Flying Commercial

On By scottpetersenIn Gerald FordLeave a comment

On May 6, 1982, Donna was on United Airlines flight 911 [ironic flight number] from New York to Chicago’s O’Hare Field after her grandfather’s funeral.  In those days, anyone could wander out to the arrival gate – to welcome friends and loved ones. So I parked in the lot and hoofed out to the gate.  The flight was due to arrive at 10:09 pm but was running late. It finally arrived at 10:40 pm.

Waiting in the gate area, I noticed a few “suits” standing around. Whispering into little walkie talkies. I figured they were there to make sure I didn’t get rambunctious when I saw Donna. The plane docked.  The walkway door opened and people began streaming out. And then there was Donna. . . .

She came up to me and said “you won’t believe who’s on the flight.” I said “Donald Trump?” [just kidding].  And she said “No – Gerald Ford.” And indeed as we started walking toward the baggage claim, I looked back and out from the gangway popped the 38th President of the United States. Surrounded by a fast-walking security “diamond” of Secret Service.   Well. . . .

Some of you know of my interest in autographs and manuscripts so I asked Donna for her ticket. And I slowed down – positioning myself to be in the center of the security diamond as it advanced.   Suddenly I was caught up on the edge of the diamond.  I was one Agent away from number 38.  “Mister President” I offered.  “May I have your autograph?”  He had papers under his arm and he responded “kinda tough with my arms full” – and I handed him my ticket and a pen.  He slowed, put the ticket on his papers, scribbled his name and I exited the “diamond.”  Zing!

I remember the story of Harry and Bess Truman.  When they left the White House, they took a train back to Independence, MO.  And the two lived on Harry’s $112.56 per month Army pension.  Without Secret Service protection.  I am keenly aware that we’re in a different world.  But it would sure be nice if our current leaders – and their spouses – could be safe.  And economical.  Taking the train like Harry.  Or flying commercial like Jerry.       

Christmas 2017

On By scottpetersenIn Christmas 2017Leave a comment

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given . . . . and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.   Isaiah 9:6

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem (because he was of the house and lineage of David). To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.   Luke 2:4-7

Here we are again! Christmas 2017.  Mercy – the days are often long but the years go fast. . . .

Our best wishes to all of you for a Happy and Blessed Christmas, New Year and Holiday Season!!

Just Call Me Solomon. . . . .

On By scottpetersenIn Happy Socks, SolomonLeave a comment

In my post of April 2, 2017, I discussed the gift of colorful and quirky “Happy Socks” that my granddaughters gave me last Christmas.  I have more than a dozen pair and I now wear them every day.  But as in all cases, the past is prologue. . . .   

My granddaughters had a sleepover at our house earlier this week.  I got dressed and then called out the door offering Eve and Elin the option of selecting the Happy Socks that I would wear to work.  The two of them (ages 3 and 6) bolted in, pulled open the drawer and began perusing the choices.  Each held up a different pair.  And insisted that I wear “their” pair.  I asked that they confer (something like the U.S. Congress) to come up with one pair that I ought wear.  No deal.  Each wanted me to wear “their” pair. . . . .

Please understand that I am not as dumb as I look.  So we reached a compromise.  For the first time in my life — I agreed to wear two highly different colorful socks to work.   My granddaughters looked at each other like – he really is as dumb as he looks.  And squealed.  Each peeled off one sock and handed it to me.  I sat down and put them on.   The good news is that I told no one else about my wardrobe issue.  No one looked at my feet.  And no one (that I could tell) noticed during the day.  I arrived home unscathed from my Solomonic decision.   That said – I tossed the two socks down the laundry chute for washing.  And I will await their delivery — to put them back with their rightful partner. . . . .   

    

Second City

On By scottpetersenIn Monterrey, Second City1 Comment

[A repeat from March 12, 2012]

In 1938, my father and his friend Bill S. took a driving trip to Mexico.  This was an unheard of expedition at the time for two twenty-something guys from Chicago.   Despite numerous car troubles (a Model A Ford), they nearly made it to Mexico City.  At that point, running low on money – and enthusiasm for confronting a chronically ailing car – they chugged back north. 

I have a wonderful vintage film (now on DVD) my father made this trip.  The amazing thing — it is in color.   One of the classic images of my father is him standing next to the famed Obispado in Monterrey, Nuevo Leon.   Built in the late 1780’s, this Church building has served as a barracks, retirement home, fortress and now – a museum.

In the late 1980’s I began traveling to Monterrey on business.  I have been there often – visiting two or in a few cases three times a year.   Monterrey has become almost a “second city” for me.  I know my way around (though it is challenging) and I enjoy the wonderful restaurants, sites and people.  When there, I normally stay at the Quinta Real, a beautiful hotel in the San Pedro Garza Garcia neighborhood.  I have visited the Obispado — and have a wonderful picture of myself standing in the exact spot where my father stood seventy years before.

I have made good friends in Monterrey – Antonio G. and his family being chief among them.   He and his family have been to my home (for Thanksgiving one year) and Donna and I have been to his.   There are many more good friends there.   Monterrey is a great City with wonderful people.  I look forward to seeing my second city again soon . . . . .

Uncle Walter

On By scottpetersenIn Uncle WalterLeave a comment

I wonder if every family has an “Uncle Walter.”  My Uncle Walter was my father’s father’s brother. He was born in Denmark and moved to the United States just in time to be conscripted into the United States Army – and shipped off to France – in World War I. When Uncle Walter finally got home, he behaved strangely.  He only wore white clothes and he refused to sleep in a bed.  He always slept on the floor.  He was committed to a veterans’ hospital in Milwaukee. My father said Uncle Walter was “shell shocked” [PTSD] from the War. And that was that for Uncle Walter. My father’s family never talked about him and only once that I recall did anyone go to visit.

I’d heard about Uncle Walter but I’d never met him.  So when I was in my late 20’s – rebel that I was – I decided to go find him.  I called the Veteran’s Administration and learned that he was in a halfway house for veterans on South 27th Street in Milwaukee.  And I drove up to see him.   As I approached the address, there was an old man in white clothing walking slowly on the sidewalk.  I stopped the car.  Got out.  “Are you Walter Petersen?”  He looked at me.  I said “I am Willy’s [my father] son.”  And Uncle Walter began crying. . . . .

A few months later, I brought my father up to see Uncle Walter.  And just about every week from my first visit, I sent him a care package of Copenhagen snuff [he loved it], some candy and a couple of dollar bills.  When he died at the Veteran’s Home in King, Wisconsin, he left me “everything”:  his large print Bible, his veterans benefit (about $1,700), the cross on his coffin and a brand new stuffed bunny for my daughter.  The Bible remains on my shelf.  The cross is on the wall in my den.  The bunny is still in Lauren’s old room.  And the money purchased a tree that sits in our yard.   I’m glad I reached out to my Uncle Walter.   Though I’d bet there are more than a few Uncle Walters out there. . . . . . 

Audio

On By scottpetersenIn Audio recordingsLeave a comment

I have a theory.  Go with me on this. . . . .

Statistically, something like 90% of all people are using smart phones and not actual cameras to take photographs. The same is true as to videos.  Most people are taking videos – with their smart phones.  I have not found statistical corroboration but I do believe that the videos taken with smart phones are of shorter duration than those that were taken with the old video cameras.   And I believe that such videos are geared more toward visual activity rather than audio input. 

I remember in years past, we’d turn on the video camera on Christmas morning and record the “ooohs” “ahhhs” and running commentary.  The oldest and youngest would talk to the camera about their present.  We’d share with the camera our first memories of Christmas.   And thoughts of days past.  I’m not sure that’s done much anymore.      

Based on my own premises, my conclusion is that we are recording less and less audio than we used to.  I have many videos of my granddaughters dancing, swimming and singing.  But I don’t have much in the way of their dialogue.  Or conversation.  While smart phones provide a great convenience, I’d like to renew the recording of voices, discussion and conversation . . . . .    

My Workbench

On By scottpetersenIn A Rolling WorkbenchLeave a comment

I have a workbench in the basement.   I never use it but I’ve got one.  Complete with a vice, two drawers full of tools and two toolboxes sitting on top.  Then there’s a little drawer thingee full of nails and screws.  If I am called on to change a light bulb or hang a picture, I even have a tool belt and a hardhat to wear (you can never be too careful).   We handymen are semper paratis (see post of June 1, 2012).

However tools don’t do much good sitting in the basement gathering dust on my workbench. Soooooo, I keep a lot of stuff in the trunk of my car.  My car is a “rolling workbench.”  You never know when tools might come in handy.   I have a fire axe, an E.T. (“entrenching tool“), a crowbar, an air pump (I mean what good does that do sitting in the garage?) and a Heinz 57 assortment of hammers, screwdrivers and wrenches. And I have the obligatory jumper cables and a couple of road flares.  I could probably build a house with the stuff in my trunk.  Over the years, these things have been selectively (and once urgently) useful (“gosh Scott, I’m sure glad you have that quarter inch hex wrench with the double bend . . .” ).  For the most part, my rolling workbench rarely sees the light of day.    But the tools are there.  If I need them in the house.  Or on the road . . . . .

Lost My Pacifier

On By scottpetersenIn Gene WorthingtonLeave a comment

Forty years ago, I had some golf lessons from a local PGA teaching pro – Gene Worthington. Gene had been born in San Francisco in 1903 and came to the Chicago area in 1906 — after the earthquake.  He was inspired to become a golf pro while caddying for the famed amateur Chick Evans — founder of the Evans Scholars Foundation.

One Saturday, I popped for a 9 hole golf lesson from Gene.  We got a cart (Gene was in his mid 70’s) and we teed off.  For each shot, Gene gave me a bit of guidance and post-shot commentary.  As we rode down one fairway, Gene began talking about what he remembered of San Francisco.  Little snippets of cognizance.  “But” he said “there is one thing that really stands out in my mind about the train trip to Chicago.”  I looked at him as he steered the cart.  “I remember that I lost my pacifier.”  This wonderful septuagenarian went on to describe in glorious detail how – as a three year old – he felt great trauma when he lost his pacifier.  His countenance darkened “My parents told me that the train conductor had taken it.  But I knew better.” 

When our daughter Lauren was born, I always kept that “lost my pacie” story in the back of my mind.  Little people still have great memories. . . . .    

Burning Leaves

On By scottpetersenIn Burning leavesLeave a comment

(An Autumn repeat – from September 11, 2016)

For millennia, folks have been burning garbage and “stuff” with relative impunity.  The smoke was often choking.  And sometimes toxic.  

But. . . . as a kid, I remember my father – and other men in the neighborhood – raking leaves in the fall.  And ushering them out to the street – at the curb – and lighting them up.  Saturdays and Sundays in October were the optimal days for raking, gathering and burning leaves.  And the distinct smell of burning leaves was overpowering.  And – from my recollection – not so unpleasant.  Everyone burned their leaves.  I mean what were families supposed to do with them?  My dad would stand – smoking his pipe – and talking with the other men.  As the leaves burned. . . . .   

I tend to think it would be nice if for one day in the fall, everyone could spoon some dead leaves out to the street.  And burn them.  Like the “good old days” (did I really say that?).    I don’t need a “bad for the environment” speech.  Or “think of what it does to your lungs.”  Or “aren’t there regulations?”  Just think about sharing an indelible olfactory moment of those autumn afternoons long ago . . . . .   

Little Feet

On By scottpetersenIn Little FeetLeave a comment

When I was about 10 years old, I pestered my father to let me drive the family car.  Sooooo. . . . one Sunday, my father let me drive home from Church.  Not all the way – but the last mile or so — on a road that was pretty vacant and ran in part along a corn field. I’d sit there peering over the steering wheel – my father with one hand on the wheel, one hand on the ignition and one hand on the gear shift.  From then on, I was the “Chuber” driver (“CHurch UBER”) on Sundays.  

Sometimes, my dad would take me to an empty parking lot and let me drive.  Round and round.  So I “learned” to drive at a pretty early age. When Lauren was about 12, I let her “drive” on occasional Saturday afternoons in our Church parking lot.  

My father had a lot of wisdom to impart to me in my formative years (which – Donna tells me – are ongoing).  He always told me when driving to keep my “eyes moving.”  Watching.  Left.  Right.  Check the mirror.  And he always told me to watch for “little feet.”  As I drive along a street, I was told to glance forward — under the cars parked along the street.  Why?  Because you can see if there are little feet — on the other side — below the car.  And you can slow down.  It’s easy to see an adult standing by a car.  But there’s no way to see a child unless you see the “little feet” under the car you are approaching.  I’m always watching for “little feet.”  Try it next time you’re driving.  Keep an eye out for little feet. . . . .