of Charlie’s artistic letters, check out  http://www.google.com/search?q=charlie+russell%27s+letters+images&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiJ0sOonbzXAhUE4oMKHZM8B2AQsAQIJQ&biw=1920&bih=949   

I Can See!

Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world.  For indeed that’s all who ever have.”  — Margaret Mead

[A repeat from May 28, 2016] A few years ago, Donna and I were visiting Vietnam. Always on the scout for autograph and manuscript material, we stopped in a few antique shops.  We found a place called “54 Traditions” in Hanoi. The shop is run by Dr. Mark Rapoport — an American pediatrician who served in Vietnam during the War.   He opened 54 Traditions in 2001 stocking it with his collection of textiles, jewelry, art and tools from Vietnam.   I bought a few nice goodies. But what made an impression was Mark.

During the War as a medical intern, he worked in a hospital. While visiting an outlying village, an old woman was unable to see something on a piece of paper. He handed her his reading glasses.  Tears filled her eyes.  She could see.  Clearly.  Mark was so touched by the experience that he gave the woman his glasses.  She said she could now embroider again. 

Mark went out and bought some extra reading glasses.  And gave them away to others who could not read or see “close up.”  Since then he has given away thousands of reading glasses (1.5x – 2.0x).   And he helped inspire the Reading Glass Project an organization dedicated to providing glasses to those in developing countries who deal with age-related presbyopia (deteriorating closeup vision).

The Reading Glass Project urged travelers when visiting developing countries – to bring along some reading glasses to give to those without.  The motto of this group was
Be more than a tourist.  Be a hero.”

Gambling

[An oldie from September 18, 2013] I’ve been to casinos and race tracks and placed a few bets.  It’s entertainment.  It’s fun.  But the last time was when I was on vacation a few years ago.   I’ll drop a few bucks on the Lottery.  When it’s big.   But in short, I don’t gamble.  And I don’t know anyone who does. It seems like the majority of people who regularly go to casinos or the race track are the people who work there.  And those who can least afford it.

Gambling is a cruel regressive tax which promotes social ills, bankruptcies, divorce and the blind addiction to hope.  Of winning.  And it targets the poor.  And Illinois leads America’s race to the bottom in this national disgrace.  Fleecing our own people.  Exploiting the poor.  And grubbing for money.  Just watch the cheery and tempting ads for the Lottery. Or Powerball.   

I just read an article that Illinois is now considering a bill to allow the state’s ten casinos to stay open 24 hours a day.  The logic?  Recently 24 hour gambling was pushed — and passed — for truck stops.  Sooooo, we should now permit equal opportunity insolvency for all of our people.  Not just truckers.  Great.  And of course 24 hour gambling offers more distraction from “bringing home the bacon” (or even going home at all). 

In the year 2000, the bipartisan U.S. National Gambling Impact Study Commission (sponsored by Illinois Democratic Senator Paul Simon) found that 80% of all gambling revenue was derived from households earning less than $50,000 annually.  What’s the government’s “take”?  Low income gamblers had to lose $84 billion (that’s with a “B”) to casinos and lotteries for the governments to take in $24 billion in lucre.  And of course taxpayers often foot the bill for welfare checks to these folks.   

It’s not the doctors, lawyers, bankers, teachers or business people who are spending their days and nights gambling. Face it — it’s those who are struggling to survive financially.  And we all know how the odds are stacked.  So next time you hear a politician argue in favor of gambling initiatives, more casinos, and longer hours, know full well that he wants the poor and the destitute to suffer. And get it in the neck.  And he doesn’t care one bit . . . . 

The Sikhs

(A summer repeat from August 8, 2012)

The terrible shooting last weekend at the Sikh Temple in Milwaukee prompts me to offer a few words on the Sikh religion.  First of all — Sikhs are not Muslim . . . . .  

The Sikh religion began in the early 1600’s  and today is found mainly in the Punjab area of India.  The three tenets of the religion are:  equality of humankind; universal brotherhood of man; and one supreme God.  Sounds pretty good to me. . . . . though there is belief in the teachings of 10 gurus or teachers [prophets?].   All Sikh men have the same name “Singh” and all Sikh women are named “Kaur.”   There is a belief in reincarnation and there is an emphasis on ethics, morality and values.  Sikhs abstain from alcohol, drugs and tobacco and they do not believe in “miracles.”   During WWI and WWII, Sikh regiments served bravely in the British Army – suffering more than 200,000 casualties.   

Generally, Sikhism has had cordial relations with other religions though there has been strife in India with Muslims (after the partition of India in 1947) and Hindus (over possible creation of a Punjabi state).   There are 5 exemplars of faith which all begin with the letter “K”:  Kesh – uncut hair that is wrapped in a turban; Kanga – a wooden comb; Katchera –  cotton underwear worn to remind one of purity; Kara – an iron bracelet symbolizing eternity; and Kirpan – a curved sword of varying lengths.   It’s the Kesh and turban that get Sikhs confused with Muslims among the uneducated.  

The Hindu greeting in Hindi is namaste (one recognizes divinity in the other person).  In the Punjabi language – and among Sikhs – one says sat sri akal (“God is the ultimate Truth“).   Both phrases (offered with hands together) sound pretty ecumenical to me . . . .  

Honk if you love peace and quiet

[We all need a smile. Here are a few from February 7, 2016]

I can’t take credit for these examples of “lexiphilia” but I can be given credit for selecting the ones that made me laugh the hardest.

I just got lost in thought. It was unfamiliar territory.
42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.
I feel like I’m diagonally parked in a parallel universe.
I wonder how much deeper the ocean would be without sponges.
Remember half the people you know are below average.
Despite the cost of living, have you noticed how popular it remains?
Atheism is a non-prophet organization.
He who laughs last thinks slowest.
The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
I intend to live forever – so far so good.
Borrow money from a pessimist – they don’t expect it back.
Love may be blind but marriage is a real eye-opener.
Experience is something you don’t get until just after you need it.
Success always occurs in private and failure in full view.
The colder the x-ray table the more of your body is required on it.
The hardness of butter is directly proportional to the softness of the bread.
To succeed in politics, it is often necessary to rise above your principles.
Mondays are an awful way to spend 1/7th of your life.
A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
Change is inevitable except from vending machines.
Plan to be spontaneous – tomorrow.
Why are there 5 syllables in the word “monosyllabic”?

Irving Park and Kedzie

[A repeat from November 13, 2021] On January 4, 2012, I discussed Howard Gardner’s wonderful book – Frames of Mind. This classic book speaks of seven basic intelligences that all people share:  linguistic; musical; logical/mathematical; spatial; bodily/kinesthetic; interpersonal; and intrapersonal.  I’m not sure where “a sense of direction” comes in, but I will confess to having a total lack of this “intelligence.”

I have no trouble in my own home finding my way to the bathroom or getting to the basement. But once I walk out of the house, it is like my brain becomes a tabula rasa — a blank slate. . . . . Where is the driveway? Oh yeah. . . . How do I get to the back yard? Lemme think oh. . . it’s this w – no that way. Well. . . . it’s not quite that bad but perhaps you get my drift. If you ever want to inspire laughter with members of my family – just say the words “Irving Park and Kedzie.

Forty plus years ago, I was driving alone to a Thanksgiving gathering at my aunt and uncle’s home. They lived on Wolfram Street in Chicago. I was miles away when I realized – I had no idea where I was. . . . So I did what any red-blooded American male would do. I called my father (who was already there) from a local bar (no cell phones). “Dad – I’m at Irving Park and Kedzie and I . . . .” “You’re WHAT?” “Irving Park and Kedzie and . . . . ” “What in the WORLD are you doing at Irving Park and Kedzie?” I said I wasn’t sure where I was and how to get to Uncle Ernie’s. My father instructed me to get a pencil and paper (I walked to the bar and got the necessaries). And my dad explained – in detail – how to get from where I was to where I wanted to go. Nearly an hour later, I showed up. Nervous smiles and apologies. And we sat down to Thanksgiving Dinner. . . . “

I have to say that I am not as dumb as I may look. But if you want me to go from Point A to Point B? Do me a favor. Draw me a map, get me a GPS, Google Maps and allow me an extra half hour to get where I’m supposed to be.

So this old guy

[A repeat from July 14, 2014] So this old guy goes to the golf course. He walks up to the counter “I’d love to play golf,” he says to the pro. “But my eyes are really bad. I hit the ball pretty well but I can’t see where the ball goes.”  The pro smiled – “I’ve got just the guy to pair you up with. Old Scott isn’t much of a golfer but he has got eyes like a hawk. I’ll put you and Scott together.”

So the old guy and Scott are introduced, shake hands and head for the first tee.  The old guy bangs his drive about 250 yards.  He turns to Scott “did you see where it went?”   Scott nods and looks over “I saw precisely where your ball went.”  They get in their golf cart – and start rumbling down the fairway.  They drove and drove.  The old guy looks over at Scott “so where did my ball go?”  Scott rubbed his chin “gosh, I don’t remember. . . .”

Scott’s Lawn Service

On February 26, 2020, I discussed my impending retirement and my work history. Selling water at age 4; peddling Kool Aid on the golf course; working summers at a Boy Scout camp age 14-18; and working in our family factory. Then there was “Scott’s Lawn Service” When I was about 10, I hoofed around the neighborhood soliciting weekly lawn mowing gigs. I cut grass and offered a snow shoveling service in the winter. I passed out pencils marked “Scott’s Lawn Service.” I charged $1.50 for cutting grass but one generous neighbor gave me two bucks every week. I started the mower on my own, filled it with gasoline and shut it down “after work.” A couple other guys in the ‘hood also cut lawns. And then there were paper boys. . . . .

I’m not sure what work opportunities or initiatives there are for young people today. I do see a lot of high schoolers serving as camp counselors and I think that’s a great opportunity – to learn and earn. As to “Scott’s Lawn Service,” we now have landscaping services that handle the lawns, cars that deliver the newspapers and snow shoveling crews that arrive with snow blowers and shovels. That said, given my retirement, if I ever need a few bucks, I may have some pencils printed . . . .