I.C. TOOWELL: In July 24-30 issue
Everyone has their big fishing story. We use to have a huge mounted rockfish in our office that was our story and now our band director, Andy Critz, has his fishing story.
Andy’s story begins with realizing there is a big step between the dock and the boat, especially since the boat has a habit of moving, most of the time away from the dock. Yep, he missed the boat.
The only reason this story came to being public is his wife and a few of the band students tried to call him on his cell. One students was telling how that every time he called, he could only hear what sounded like a gurgling sound. His wife, said every time she called she thought he was at the swimming pool practicing his back stroke. His band students now call him “Nemo.”
As a young married couple, a husband and a wife lived in a cheap housing complex near the military base where he was working.
Their chief complaint was that the walls were paper-thin and that they had no privacy.
This was painfully obvious when one morning the husband was upstairs and the wife was downstairs on the telephone. She was interrupted by the doorbell and went to greet her neighbor.
"Give this to your husband," he said thrusting a roll of toilet paper into her hands. "He's been yelling for it for 15 minutes!"
In a class on abnormal psychology, the instructor was about to introduce the subject of manic depression.
The instructor asked, "How would you diagnose a patient who walks back and forth, screaming at the top of his lungs one minute, then sits in a chair weeping uncontrollably the next?"
A young man in the rear raised his hand and suggested earnestly, "A basketball coach?"
Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan, or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,
For Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.
We learned to gut a muffler, we washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry in circles on the lawn.
We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz, and no one's seen him since.
We danced to 'Little Darlin,' and sang to 'Stagger Lee'
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney.
We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.
We didn't have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat whose co-star was a chimp.
We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T ,
And Oprah couldn't talk, yet, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We had our share of heroes, we never thought they'd go,
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe.
For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We'd never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson, and Zeppelins were not Led.
And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkees lived in trees,
Madonna was a virgin in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We'd never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they weren't grown in jars.
We hadn't seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.
And Hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Buicks came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.
And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me, Me.
We had no Crest with Fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues,
We had no patterned pantyhose or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for condoms in the Land That Made Me, Me.
There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill.
And middle-aged was 35 and old was forty-three,
And ancient were our parents in the Land That Made Me, Me.
But all things have a season, or so we've heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A.
They send us invitations to join AARP,
We've come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me, Me.
So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they're using smaller print in magazines.
And we tell our children's children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me....Me.
Reasons Why Farm Trucks Are Never Stolen*
They have a range of about 20 miles before they overheat, break down or run out of gas.
Only the owner knows how to operate the door to get in or out.
It is difficult to drive fast with all the fence tools, grease rags, ropes, chains, buckets, boots and loose papers in the cab.
It takes too long to start and the smoke coming up through the rusted-out floorboard clouds your vision.
The Border Collie on the toolbox looks mean.
They're too easy to spot. The description might go something like this: The driver's side door is red, the passenger side door is green, the right front fender is yellow, etc.
The large round bale in the back makes it hard to see if you're being chased. You could use the mirrors if they weren't cracked and covered with duct tape.
Top speed is only about 45 mph.
Who wants a truck that needs a year's worth of maintenance, u-joints, $3,000 in bodywork, taillights and a windshield.
* It's hard to commit a crime with everyone waving at you.
See you next week.