Bicycle

I love my bike.  It's right outside, waiting for me to mount up and pedal off to another adventure.

It's true that my biking today is a far cry from when I used to ride 15, 20, 30 miles a trip. Mother Nature, a bad back and wifely concerns have combined to limit me to a modest 3 three mile jaunt. I have no complaints however. Any bike riding is wonderful to me.

The day I first soloed on a two-wheeler is firmly etched in my memory book.  There is no plaque marking the site and my first solo fell far short of the distance Wilbur and Orville flew at Kitty Hawk. But that day on the side yard at 2403 North 50^th Street in The City of Brotherly Love was historic nonetheless.  My father, a patient man, held the fender of my rear wheel, gently pushed me, all the while steadying the first few feet of my efforts.  (I wonder if you too recall your own moment.) After my father left to go back to the office, I got on my bike, pushed and pedaled to move forward. Better to try things without an audience, plus having a comfortable grassy landing site if things went south.

Success! Joyous success.  I ran into the house to tell my mother who promptly telephoned my father at work. I yelled the news. Dad congratulated me, excited himself. It was a big Reilly day all around.  Only now, so many decades later do I truly understand how blessed I was. First, in having a bike at all in the midst of The Great Depression, and more important, to have such caring, supportive parents sharing my success. If you've been lucky in this life, and I have, nothing beats having had loving parents.

As for that first two-wheeler of mine, it was a beauty.  Fire engine red with fat white-walled tires. I wonder if it still exists somewhere out there short of the scrap metal heap. If so, name the price. I'll be there. My steed today still sports fat tires in keeping with my own body type. It is rusty but reliable. The young women and men who pass by me on the road, which includes virtually everyone, are cyclists of the first order. Most of them are athletes and fitness buffs. They are also friendly and encouraging. They seem to welcome old timers like me even though we are slowpokes, for we too are part of the sport they all love so much.

WHY? WHY?

Why are three quarters of we Americans fat, or worse, obese?  Why? Why?

Just about everyone over 40 remembers going for an annual check-up where the doctor advised “lose 10 pounds” and “reduce your intake of alcoholic beverages.”  Now medicine has advanced to a point where we are hearing “lose 25 pounds and cut WAY back on the booze.” 

            

As we age, beefing-up just happens.  Once there, women are better at losing weight than men. If only because talking about weight has become a 24/7 obsession within the sorority, their hairdressers, and just about any passers-by they happen to bump into at the mall. Males, beyond their other shortcomings, are inclined to consider that belly-roll as a badge of honor for success in the boardroom and/or expense account lunches. I belonged to the Fat Boyz, a small fraternity of former athletes who still considered themselves athletes.  You had to come to the tennis or paddle courts with poundage. Period. No skinnies allowed. In these days of heightened IRS surveillance plus general good health awareness, the BIG lunch has virtually disappeared. Today we poke at salads, parsley by the pound and foods we would never have looked at, let alone eaten, in bygone days of large steaks, garlic mashed potatoes and cheesecake by the ton.

            

The world continues to whirl, whirl, and whirl some more. And we Americans are whirling right along with it, devouring unconscionable amounts of grub.  Advertisers and food chains seem to be in a race to hasten our demise. “Sad” is the word to describe the physical profiles of USA/2016. All you have to do is take your sunglasses off and look around. Fatties are all around.  Unhappily many of the stricken are children. What does this signal for their lifespan? Sad news indeed.

             

There is a huge miscalculation here somewhere. Starvation abounds in many parts of this whirling world. None of us is immune to the plea of charitable organizations depicting emaciated urchins, and their elders, barely steps from death. Is it just here in the land of the Whopper and fries where this frightening plague of obesity reigns? I think so. To top it off, the medical profession is ill-equipped to handle this surging number of obese patients. Much of the equipment doctors would normally use for various tests – like routine weighing of patients - can't measure the obese whose tonnage frequently exceeds the marking numbers on the scale itself.   

              

For most of us selecting a counterweight to the craving to eat may be a solution.  For example, committing to “being in shape” can overrule ordering from the dessert tray. So too, appearing slim-by-comparison to the photo at the college reunion.                      

Sorry guys, no magic formula for your head and that thinning thatch.

Where Did I Put It?

Just about everybody experiences the madness of misplacing an item. Car keys seem to be #1 in the ranking of these lost causes.  Trust me, dear reader, as the shadows lengthen these events will be turning up with greater frequency. They come along with your AARP card. You are in the company of many others.

There are some among us who feel that you can beat the odds by developing a “system” to find things.  For example, one pal says that he uses the “bureau top” approach, by placing virtually everything he owns on the surface of the furniture holding his socks, handkerchiefs and underclothes. He cautions that this system can only work for bachelors for “if you are married your wife will use the whole house as her bureau top.”

When my brothers and I were little kids our mother, a devout lady who practiced good deeds throughout her life, had us pray to St. Anthony, the Finder of Lost Things. (“St. Anthony, please come round; something is lost and must be found.”) When St. Anthony came through with a positive result it also served as a thunder clap over our heads to be good. I'm not saying each recovery was a miracle, but it only took one “find” to convince us.

Beyond my friend's “bureau top” approach, there is much to be said about “a place for everything and everything in its place.”  Simplicity and routine are critical ingredients to the “where did I put it?” dilemma. Keys on the table by the front door, credit cards in the wallet in your coat or purse – never loose in the jacket or pocketbook. As for your automobile, use the McGuirk Rule.

During my traveling days I shared many professional assignments with a gentleman named James McGuirk. Jim always wanted to be the driver, and that was okay. But he consistently forgot where he parked our rental cars. Not so good. One evening after I retired for the evening, McGuirk came back from a little night life in San Diego. To avoid a problem this time, he pulled the car right up to the main entrance of the Hilton hotel, got out and locked it up. Next morning chaos reigned with guests trying to check out, taxicab service, etc. But the principle is still valid.  Park your own car out front and lock it up.

Just be sure you're not at a Hilton.

Thomas & Friends…And Me

Even in our Sunshine State there is rain. With due respect to the folks in Edina, Minnesota, who have to hunker down from ice, wind and snow, we too have to run for cover when clouds burst over Florida. Happily when I recently found myself indoors channel-surfing, I came across a cartoon series titled “Thomas & Friends.”

Nowadays, Thomas & Friends is familiar to every little boy and girl in kindergarten. Certainly so by the time they graduate in their caps and gowns (!) Still the series remained more or less unknown to those of us of a certain age who came along well before there was kindergarten, let alone television. So I'm glad I found Thomas for now I too am one of his friends. The history of this British/Canadian/American cartoon program reads like a detective story, far too tortured a path to follow.  I'm not sure all that matters.  It is far more important to locate the listing in your TV Guide, then tune in.

Thomas & Friends teaches evergreen lessons not just for little boys and girls but for people of all ages, parents especially.  In addition there are great production values. (Even cartoon figures in the background have detail and movement.) A welcome respite from the endless cut and paste versions we are fed in the endless parade of imported junk that drains any sense of believability from story lines.

Without being patronizing, Thomas & Friends retrieves cherished standards of yesteryear.  Viewers learn the importance of “Thank you”, ”Please”, helping others, not taking credit that belongs to another, apologizing for making mistakes, and a raft of other examples. All of which flow naturally from the adventures facing Thomas and his companions. There are singable songs that accompany footage that nicely ties the cartoons to the real world.

To be sure there is a bit of Britain that is not familiar to most American ears.  Terms like “Sir” and “Madame” pop up in place of “you guys” or “me and him”.  That said, I suggest you try it.  I'm certain you will like it.

Antisemitism

Sometimes words are simply not enough. They fell way short of expressing our disgust, fury, hurt and outrage when the news came along that Jewish cemeteries are being vandalized in Philadelphia. Yes, that such a thing would happen in my old hometown is an additional wound, but that it would happen anywhere in our country is the point.

None of us is perfect, that's for sure. It is probably true that we all carry bias of some sort in our make-up.  But our better angels manage to keep such demons under control, until they don't.

As a young Army officer I was sent to Germany as part of the United States Occupation Forces. World War II had ended short years before so there was no shooting or open hostility, but anger bubbled just beneath the surface. My assignment to an orientation program in Munich overlapped a weekend so, knowing that the Dachau concentration camp was somewhere in the area, I set out to visit that site. My experience was a searing one; it still remains fresh in my mind.

Unlike today where the death camp at Dachau is a “tourist attraction” in my time it was anything but. The camp was deserted save one single care keeper, a thin, bedraggled older gentleman who pressed a very modest booklet into my hand. We had to wear our uniforms when off duty back then and he was uncomfortable in my presence. Dachau then was much closer in appearance to its years of infamy than it is to today's well-scrubbed site with throngs of visitors. That day was gray, damp with drizzling rain. I went into the gas chamber where supposedly inmates were to shower. Tiled from top to bottom with a triangular opening at the top. Claustrophobic. And the sickening physical fear that someone would close the door where I entered and I would never get out. The opening up top was to provide the lethal chemicals that would snuff out so many lives crawling the walls and screaming in unheard fear and agony. Then to the crematorium where bodies were pushed into flaming ovens. I remember standing at attention and saluting, tears running down my cheeks. There was nothing else I could do then, and but one thing I can do now. 

Which is to remind you that horror really did exist in our past and it does right now. Antisemitism is part of it that horror.

Airports

If I never get on another airplane, that will be okay with me.  I am not afraid of flying, but simply have had enough of 30,000 feet in the air. Been there, done that so many, many times. No doubt part of my negativism has to do with today's airport scene, best described as serial aggravation.

When I do have to go to an airport nowadays, it's because I have to drop off or pick up family members or close friends. That said, all is not lost for it IS possible to have bright moments when waiting for arrivals. This is especially true if you are a “people-watcher” as I am.  It is both a learning lesson in civic behavior and an indictment of our manners. 

My colleague, David M, says I actually watched Wilbur and Orville run up and down the sandy hills of Kitty Hawk launching that slight bird they flew into the history books. Not quite, but I was airborne the day of the 50^th Anniversary of Air Canada; how many decades ago was that? Glamour in flying is long gone of course. “Sardines in the Sky” is more like it as we get jammed into our silver cans ready for the wild blue yonder.

As for observing the Great American Public in airports, the first thing you notice is how fashion has become so unfashionable. It is light years different from the days when going up in an airplane was a combination of adventure and social event. People dressed if not in their “Sunday Best” something akin to that. (Hats and gloves were de rigeuer for the ladies back then.) Of course Sunday Best today means Less Grunge than the other days of the week.  “Dressing up” is of interest solely to historians.

Today's traveler places comfort above all. Sweat suits are in, even as showering is passe for many. Smiles are few. Best to put on your game face and be prepared for the frustrations coming your way. Seats are shrinking in size even as we ourselves expand. Knowing full well that there are no complimentary meals aloft, chow down before you board a plane. A sizable number of fliers prefer copious onions & garlic on their pre-boarding pizza. And hey, that's one reason why sweat suits are so in. Who would take the time to notice a tomato streak or barbecue splash on sweats when your very survival depends on getting away from that breath?

One of the true joys of flying in yesterday's skies had to do with the professionalism of stewardesses who were well trained, attractive and highly courteous. Today's “flight attendants” are underpaid, overworked and put-upon at every level. If you can do one positive thing to make up for all this, it would be to save one of your few smiles for them. You might even add “it's nice to see you” if you are pretty sure she won't faint from hearing a good word coming her way.

We can't change the whole messed up system with one smile, but it's a start and will surely brighten her day.

Another Look at Television

The late broadcaster Bill McCarter had a knack for spotting emerging talent.  In the early 1970s McCarter called me to identify one such named Brent Musburger, who was relatively unknown outside of Chicago and a few points west.

The other night I watched Musburger, nowadays very well known, calling his last basketball game. As usual he was a comfortable pal to be around, near or far. Brent loves sports, and because he usually knows what he's talking about, he enriched whatever game we were watching. There are some very positive things about TV. Brent Musburger was one of them.

Still the negatives about television are staggering.  Violence on the tube is overwhelming. Take another look yourself at the near-endless killings, explosions and mayhem that abounds. What can this possibly be worse for our minds, young minds especially? Some programs that purport to be “discussions” of issues are just more of the same.  Did you ever take a peek at the garbage that Maury Povich, Jerry Springer and their ilk serve up day by day?  Add to the mix Hollywood movies dominated by car chases, computer generated destruction, explicit sex, vulgarity beyond vulgarity. To the damage that television mayhem does to our own most precious resource, our children, add the fact that our product is exported all around the world. No wonder the image of our culture is so dismal overseas. You don't have to torture yourself, but please be aware of the extent of the damage being done.

Television is the primary influence in our time. TV, all by itself, is responsible for social change, more than all the legislation ever written.  You really can't change minds by writing laws. People will do what they want to do, one way or the other. Case in point are the advertising commercials depicting the races. It started with white men and women being socially linked with those of other races – usually a Hispanic, Hawaiian or other lighter skinned individuals, then as couples, then as parts of a mixed family. Gradually, and in a relatively short span of time, black and whites jointly filled roles previously restricted to the members of the same race.  So too with same sex couples. You are certainly entitled to your own opinion on whether this is good or bad, but the fact is changes in society have been caused by television. Again, the point is to be aware of this powerful impact.   

With our country being in such turmoil, real news versus fake news and countless opinions bombarding us day and night, each of us has to take personal responsibility for sorting it all out. Our own ethical compass and common sense are just about all we have. Not an easy task, for sure.  But we can't farm it out to any others, can we?