My four months at the pain management clinic are coming to an end. That means I'm back out looking for work.
Looking for a job was easier back in the day. I leapt between broadcasting and advertising as "better" jobs became available. They were offered to me, I believed I could do them well and so I did.
Now it is different. None are offered and if they were would I think I could do them?
Precision Spine data entry job taught me some really tough lessons. For one thing, I don't work well with others! Being in a room with four or five other people who have four or five other work habits, eating habits, illnesses and peculiarities, is not my cup of tea. Bottom line, I'm mighty spoiled. Even my last temp job offered an office, chores I was mostly capable of and folks who seemed to like and accept me.
You know that song about "you don't know what you have until its gone?" My current refrain.
So, Happy 2015 and all it brings. We have some nice family occasions in the offing. We have some college graduations coming too. There are adorable great-grandsons who are fun to watch grow and change. I am so fortunate to have four children who remain in touch with me and each other, eleven grandchildren in a wide age range who grow and accomplish every year.
Thanks to that dreaded "social media" I am in touch with far more friends and family than ever would have been likely or possible in another age. It is fun to keep updated on folks' families, travel, and interests. To me they are truly "friends." I have other friends who choose not to participate in any of that foolishness, or as one says "I don't play on Facebook." I do and I am grateful for the fun, information and opportunities it provides.
Wish me luck ... I'm off to find employment! Wish it wasn't necessary ... I could so stay home, play and go places.
Y prospero ano !!!
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Acceptance
My Autumnal improvement program consists of attempts to change my attitude. I think never complaining is out of the question. However, my current goal is to minimize expectation and maximize acceptance. Theory being I'll press for less and be nicer more.
In my mind, I'm a writer. Much of what I write happens while I'm driving down the road and never makes it to a piece of paper. People (my daughter) have suggested I spend more time actually writing, short stories or the like.
Most of what I have written in my working career has been about 30 to 60 seconds long. Some have consisted of a series of related commercials. Quite often I have had the pleasure of seeing or producing their finished product and listening to it or watching it. Other times my writing has been speeches, newsletters, grant submissions and articles. I have greatly enjoyed all my actual writing. I have had a couple of bosses who found my writing mirrored their speaking or selling style and were complimentary.
But flying down the road I tend to script events and its a powerful case of going for the expectation. I can pre-plan conversations, meet-cutes, enraged encounters with persons with whom I do not agree and wonderful outcomes relating to family, travel, entertainment and the future.
Obviously the downside is partial or total disappointment in the real moments of my life. Balloons don't fall when they should, bumping into the right guy never happens, the man of my dreams turns out to be someone else's. Or little stuff, it rains on the day of the picnic or the voice on the other end of the line wants nothing to do with furthering my plans.
And so I will now try to place the emphasis on accepting what does happen whether I expect it or not. I may be pleasantly surprised. At least I'll spend less time feeling gypped. I hope so.
Lots of people sing, or listen to talking books, or, I guess, just drive quietly observing the landscape. Singing is mostly out and talking books don't work for me. I shall attempt to do more unplanned observing. I will also strive to focus on acceptance at my job, with my family, and at the grocery store. No bitching or complaining about what actually happens.
Since having been told that this might be a helpful direction for me to take in this time of my dwindling life I have been trying, trying and trying to change. It is not easy, when you've been writing how this evening, this visit, this job interview, this romance, really ought to go, my way, that is, it is not easy.
I shall endeavor to continue to try. Here's to happier endings.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Enid Anne Heberlein
was born on April 4th, 1904 in Hamilton, Missouri.
She always corrected people who thought she meant Hannibal, Missouri.
One other historical item of note; she attended the 1904 Worlds Fair in St. Louis, in her Mother's lap, in a wheelchair.
Enid on the left, sister Hope on the right.
Her father, Fredrick William Heberlein was the minister at the Congregational Church in Hamilton.
He and his wife, Sarah Susanna Peterson Heberlein, grew up in a small central Wisconsin town on Lake Mason, not far from Wisconsin Dells and Portage. At its largest Briggsville numbered less than two hundred souls and served farmers in the area. Sadie, as she was known, was the daughter of Norwegian immigrants and a first generation American. Fred's family emigrated from Germany in the same time frame. They, most unusually for their time and families, both attended Ripon College where Fred starred on the baseball team and Sadie mastered in art and music. Fred went on to receive a Divinity degree from Yale in 1898. They had four children of whom Enid Anne was third. Fred's preaching took them first to Missouri and later to churches throughout Wisconsin.
Enid was Valedictorian of her high school class in Ashland, Wisconsin, and for two years attended Northland College in Ashland, far Northern Wisconsin on Lake Superior.
When her father was named Superintendent of Congregational Churches in the state of Wisconsin (kind of like "Bishop.") his job took him to Madison and they lived in a big house with many bedrooms so that not only Enid and her sister Hope could go to the University of Wisconsin but many of their cousins and almost cousins could live there and attend as well.
Enid was very smart. She received her Masters from UW in Botany. The subject of her thesis had to do with the sexual reproductive systems of some plant.
She signed on to teach Biology and other science classes at Marinette High School. Marinette, Wisconsin is directly across the state line from Menominee, Michigan, (the Upper Peninsula). They were "twin cities" usually referred to as Marinette-Menominee. The countryside is breathtaking, Great Lakes all around. Winters were brutal. Mother made many friends and continued friendships begun in Madison and Ashland.
(An aside: in 1984 Mother, 15 year old daughter Kathy and I drove to Wisconsin and for a week we went to the towns in which Mother had lived and taught. Mother was 80. We stopped and visited with friends she had made in college. Sadly, within a year or so of that trip, many of them were gone.
I don't recommend a long road trip with an 80 year old and a 15 year old but it was special.)
For reasons never made entirely clear to me, she and a fellow teacher decided to take riding lessons. The instructor was a recently discharged veteran of the Cavalry, trainer of the Army's polo ponies, and generally debauched guy, Lyle Stephenson. They broke some of those strict teacher rules, went on picnics and fell in love.
Part II
Within a year, there was child number one, me. Daddy found work driving trucks and we lived in Milwaukee. The war was underway as well and while he was too old to reenlist he found work at an ordinance depot in Baraboo, Wisconsin, and then as an airplane mechanic at Peterson Field in Colorado Springs, where we moved in 1943. Mother taught at the San Luis Ranch School for really rich girls. I have wonderful pictures from there and although many scenic spots were closed because of the war, we did get to visit Estes park. But, when Mother found she was expecting child number two it precipitated a move back to Wisconsin. Daddy once more did ordinance work and sister Mary Louise was born in April of 1945.
Two years later, on April 28, 1947, at the age of 43, she gave birth to her third child, first son, Royce Fredrick Stephenson. He was adorable but not all was right and it took more than a year for a complete diagnosis but Royce suffered from a very serious case of Cerebral Palsy. He would never sit up on his own, talk, feed himself or be able to take care of himself. But he was very bright and cheerful and lived the life he had to the fullest. Enid saw to that. He was schooled at a special class for the handicapped in West Allis, Wisconsin. The family had moved to Milwaukee soon after he was born both for advanced medical care and for great job opportunities. They would remain there, in a variety of homes for many years. Daddy had various trucking jobs which kept him gone for extended periods of time so Enid took care of home, children and took on tutoring and substitute teaching roles. She researched and developed many systems to make his life broader. She used United CP and Easter Seals programs, training and ideas. Royce got to go to day camp and week long camp. He had a "talking board" cleverly designed by Mother and others to allow him to communicate his needs, ideas and humor to anyone willing to learn the system. He graduated from leg braces, to hip/down braces, standup tables and wheel chairs. I have related before how a fellow duplex dweller at one point, the famous baseball player Bobby Thomson knew that "Rocko" (as he was now referred) really wanted a specially made tricycle and saw to it that he got one. I'll look for pictures but this one one very handsome little boy, and charming. His grasp of humor was undeniable. He loved trains and classical music. Mother would walk him a few blocks from our house on Martha Washington Drive down to watch the freight trains headed to the industrial center of Milwaukee ... usually the engineer would wave. One day they stopped the train, stepped down and lifted he and mother up into the engine for a ride to downtown and back. OMG was he thrilled.
These were mostly happy times. We had all adjusted to life with a "special needs" kid (that term had not yet been adopted, he was handicapped). The person who struggled most with all of this was Dad. He had really hoped for a baseball playing, fishing fellow, hunter and mechanic. Instead, as he was inclined to say after a few too many of the beer that made Milwaukee Famous, God had punished him with a crippled son. Knowing Royce understood it full well, he sometimes said it in front of him. Nonetheless he made tremendous efforts to have his life include as many opportunities as possible.
But this is about Enid. She worked so hard. Did I mention that she was 4' 11" tall and weighed under 100 pounds except for those three pregnancies. She was the fastest walking woman you ever met ... even in her 80's she could lead me through a park or shopping center at her distinctive clip.
They moved to Houston in the late 60's to escape Wisconsin's snow shoveling winters and to be near Mary's family and mine. They included a six month sojourn to Ajijic Mexico where Mother and Dad rode horses in the hills while Royce attended the weekly English language movies in town. Daddy's health was failing rapidly and Mother's arthritis worsened. And as they were in their 70's it was time to find a place for Royce. Wintering in Douglas AZ at the historic Gadsden Hotel, a lady told them about a nursing home in Lordsburg, NM, where she stayed when arthritis forced her to. Said it was clean, small, well run and good smelling. They toured Sunshine Haven, put Rock on the waiting list and came back to close up their Houston house and head West. Laura helped them drive out ... two cars and a trailer. That was July and by fall Daddy was in the Lordsburg hospital dying of enphysema. He died on Super Bowl Sunday, 1977 at the age of 71.
Mother got a part time job at the Lordsburg Public Library where she remained until she turned 84 ... her patience both with little kids and a new librarian tossing out perfectly good books convinced her it was time to "quit."
During those Lordsburg years she took advantage of travel opportunities, back to Houston for important family events, weddings, graduations and such, and also out to Seattle to visit her sister Lois. She found that driving down to the train tracks in Lordsburg and signalling the Amtrack headed where she wanted to go was the easy way to travel in either direction. At one point Lois' husband Ken had died when they already had tickets for a six week cruise to the South Pacific and Australia. For just the cost of tips and a few new outfits, Mom got the trip of a lifetime. She loved Tahiti, the Sydney zoo and many other adventures. She sent postcards full of her sights and sounds, saved every menu from every dress up meal, and had a wonderful time, except for "all those old people" on the boat.
Sister Mary and her family moved to Lordsburg for part of those years, both of my girls made it a point to spend part of their summers visiting and helping out at the library. As a family we went each year to tour all the great SW sites we had grown to love, especially the Chiricahua Mountains of southern Arizona, the Gila Wilderness, Shakespeare ghost town ... on and on. It wasn't always all of us and we varied the sights and itineraries but we certainly learned to love the desert. Mother, who had been "able to identify every plant in the state of Wisconsin at 50 miles an hour", my Dad's quote, soon learned every bit of desert flora, all of its names, when it bloomed and where the best vistas were. She would get Royce at the home on weekends so they could go on drives. She even had a little CB radio so help could come if need be. She hoped to encounter a flash flood ... who knows why, the experience I guess, but never did.
At 88 she took a tumble off a chair trying to get something down off a high shelf in the kitchen and hurt her ribs, or so she thought. Thanks be to God, my boss had asked me to take a van and wave runners to meet up with them in Phoenix to get a head start on their summer vacation. Stopping to get Mother and take her along was the plan. She complained of trouble breathing ... broken rib to be the blame, and we went to Phoenix, visited with an old school friend there!, but on the way home her conditioned deteriorated. We headed up the mountains to Silver City Hospital early in the morning, hit a deer with the rental car, and got her admitted. It was advanced pneumonia and not a broken rib. Bob and Mary from Albuquerque and Kathy from Colorado Springs all came down to take turns sitting with her. One evening she took off her wedding ring and gave it to Kathy, took the oxygen tube from her nose and said "I'm awfully tired, would it be all right if I gust go?" Kathy assured her it would. By morning she was gone.
She was such a treasure. She lived such a good life. Sometimes I can still hear her clicking ahead of me on a pretty walk.
She always corrected people who thought she meant Hannibal, Missouri.
One other historical item of note; she attended the 1904 Worlds Fair in St. Louis, in her Mother's lap, in a wheelchair.
Enid on the left, sister Hope on the right.
Her father, Fredrick William Heberlein was the minister at the Congregational Church in Hamilton.
He and his wife, Sarah Susanna Peterson Heberlein, grew up in a small central Wisconsin town on Lake Mason, not far from Wisconsin Dells and Portage. At its largest Briggsville numbered less than two hundred souls and served farmers in the area. Sadie, as she was known, was the daughter of Norwegian immigrants and a first generation American. Fred's family emigrated from Germany in the same time frame. They, most unusually for their time and families, both attended Ripon College where Fred starred on the baseball team and Sadie mastered in art and music. Fred went on to receive a Divinity degree from Yale in 1898. They had four children of whom Enid Anne was third. Fred's preaching took them first to Missouri and later to churches throughout Wisconsin.
Enid was Valedictorian of her high school class in Ashland, Wisconsin, and for two years attended Northland College in Ashland, far Northern Wisconsin on Lake Superior.
When her father was named Superintendent of Congregational Churches in the state of Wisconsin (kind of like "Bishop.") his job took him to Madison and they lived in a big house with many bedrooms so that not only Enid and her sister Hope could go to the University of Wisconsin but many of their cousins and almost cousins could live there and attend as well.
Enid was very smart. She received her Masters from UW in Botany. The subject of her thesis had to do with the sexual reproductive systems of some plant.
She signed on to teach Biology and other science classes at Marinette High School. Marinette, Wisconsin is directly across the state line from Menominee, Michigan, (the Upper Peninsula). They were "twin cities" usually referred to as Marinette-Menominee. The countryside is breathtaking, Great Lakes all around. Winters were brutal. Mother made many friends and continued friendships begun in Madison and Ashland.
(An aside: in 1984 Mother, 15 year old daughter Kathy and I drove to Wisconsin and for a week we went to the towns in which Mother had lived and taught. Mother was 80. We stopped and visited with friends she had made in college. Sadly, within a year or so of that trip, many of them were gone.
I don't recommend a long road trip with an 80 year old and a 15 year old but it was special.)
For reasons never made entirely clear to me, she and a fellow teacher decided to take riding lessons. The instructor was a recently discharged veteran of the Cavalry, trainer of the Army's polo ponies, and generally debauched guy, Lyle Stephenson. They broke some of those strict teacher rules, went on picnics and fell in love.
Part II
Within a year, there was child number one, me. Daddy found work driving trucks and we lived in Milwaukee. The war was underway as well and while he was too old to reenlist he found work at an ordinance depot in Baraboo, Wisconsin, and then as an airplane mechanic at Peterson Field in Colorado Springs, where we moved in 1943. Mother taught at the San Luis Ranch School for really rich girls. I have wonderful pictures from there and although many scenic spots were closed because of the war, we did get to visit Estes park. But, when Mother found she was expecting child number two it precipitated a move back to Wisconsin. Daddy once more did ordinance work and sister Mary Louise was born in April of 1945.
Two years later, on April 28, 1947, at the age of 43, she gave birth to her third child, first son, Royce Fredrick Stephenson. He was adorable but not all was right and it took more than a year for a complete diagnosis but Royce suffered from a very serious case of Cerebral Palsy. He would never sit up on his own, talk, feed himself or be able to take care of himself. But he was very bright and cheerful and lived the life he had to the fullest. Enid saw to that. He was schooled at a special class for the handicapped in West Allis, Wisconsin. The family had moved to Milwaukee soon after he was born both for advanced medical care and for great job opportunities. They would remain there, in a variety of homes for many years. Daddy had various trucking jobs which kept him gone for extended periods of time so Enid took care of home, children and took on tutoring and substitute teaching roles. She researched and developed many systems to make his life broader. She used United CP and Easter Seals programs, training and ideas. Royce got to go to day camp and week long camp. He had a "talking board" cleverly designed by Mother and others to allow him to communicate his needs, ideas and humor to anyone willing to learn the system. He graduated from leg braces, to hip/down braces, standup tables and wheel chairs. I have related before how a fellow duplex dweller at one point, the famous baseball player Bobby Thomson knew that "Rocko" (as he was now referred) really wanted a specially made tricycle and saw to it that he got one. I'll look for pictures but this one one very handsome little boy, and charming. His grasp of humor was undeniable. He loved trains and classical music. Mother would walk him a few blocks from our house on Martha Washington Drive down to watch the freight trains headed to the industrial center of Milwaukee ... usually the engineer would wave. One day they stopped the train, stepped down and lifted he and mother up into the engine for a ride to downtown and back. OMG was he thrilled.
These were mostly happy times. We had all adjusted to life with a "special needs" kid (that term had not yet been adopted, he was handicapped). The person who struggled most with all of this was Dad. He had really hoped for a baseball playing, fishing fellow, hunter and mechanic. Instead, as he was inclined to say after a few too many of the beer that made Milwaukee Famous, God had punished him with a crippled son. Knowing Royce understood it full well, he sometimes said it in front of him. Nonetheless he made tremendous efforts to have his life include as many opportunities as possible.
But this is about Enid. She worked so hard. Did I mention that she was 4' 11" tall and weighed under 100 pounds except for those three pregnancies. She was the fastest walking woman you ever met ... even in her 80's she could lead me through a park or shopping center at her distinctive clip.
They moved to Houston in the late 60's to escape Wisconsin's snow shoveling winters and to be near Mary's family and mine. They included a six month sojourn to Ajijic Mexico where Mother and Dad rode horses in the hills while Royce attended the weekly English language movies in town. Daddy's health was failing rapidly and Mother's arthritis worsened. And as they were in their 70's it was time to find a place for Royce. Wintering in Douglas AZ at the historic Gadsden Hotel, a lady told them about a nursing home in Lordsburg, NM, where she stayed when arthritis forced her to. Said it was clean, small, well run and good smelling. They toured Sunshine Haven, put Rock on the waiting list and came back to close up their Houston house and head West. Laura helped them drive out ... two cars and a trailer. That was July and by fall Daddy was in the Lordsburg hospital dying of enphysema. He died on Super Bowl Sunday, 1977 at the age of 71.
Mother got a part time job at the Lordsburg Public Library where she remained until she turned 84 ... her patience both with little kids and a new librarian tossing out perfectly good books convinced her it was time to "quit."
During those Lordsburg years she took advantage of travel opportunities, back to Houston for important family events, weddings, graduations and such, and also out to Seattle to visit her sister Lois. She found that driving down to the train tracks in Lordsburg and signalling the Amtrack headed where she wanted to go was the easy way to travel in either direction. At one point Lois' husband Ken had died when they already had tickets for a six week cruise to the South Pacific and Australia. For just the cost of tips and a few new outfits, Mom got the trip of a lifetime. She loved Tahiti, the Sydney zoo and many other adventures. She sent postcards full of her sights and sounds, saved every menu from every dress up meal, and had a wonderful time, except for "all those old people" on the boat.
Sister Mary and her family moved to Lordsburg for part of those years, both of my girls made it a point to spend part of their summers visiting and helping out at the library. As a family we went each year to tour all the great SW sites we had grown to love, especially the Chiricahua Mountains of southern Arizona, the Gila Wilderness, Shakespeare ghost town ... on and on. It wasn't always all of us and we varied the sights and itineraries but we certainly learned to love the desert. Mother, who had been "able to identify every plant in the state of Wisconsin at 50 miles an hour", my Dad's quote, soon learned every bit of desert flora, all of its names, when it bloomed and where the best vistas were. She would get Royce at the home on weekends so they could go on drives. She even had a little CB radio so help could come if need be. She hoped to encounter a flash flood ... who knows why, the experience I guess, but never did.
(Enid with two of the Great Grands, Morgan and Clayton)
At 88 she took a tumble off a chair trying to get something down off a high shelf in the kitchen and hurt her ribs, or so she thought. Thanks be to God, my boss had asked me to take a van and wave runners to meet up with them in Phoenix to get a head start on their summer vacation. Stopping to get Mother and take her along was the plan. She complained of trouble breathing ... broken rib to be the blame, and we went to Phoenix, visited with an old school friend there!, but on the way home her conditioned deteriorated. We headed up the mountains to Silver City Hospital early in the morning, hit a deer with the rental car, and got her admitted. It was advanced pneumonia and not a broken rib. Bob and Mary from Albuquerque and Kathy from Colorado Springs all came down to take turns sitting with her. One evening she took off her wedding ring and gave it to Kathy, took the oxygen tube from her nose and said "I'm awfully tired, would it be all right if I gust go?" Kathy assured her it would. By morning she was gone.
She was such a treasure. She lived such a good life. Sometimes I can still hear her clicking ahead of me on a pretty walk.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Saturday Soap Box - Public Schools
Again this week I was subjected to a lengthy diatribe on what is the matter with public schools in America and the usual conclusion that the removal of public prayer was the cause.
First of all, as stated in Matthew 6:6, Jesus was not a fan of public prayers.
Secondly, the failure of all government entities to sufficiently fund public schools, teachers, buildings, salaries ad infinitum, is the major reason for the sad decline.
Thirdly, parents who note the decline and are able or willing to remove their children to private or home schools, significantly depletes the corps of parents who can or will participate in their childrens' school.
And, lastly, no one chooses to make it an important enough battle to step up to the plate, not local governments, school boards, or parents.
Therefore, it is really valuable to teach your "still in public school" kids to pray (silently) for help from God because all the public brow beating is not doing any good at all. And, if you can find the time, get to their school and pitch in ... because the teachers who remain committed certainly could use your help.
First of all, as stated in Matthew 6:6, Jesus was not a fan of public prayers.
Secondly, the failure of all government entities to sufficiently fund public schools, teachers, buildings, salaries ad infinitum, is the major reason for the sad decline.
Thirdly, parents who note the decline and are able or willing to remove their children to private or home schools, significantly depletes the corps of parents who can or will participate in their childrens' school.
And, lastly, no one chooses to make it an important enough battle to step up to the plate, not local governments, school boards, or parents.
Therefore, it is really valuable to teach your "still in public school" kids to pray (silently) for help from God because all the public brow beating is not doing any good at all. And, if you can find the time, get to their school and pitch in ... because the teachers who remain committed certainly could use your help.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Radio
As my brief "career" in the oil bidness comes to a close, I've been thinking about the many years I spent "in radio."
WRIT-Milwaukee, WI. My best friend and I stopped by the nearby "Top 40" Radio Station one afternoon. It was 1956 and we were heading off to high school. Turns out they needed some help with their record library. Stations were changing from block programming to using disc jockeys with several hour shifts which called for a lot more music product. WRIT had been airing 78 rpm records but were in the process of switching to 45's. They needed us to catalog the new and dispose of the old. Actually Bunkie, my pal, decided early on that she was heading for a nursing career and took a job at a hospital. I stayed at WRIT. It was first owned by a big time Texas Top Forty pioneer named Gordon McLendon. He had staffed it with several Dallas area djs, sales people (ok, Salesmen) and even engineers. It was a hot new new station. However, Wisconsin was union territory, unlike Texas, and the Old Scotchman found unions to be a bit of a bummer. However, the Manager, Bill Weaver and the Program Director, Gene Edwards, turned out to recur in my life. McLendon sold WRIT quite soon to some Chicago guys (they knew about unions) and the first group of radio pals was gone. It was an interesting few years. One of the deejays started a "dance party" style TV show on which I helped and appeared. One of the newsmen went on to some TV fame of his own, Tom Snyder, by name. I'd planned a career in journalism with college to provide it.
But first, the McLendon gang had put a station on the air in Houston.
KILT-Houston, TX. Bill Weaver was the manager, Gene Edwards, the Program Director. I had spent many nights babysitting the Edwards' first child Jeri Lynn, and formed a very solid friendship with Gene and wife Joanie. So they invited me to come to Houston for the summer, live with them and help with Jeri and new born son Howard, and work part time at KILT, new Top 40 Station in town, downtown in the Milby Hotel, across the street from the Rice. My parents allowed me to take off for Texas two days after graduating from high school, for the summer. I loved the job and the town and the people. Can you believe that Houston had a population of 400,000 in 1958? Found out about Radio/TV school at the U of H, applied for and received a scholarship and in the fall moved into the "girls" dorm on Cullen. Reknown tho' it was the Radio/TV Department was staffed by a bunch of guys whose jobs in radio were in another time, block programming, network superiority, etc. Not to sound bragadocious, but I helped them when it came to modern day programming. I also met a guy, he was a senior, worked as a cameraman and announcer at Ch. 13, on Cullen Blvd. Marriage, end of college, have babies, be a Navy wife up East, etc.
But when his career brought him back to Houston, I went back to work at KILT. Now on Lovett Blvd, still some of the same folks and still successful.
KPRC-Houston, TX. Finding myself a single mom with three small kids to support and looking for a step up from Continuity Director at KILT, I was hired as station secretary at KPRC, on Post Oak, in the same building with KPRC-TV. A very nice gig until I married one Paul Williams, ex "The Wild Child" and now a salesman at KNUZ/KQUE. A new program director at KPRC thought I could not be trusted with secret KPRC programming (already quite far behind in the ratings) and had me demoted to Traffic Assistant. Fortunately they also carried the Astros who were looking for a production coordinator and there I went.
Asides, after these past fourteen months at a multi-national corporation where most of what the employees think about is maximizing retirement pensions, it occurs to me that while I changed jobs frequently, back and forth between advertising and radio, I never ever considered that I was making no plans for "retirement." I was trying really hard to support my family. So, when folks are complimenting themselves on all the grand "Choices" they have made, I'm not.
But wait, more radio. After Astros, birth of daughter, divorce and other career sidesteps, I found myself back in "Radio" as station secretary to the one and only B. Thomas Hoyt at KODA, Am&Fm, owned by Paul Taft Sr., on San Felipe in Houston. Good run there, good friends, including Mr. Hoyt and Ed & Pam Shane, Bill Powell, Jason Williams, Bruce Breeding and more. Many of whom are now my FB friends.
And then:
KNUZ-KQUE, Houston. After some advertising jobs I went onto the Sales Staff at KNUZ/KQUE. Paul had been gone for several years to other Houston stations and while he and I didn't do a great job at marriage we managed a long and happy divorce and lots of mutual involvement in radio and advertising until his untimely death in 2009. I moved up from Sales, to National Sales Manager and even General Sales Manager. It was a lot of work, not a lot of money and, did I fail to mention, I hated "sales." I have great personal sales resistance, virtually no negotiation skills and think everything should have a printed price and sell for it. Obviously not where I could stay forever, although I did last eight years.
The rest of my job time in Houston was in advertising and marketing, for the Chevy First Team and eventually many years at Timmers Chevrolet which became Monument Chevrolet. I loved writing, producing, directing and even placing our ads and it was a good place to be. I didn't make a lot of money but once again I made really good friends with whom I'm still in touch and some commercials at South Coast that are among my proudest accomplishments.
So, except for a brief stint at KGRT in Las Cruces during the year I lived there to take care of my brother, I've been out of radio for a long long time and while I liked the work and loved the people, I didn't get a pension. However, I had the joy of seeing Paul inducted into the Texas Radio Hall of Fame, posthumously, unfortunately. I've seen many other radio friends equally honored and will be heading to Galveston in November to sit with my "daughter-in-law" Bonny (also many years in radio), to see our old pal Walter Hammock be inducted as well. At that same event one of the salesmen from way back in KILT days will be going in too.
Radio today bears very little resemblance to the creative, fun-filled life we all knew back in those days. Now a few mega companies own most of the stations, programming is awful and bottom line is everything. My memories are of clever, creative and fun folks "putting on a show" everyday for hours at a time.
WRIT-Milwaukee, WI. My best friend and I stopped by the nearby "Top 40" Radio Station one afternoon. It was 1956 and we were heading off to high school. Turns out they needed some help with their record library. Stations were changing from block programming to using disc jockeys with several hour shifts which called for a lot more music product. WRIT had been airing 78 rpm records but were in the process of switching to 45's. They needed us to catalog the new and dispose of the old. Actually Bunkie, my pal, decided early on that she was heading for a nursing career and took a job at a hospital. I stayed at WRIT. It was first owned by a big time Texas Top Forty pioneer named Gordon McLendon. He had staffed it with several Dallas area djs, sales people (ok, Salesmen) and even engineers. It was a hot new new station. However, Wisconsin was union territory, unlike Texas, and the Old Scotchman found unions to be a bit of a bummer. However, the Manager, Bill Weaver and the Program Director, Gene Edwards, turned out to recur in my life. McLendon sold WRIT quite soon to some Chicago guys (they knew about unions) and the first group of radio pals was gone. It was an interesting few years. One of the deejays started a "dance party" style TV show on which I helped and appeared. One of the newsmen went on to some TV fame of his own, Tom Snyder, by name. I'd planned a career in journalism with college to provide it.
But first, the McLendon gang had put a station on the air in Houston.
KILT-Houston, TX. Bill Weaver was the manager, Gene Edwards, the Program Director. I had spent many nights babysitting the Edwards' first child Jeri Lynn, and formed a very solid friendship with Gene and wife Joanie. So they invited me to come to Houston for the summer, live with them and help with Jeri and new born son Howard, and work part time at KILT, new Top 40 Station in town, downtown in the Milby Hotel, across the street from the Rice. My parents allowed me to take off for Texas two days after graduating from high school, for the summer. I loved the job and the town and the people. Can you believe that Houston had a population of 400,000 in 1958? Found out about Radio/TV school at the U of H, applied for and received a scholarship and in the fall moved into the "girls" dorm on Cullen. Reknown tho' it was the Radio/TV Department was staffed by a bunch of guys whose jobs in radio were in another time, block programming, network superiority, etc. Not to sound bragadocious, but I helped them when it came to modern day programming. I also met a guy, he was a senior, worked as a cameraman and announcer at Ch. 13, on Cullen Blvd. Marriage, end of college, have babies, be a Navy wife up East, etc.
But when his career brought him back to Houston, I went back to work at KILT. Now on Lovett Blvd, still some of the same folks and still successful.
KPRC-Houston, TX. Finding myself a single mom with three small kids to support and looking for a step up from Continuity Director at KILT, I was hired as station secretary at KPRC, on Post Oak, in the same building with KPRC-TV. A very nice gig until I married one Paul Williams, ex "The Wild Child" and now a salesman at KNUZ/KQUE. A new program director at KPRC thought I could not be trusted with secret KPRC programming (already quite far behind in the ratings) and had me demoted to Traffic Assistant. Fortunately they also carried the Astros who were looking for a production coordinator and there I went.
Asides, after these past fourteen months at a multi-national corporation where most of what the employees think about is maximizing retirement pensions, it occurs to me that while I changed jobs frequently, back and forth between advertising and radio, I never ever considered that I was making no plans for "retirement." I was trying really hard to support my family. So, when folks are complimenting themselves on all the grand "Choices" they have made, I'm not.
But wait, more radio. After Astros, birth of daughter, divorce and other career sidesteps, I found myself back in "Radio" as station secretary to the one and only B. Thomas Hoyt at KODA, Am&Fm, owned by Paul Taft Sr., on San Felipe in Houston. Good run there, good friends, including Mr. Hoyt and Ed & Pam Shane, Bill Powell, Jason Williams, Bruce Breeding and more. Many of whom are now my FB friends.
And then:
KNUZ-KQUE, Houston. After some advertising jobs I went onto the Sales Staff at KNUZ/KQUE. Paul had been gone for several years to other Houston stations and while he and I didn't do a great job at marriage we managed a long and happy divorce and lots of mutual involvement in radio and advertising until his untimely death in 2009. I moved up from Sales, to National Sales Manager and even General Sales Manager. It was a lot of work, not a lot of money and, did I fail to mention, I hated "sales." I have great personal sales resistance, virtually no negotiation skills and think everything should have a printed price and sell for it. Obviously not where I could stay forever, although I did last eight years.
The rest of my job time in Houston was in advertising and marketing, for the Chevy First Team and eventually many years at Timmers Chevrolet which became Monument Chevrolet. I loved writing, producing, directing and even placing our ads and it was a good place to be. I didn't make a lot of money but once again I made really good friends with whom I'm still in touch and some commercials at South Coast that are among my proudest accomplishments.
So, except for a brief stint at KGRT in Las Cruces during the year I lived there to take care of my brother, I've been out of radio for a long long time and while I liked the work and loved the people, I didn't get a pension. However, I had the joy of seeing Paul inducted into the Texas Radio Hall of Fame, posthumously, unfortunately. I've seen many other radio friends equally honored and will be heading to Galveston in November to sit with my "daughter-in-law" Bonny (also many years in radio), to see our old pal Walter Hammock be inducted as well. At that same event one of the salesmen from way back in KILT days will be going in too.
Radio today bears very little resemblance to the creative, fun-filled life we all knew back in those days. Now a few mega companies own most of the stations, programming is awful and bottom line is everything. My memories are of clever, creative and fun folks "putting on a show" everyday for hours at a time.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Alone
I am terminally alone. That means I don't have anyone, no spouse, no roommate, no significant anything. I am the only person at my house. Nobody is going to show up later because he or she has been at work, shopping, or working out at the gym.
This is different from being home alone, temporarily.
If I have a question, an observation or even a project, its up to me to deal with it either by asking Google, talking out loud or to Facebook or getting off my arse and on with the project.
I have many friends who are accompanied in their lives either permanently or temporarily and they cannot imagine why I spend time observing all manner of trivia on Facebook. It is because I am alone. I am a naturally conversational human stuck in a totally non human situation.
Its okay. I'm not even complaining. I'm just saying it is different.
I don't know why I have never attracted a significant anyone, at least not in a very long time. Perhaps if I was more diplomatic, cuter, younger or, God knows, richer, I would. Or maybe not.
My life is fine, as long as I am supplementally employed, stunningly healthy and welcomed at my church.
But, since I don't have anyone coming over or coming to stay, I don't have anyone to talk to and so I observe incessantly on Facebook.
So there.
This is different from being home alone, temporarily.
If I have a question, an observation or even a project, its up to me to deal with it either by asking Google, talking out loud or to Facebook or getting off my arse and on with the project.
I have many friends who are accompanied in their lives either permanently or temporarily and they cannot imagine why I spend time observing all manner of trivia on Facebook. It is because I am alone. I am a naturally conversational human stuck in a totally non human situation.
Its okay. I'm not even complaining. I'm just saying it is different.
I don't know why I have never attracted a significant anyone, at least not in a very long time. Perhaps if I was more diplomatic, cuter, younger or, God knows, richer, I would. Or maybe not.
My life is fine, as long as I am supplementally employed, stunningly healthy and welcomed at my church.
But, since I don't have anyone coming over or coming to stay, I don't have anyone to talk to and so I observe incessantly on Facebook.
So there.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
June 30, 1960
Lindsey English and I were married on August 8, 1959, at the First Congregational Church in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. He had just graduated from the University of Houston where I had completed my freshman year.
We honeymooned in Sault Ste Marie and down the middle US back to Houston and moved into an apartment not far from the University. He continued to work as announcer and cameraman at Channel 13 and I was at AS Black Advertising.
As part of his agreement with the US Naval Reserve, two years of active duty was next on the agenda and shortly after discovering that I was pregnant his call came. I was pretty excited when he said "Galveston" but not so much when it turned out that he was being assigned to the USS Galveston, CLG3, currently docked in the Philadelphia Naval Shipyards. CLG meant Cruiser Light Guided (as in missiles).
He requested and received permission to come home for the birth of our first baby. She, due on July 14th, chose to arrived on June 30, 1960, just in time to meet him before he headed back to the ship.
Laura Lise English was born at Hermann Hospital in Houston and we went home five days later to Lindsey's "parents" home in Southwest Houston. I put parents in quotes because to this day there is serious question as to their actual relationship to him, but it is likely that he was the son of Pop's unmarried sister. We will never know. Anyway, Lindsey flew back to Philadelphia and we (I) learned all the correct ways to take care of a new baby girl. She was very cooperative.
When she was five weeks old we flew to Philadelphia to join her daddy. Quite an experience that was. Lindsey had rented an apartment on 39th street in Philly, very near the University and on a major bus line. It was such a new world! We took a bus downtown to Gimbel's dept store to buy a stroller. Used the stroller to walk several blocks to the washateria and later to walk all the way to the zoo. Sadly, zoos in both Milwaukee and Houston had been free, so the 75 cent admission meant we didn't have enough money to go in.
By the end of August we found out that our apartment was U of Penn housing and we would have to leave. Lindsey was Chaplain's Yeoman aboard the Galveston. Chaplain was Samuel R. Hardman. Sam arranged to bring his son's car up from Virginia for us to use in our search for a new home. We never did find anything and so we packed everything we owned into the trunk and backseat of the 1951 Ford and headed off to Virginia Beach to camp out with the Hardmans, Trudy and the three boys.
On September 12, 1960, we encountered Hurricane Donna in Washington DC. We parked in the Marriott Hotel parking lot while it blew across the city. It was just us, our earthly belongings and our 2 1/2 month old baby girl. I looked it up, Donna was the only hurricane to touch every state on the Atlantic with hurricane force winds, quite a storm.
So we finally got to Virginia Beach but we didn't find Trudy and the boys. They had evacuated the flooding there and were staying with Navy friends in Norfolk. It was eventually sorted out. Lindsey went back to the ship and Laura and I found a great little tourist court cabin/home in Little Creek, VA. We had a view right out to the ships leaving the Chesapeake Bay and heading out to sea. We made friends and spent a lot of time with Trudy and the boys, Robbie, Joe and Alfie. Trudy's older son was already away at school. Great family and so generous and kind to us.
My most memorable Laura moment of those months in Virginia: I awoke one morning to the sound of her shaking her crib side. She was four months old. I turned my head and opened my eyes to see her standing up, yes, standing up smiling at me and having a blast. I, however, new mother who'd heard you mustn't let babies stand because their little knees couldn't take it, jumped up and put her back down in her bed. She didn't try that trick again for a couple of months.
Talk about learning curves! Every few days brought another. Fortunately Chaplain Sam was free to do supply preaching and one of his spots was a beautiful old little Episcopal Church on the Eastern Shore. Their only music was provided by an elderly violinist and he was wonderful. We chose that church for Laura's baptism, Sam officiated and he and Trudy were her godparents. Somewhere there are pictures of the event. It was special.
However, by December the orders had come for the Galveston to head to the Caribbean and we thought it was time for Laura and me to head out as well. My folks had kindly offered to have us there in Wauwatosa and so we were on the road again, in mid December, in a snowstorm, with a Wisconsin bound shipmate of Lindsey's to help with the driving.
Laura and I lived with my family, Mom, Dad, Mary and Royce, until the next fall. Currie was born in Milwaukee in August of 1961 and we rejoined Lindsey back in the East, Woodbury, New Jersey, for the remainder of his Naval duty.
Here's a shot of Laura and me, in Milwaukee. Happy Birthday Laura!
We honeymooned in Sault Ste Marie and down the middle US back to Houston and moved into an apartment not far from the University. He continued to work as announcer and cameraman at Channel 13 and I was at AS Black Advertising.
As part of his agreement with the US Naval Reserve, two years of active duty was next on the agenda and shortly after discovering that I was pregnant his call came. I was pretty excited when he said "Galveston" but not so much when it turned out that he was being assigned to the USS Galveston, CLG3, currently docked in the Philadelphia Naval Shipyards. CLG meant Cruiser Light Guided (as in missiles).
He requested and received permission to come home for the birth of our first baby. She, due on July 14th, chose to arrived on June 30, 1960, just in time to meet him before he headed back to the ship.
Laura Lise English was born at Hermann Hospital in Houston and we went home five days later to Lindsey's "parents" home in Southwest Houston. I put parents in quotes because to this day there is serious question as to their actual relationship to him, but it is likely that he was the son of Pop's unmarried sister. We will never know. Anyway, Lindsey flew back to Philadelphia and we (I) learned all the correct ways to take care of a new baby girl. She was very cooperative.
When she was five weeks old we flew to Philadelphia to join her daddy. Quite an experience that was. Lindsey had rented an apartment on 39th street in Philly, very near the University and on a major bus line. It was such a new world! We took a bus downtown to Gimbel's dept store to buy a stroller. Used the stroller to walk several blocks to the washateria and later to walk all the way to the zoo. Sadly, zoos in both Milwaukee and Houston had been free, so the 75 cent admission meant we didn't have enough money to go in.
By the end of August we found out that our apartment was U of Penn housing and we would have to leave. Lindsey was Chaplain's Yeoman aboard the Galveston. Chaplain was Samuel R. Hardman. Sam arranged to bring his son's car up from Virginia for us to use in our search for a new home. We never did find anything and so we packed everything we owned into the trunk and backseat of the 1951 Ford and headed off to Virginia Beach to camp out with the Hardmans, Trudy and the three boys.
On September 12, 1960, we encountered Hurricane Donna in Washington DC. We parked in the Marriott Hotel parking lot while it blew across the city. It was just us, our earthly belongings and our 2 1/2 month old baby girl. I looked it up, Donna was the only hurricane to touch every state on the Atlantic with hurricane force winds, quite a storm.
So we finally got to Virginia Beach but we didn't find Trudy and the boys. They had evacuated the flooding there and were staying with Navy friends in Norfolk. It was eventually sorted out. Lindsey went back to the ship and Laura and I found a great little tourist court cabin/home in Little Creek, VA. We had a view right out to the ships leaving the Chesapeake Bay and heading out to sea. We made friends and spent a lot of time with Trudy and the boys, Robbie, Joe and Alfie. Trudy's older son was already away at school. Great family and so generous and kind to us.
My most memorable Laura moment of those months in Virginia: I awoke one morning to the sound of her shaking her crib side. She was four months old. I turned my head and opened my eyes to see her standing up, yes, standing up smiling at me and having a blast. I, however, new mother who'd heard you mustn't let babies stand because their little knees couldn't take it, jumped up and put her back down in her bed. She didn't try that trick again for a couple of months.
Talk about learning curves! Every few days brought another. Fortunately Chaplain Sam was free to do supply preaching and one of his spots was a beautiful old little Episcopal Church on the Eastern Shore. Their only music was provided by an elderly violinist and he was wonderful. We chose that church for Laura's baptism, Sam officiated and he and Trudy were her godparents. Somewhere there are pictures of the event. It was special.
However, by December the orders had come for the Galveston to head to the Caribbean and we thought it was time for Laura and me to head out as well. My folks had kindly offered to have us there in Wauwatosa and so we were on the road again, in mid December, in a snowstorm, with a Wisconsin bound shipmate of Lindsey's to help with the driving.
Laura and I lived with my family, Mom, Dad, Mary and Royce, until the next fall. Currie was born in Milwaukee in August of 1961 and we rejoined Lindsey back in the East, Woodbury, New Jersey, for the remainder of his Naval duty.
Here's a shot of Laura and me, in Milwaukee. Happy Birthday Laura!
Friday, May 30, 2014
The time has come
to hie myself out in to the searching for work place. My year at Schlumberger has been most interesting. I made good friends, learned a little about the wireline, logging, etc. part of the oil business. However another division of the company is moving in here and their Admin person will be getting my chair and desk.
It makes sense since I have not been a Schlumberger employee this year but rather a temporary part time person hired by their staffing service. I'm going to miss it all, the part I get and the parts I don't get. I'm really going to miss the money. If you play your cards right $8.50 an hour can keep the wolf from the door. Not, however, the Wolf Spider, but I digress.
So, I've relocated my dwelling place to little Edom, Texas, population 375. I'm almost out of work. The plans I had to buy a little house and have a little house payment went by the wayside. I was not thrilled with the expertise and information provided to me by realtors and mortgators. Subsequently, not getting a house because I couldn't afford the several thousand dollars it would have taken to bring it up to financiers requirements has left me over $500 poorer. (Like I needed to be poorer) And, as I suspected, renting a little house even in a little town costs more which means I must hurry and find another "supplemental" job. The good news is I know more people and have fairly positive recommendations to use.
The highlights of my life here have been the times I get to spend with my youngest grandchildren who have been very gracious about including me in their lives. They are also moving to a new house, a new school and to having a Mommy with only one outside job instead of two. Kathy has resigned her teaching position at All Saints and will be managing her store, Clothes Mentor, full time. Kallie and Kyndall both seem to love my new digs and the surroundings which include our favorite garden store, Blue Moon Gardens, the great children's library in Ben Wheeler, where five free books are offered to every kid, and some mighty delicious local eateries. Within about seven miles we have three foodie hot spots. And when those get old Tyler is less than twenty miles away.
While I am not at all sure this move to Tyler was in everyone's best interests it is now almost two years old and we just need to get a handle on it and move on. A great blessing is the wonderful church home I've found at Christ Church. It is a building filled with welcome, kindness, intelligence and fabulous music.
The good news about my new house is a guest room and lots of great scenery. I'm still struggling with the kitchen situation but I'm sure it will become resolved.
If you find yourself in this part of Texas, Deep East Texas, come on by.
It makes sense since I have not been a Schlumberger employee this year but rather a temporary part time person hired by their staffing service. I'm going to miss it all, the part I get and the parts I don't get. I'm really going to miss the money. If you play your cards right $8.50 an hour can keep the wolf from the door. Not, however, the Wolf Spider, but I digress.
So, I've relocated my dwelling place to little Edom, Texas, population 375. I'm almost out of work. The plans I had to buy a little house and have a little house payment went by the wayside. I was not thrilled with the expertise and information provided to me by realtors and mortgators. Subsequently, not getting a house because I couldn't afford the several thousand dollars it would have taken to bring it up to financiers requirements has left me over $500 poorer. (Like I needed to be poorer) And, as I suspected, renting a little house even in a little town costs more which means I must hurry and find another "supplemental" job. The good news is I know more people and have fairly positive recommendations to use.
The highlights of my life here have been the times I get to spend with my youngest grandchildren who have been very gracious about including me in their lives. They are also moving to a new house, a new school and to having a Mommy with only one outside job instead of two. Kathy has resigned her teaching position at All Saints and will be managing her store, Clothes Mentor, full time. Kallie and Kyndall both seem to love my new digs and the surroundings which include our favorite garden store, Blue Moon Gardens, the great children's library in Ben Wheeler, where five free books are offered to every kid, and some mighty delicious local eateries. Within about seven miles we have three foodie hot spots. And when those get old Tyler is less than twenty miles away.
While I am not at all sure this move to Tyler was in everyone's best interests it is now almost two years old and we just need to get a handle on it and move on. A great blessing is the wonderful church home I've found at Christ Church. It is a building filled with welcome, kindness, intelligence and fabulous music.
The good news about my new house is a guest room and lots of great scenery. I'm still struggling with the kitchen situation but I'm sure it will become resolved.
If you find yourself in this part of Texas, Deep East Texas, come on by.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Facing again the specter of unemployment.
It hasn't happened but I tend to worry ahead. Seems the huge multinational corporation that has employed me in a temporary part time position for the past several months is taking a hard look at budgetary concerns and my massive hourly cost may be more than they can sustain.
If this is the case I am heartbroken on so many levels. First, of course, is the loss of what seems to me to be absolutely necessary income to supplement that lovely check I get from myself (and the government) on the second Wednesday of every month. Secondly is the honest to goodness fact that I love this little job, that I can do, with people whom I like and who seem to like me back, interesting people with much to teach and share. Third is the flaming ass nightmare of trying to find a job in this town, at this age. I've been there and it was hell.
On-line may be a swell way to do a lot of things, but if your birth year is 1940 its the worst possible way to apply for jobs. They see the year and they picture the least able 70-something they know and you are painted with that brush.
I understand very clearly that I am not the good little, bright little worker that I was twenty or more years ago. I am, however, still most able. I can and do speak in complete sentences, follow instructions, know how to ask for help with things I do not understand, appear on time each work day and complete the day and its tasks. I am pleasant (mostly) and well spoken. I can operate many office machines without crashes and fire. I can climb ladders, install new cartridges, send and receive faxes, texts, calls and messages. I am generally presentable with few bad hair days since I went to the short stuff. My vision and hearing are completely within the normal range and my driving skills are hampered only by a slightly leaded right foot.
So, now the question becomes, do I stay or do I go. Do I slog through another several months (if I'm very frugal, I can probably make four in these circumstances), hunting high and low for someone to take a chance on me. Do I move away, to somewhere smaller, with smaller costs, with fewer bells and whistles (ie. satellite, internet, central heat and air, guest room)?
Somehow I guess I expected some of these questions to be past the asking stage. This is not my Mother's old age. She was healthy and employed well into her eighties, managed her sparse income so carefully that she left us money to help take care of Royce and never even went to a hospital until pneumonia snuck up on her at 88, by which time she allowed as how she was tired and ready to go.
Obviously that's not the way its going to be for me. I have loved being here in Tyler, close to my youngest grandkids and with extended family nearby. I have a wonderful church, Christ Church, that has made me feel so welcomed and loved and educated and prayed for and with. This is a beautiful part of this wacky state, gorgeous flora, hills and valleys, lakes and rivers, great little towns and spots to see.
But the ugly fact remains that I cannot afford to live here without some employment and lordy but I dread throwing myself back into that battle.
Suggestions?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)