CAB CALLOWAY

My dad who was a five foot eight afraid of nothing, except maybe my mother, outdoors, athletic guy. He actually enjoyed brawling. I can recall as a wee lad watching my dad duking it out with my six foot two ince Uncle Dan, or some other contestant. They would carry on for about ten minutes and then laugh like hell and saunter down to the corner bar for a beer.

When we were in church, during the singing of the hymns, he was the most off key, tone deaf person I have ever met. He seemed to have no inclination, or interest, in music. He did, however have a soft spot for Cab Calloway.

If you don’t know who Cab Calloway is and you probably don’t, I’ll splain. Mr. Calloway was in the words of Wikipedia “Calloway was the first African-American musician to sell a million records from a single song and to have a nationally syndicated radio show. Calloway was a master of energetic scat singing and led one of the United States' most popular big bands from the early 1930s to the late 1940s.”

At the mere thought of Mr. Calloway, dad’s face would light up and he would tell of the antics of Cab. If Rock and Roll was the burr under my parent’s saddles Cab was the equal to my grand parents. There are many films, if you’re interested, on Youtube of Cab struttin’ and being as negro as can be. I say negro because back in that era, black was akin to the N word, a huge insult.

I’m sure that my dad is now ensconced in heaven and is watching Cab Calloway on his laptop or iPad and the Indians. His other loves were hunting, fishing, sports in general and baseball.

COUNTRY AND WESTERN MUSIC

A friend of mine said that he liked both kinds of music, country and western. I never much cared for either or that’s what I thought. Looking back I remember liking The Sons of the Pioneers and singing cowboys as a young lad. I was weaned on classical music since I could remember.  

The reason I mention this is because of Ken Burns. I watched his series about a month ago on PBS on country music. I thoroughly enjoyed the historical part but the actual music, not so much. I know that when I was in the school orchestra in grade school one of the song books that was used was The Music of Hank Williams. I really liked the music of Hank Williams but didn’t much care for old Hank’s singing. Too hillbilly for my taste.

I try to practice what I preach and one of the things that I preach is don’t knock it unless you have tried it. Back in the eighties when I was bitching to my son about Rap, he asked me if I ever listened to Rap Music. Of coursed I told him that I had, which I hadn’t, and that Rap shouldn’t even be called “music”. It isn’t melodic and there is nothing to like about it. I was a salesman on the road around LA and spent many hours in my company car so I found a rap station and did try listening to it. It became much like a trial by fire to me. I’d push the button on the car’s radio and see how long I could bear it. About four minutes was my record. I couldn’t figure out how my smart cello playing son could like anything about it. To this day, I still think he was pulling my leg as any respectable teenager would just to get a rise out of the old man.

But I digress. While watching the Ken Burns series I developed a taste for Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings. I never really saw what all of the hoopla was about for Johnny Cash. Since the beginning of time I always liked Kris Kristofferson and I am in love with Emmy Lou Harris.

Come to think of it, my classical music pianist mother one day out of nowhere took a huge liking to Country music. Maybe this liking is an omen of old age but I would certainly not describe myself as elderly. As I write this, I am listening to The Highwaymen.

Maybe I don’t have to be all in for C & W.

WINE

Wine is the very stuff of life. Liquid pleasure. Almost, but not quite, as good as sex.  When I was going to Missile Technician B School in Vallejo, we used to take a short jaunt over to Napa Valley and visit some wineries. Of  course back in 1963 wineries in Napa weren’t the big deal like they are now. Besides the fancy wineries there were some down and dirty places like Italian Swiss Colony and Virginia Dare.

Later on, when the ship hit Japan, instead of swilling down Asahi beer all of the time in the sailor bars, I would drink Akadama Wine.

I mention all of this because I feel like the mustang of wine drinkers. FYI, a mustang in the Navy is an officer who has come up through the ranks. My, so called, palate has earned it’s stripes, paid it’s dues.

Fast forward five years and I am now living near the foothills in Glendora. We had it all. Three bedroom house with a pool. Two cars and motorcycles the whole suburban disaster. I started making wine at home.  Sourcing the juice from several sources and getting into the whole world of wine. The Los Angeles Times ran a wine column twice a week. One in the LA Times Sunday Magazine and the other in the Thursday food issue. It was written by the Wine and Food Editor Robert Lawrence Balzer. Twice a year Balzer even had a beer tasting with his friends and wrote about the results. The winner(s) of the tasting varied back and forth between Pilsner Urquell from Czechoslovakia and Bohemia from Mexico. Needless to say, I was a regular reader. I had an image of Mr. Balzer in my mind. He was to be rather tall, somewhat slim with a thin mustache and a slight English accent.

I the early 1980’s, I had a friend named Jon who assisted Mr. Balzer in a class offered by Long Beach Parks & Recreation on California wines. He said that I should sign up and take it, which I did. I finally met Balzer and far from being the tall thin suave gentleman, he was a short little queen. But he was very knowledgeable on wine, very well connected in the industry and was an accomplished raconteur. The class was limited to 75 people and was always sold out by people who had been attending it for years and years. They brought cheese n crackers and chocolate to class. It was a wine snob convention every Monday evening. The class offered tastings of  fifteen to twenty  different wines at every class meeting.

We would start off with three, or four champagnes and then five or six whites. After the whites were five of six reds and lastly two or three desert wines. These were all offered as part of the $150 to take the class. The program followed a formula. Each week Robert talked about a different California appellation. Napa one week, Carneros next week Monterrey and so forth. Being that Robert was so well connected, he got all of  these fine wines for free as this was a good advertising ploy. He also had speakers come in to talk. The speakers were the wine makers of the various wines or the owners of the wineries.  

I really enjoyed the classes and the wines but $150 every twelve weeks was kind of rich for my blood. Just after the class was over, my friend Jon told me that he was moving to San Diego and Robert would be in need of a replacement assistant. I unabashedly volunteered to take Jon’s place.

The job consisted of  putting the champagnes and whites on ice and then  writing numbers on brown paper bags for the blind tasting. I once mentioned to Robert how I had higher expectations than drinking  wine from brown paper bags. We both had a good chuckle at that. After the champagnes and whites were on ice and the bags were numbered the reds were uncorked and the all 108 of the wine were slipped into their bags. Then we, Robert and I, went to dinner. Robert picked up the tab. Than was my remuneration for my labors. Dining at a fine restaurant with the LA Times food and wine critic was a new and enjoyable experience. Waiters hovering around the table ready, willing and able to fulfill your every wish. Once however, when we went to Mum’s Restaurant in downtown Long Beach  on Pine Ave nobody knew who he was.  John Morris the owner of  Mum’s and I go way back for thirty years. He stopped as he walked by our table and we chatted for five minutes. Robert, who had an ego as big as Texas, was miffed at  not being the center of attention but was impressed nevertheless at our being recognized. We usually had a wine maker or winery owner accompany us. Over the few years I helped Robert, I became fairly well connected myself.

I remember one time I was at some winery in the Santa Ynez area and asked if they had any Viognier wine. The gal at the bar asked how I knew about this relatively unknown variety and I told her I was Balzers assistant down in Long Beach. She looked me straight in the eye and said “Here try this, you don’t want any of this commercial mouthwash”. She reached under the bar and brought out what she called THE Good Stuff. Another time after I was done with a job up in Chico I drove through Napa valley and stopped at Beringer. It was Friday July third and naturally the next day was the Fourth. I asked if the wine maker by name was in and she asked if I knew him. I gave her the old Balzer’s assistant spiel and I knew him when came down and had dinner with us. She told me the wine maker had taken the day off but she would be more than happy to serve me. I sampled a lot of the Good Stuff and mad about twenty selections. As she was checking me out at the counter she casually said that I would get “the industry discount”. She said the industry price was four dollars a bottle. I was sorry I hadn’t bought a dozen cases.

Once, Robert asked me if I would help him out on a Saturday. He explained that some lawyer had won a private tasting and talk in a silent auction. We got there early to set up. The lawyer’s offices were the whole very top floor of the Union Bank building which they owned. The offices were a cozy little set up which included a large restaurant quality kitchen and a rather small bar. As I was icing down the whites and enjoying the Sam Adams beer which was on tap there I started looking at the pictures on the wall. There was Ronald Reagan enjoying a cocktail at this very bar ar was H W Bush. That was impressive enough but the picture that really impressed me was the one of Margaret Thatcher imbibing at this bar.

At the tasting, my job was to bring a bottle in it’s paper  bag to the crowd of vultures while Robert lectured. A very sweet looking lady looked up at me with very sad eyes as to say is this one any good. Her husband, sitting next to her, didn’t notice me shake my head no. About the third wine, I smiled at her as I handed her the bottle and nodded yes. After all of the whites were sampled, Robert had his “beauty contest” for the whites. He asked who liked number one and a few hands went. When he asked who liked number three only her hand was raised. She looked at me like did you set me up and then Robert said “Very good madam”. Then we did the reds. I gave the nice lady a nod when I gave her the bottle that I knew Robert really enjoyed. When she responded again with raised hand, Robert said “Madam you have very exquisite taste. Her husband turned and looked at her like who the hell knew? She was beaming from ear to ear. I knew that I had just punched my ticket into heaven that day.

On Tuesdays, we’d drive up to Beverly Hills for the weekly season. The BH folks were much better healed than their Long Beach brethren but not as well savvy in  the world of wine. As I would hand out each bottle some of them would whisper to me “Did the people in Long Beach like this one?”   

Over the course of time, Robert and I became good friends. We, Dave and I, had several Thanksgivings at his home. Robert was surprisingly a very good cook. He not only talked the talk. He walked the walk. He showed me haw to make a proper omelet and other skills at the stove.

He was also an ordained Buddhist monk. He smoked a lot of cigarettes and one day I asked him why he didn’t quit smoking. He replied that he did quit once and it threw his palate all out of whack.

He did live to be 94 and did pass a few years ago. I still keep his number on the directory of my iPhone.

THE NEW GUYS

THE NEW GUYS

One night a bunch of sailors, mostly first and second class Petty Officers came back to the ship after a night of beer drinking in Olongapo which is the town outside the main gate of Naval Station Subic Bay Philippine Islands. San Miguel Beer in an Olongapo bar was one Philippine Peso per bottle. If my memory serves me right, one Yankee Dollar would buy seven pesos.  That’s about fifteen cents a bottle and San Magoo was pretty good beer. We staggered aboard our little tin can, destroyer, and headed down the ladder, steps, to where we bunked.

When we got to the bottom of the ladder, we started to step on and trip over a larger number of drunks sleeping on the deck than normal. SOP, Standing Operating Procedure, was when you stepped on a drunken sailor, a not uncommon occurrence, you kicked, gently of course, the drunken sot to wake him up and tell him to hit his rack, bed. Suddenly all of these sleeping dumb asses jumped to their feet and started saluting us and calling us sir.

Now this wasn’t the usual reaction of a newly kicked drunk let alone a whole gaggle of drunken sailors. One of us turned on the lights in the berthing compartment which did get a typical reaction from a newly awakened sailor. Something like turn the fucking lights of you assholes.  I knew at least this wasn’t a dream.

When quired, who the hell are you ass holes and what the hell are you doing sleeping on the deck, one of the quivering young men, and I do mean young, replied that they woke up in Illinois and graduated from boot camp at Great lakes Naval Training Center, were herded on to a jet airplane and flown half way around the world to the Philippines, herded onto a cattle truck  and  deposited on to this ship in the middle of the night. The whole group was scared shitless because on this very morning, they could only address senior petty officers as sir and had to salute them.

We then allowed the poor clueless bastards to go back to nighty nighty night. We found out the next morning that the Navy, in their infinite wisdom, had decided to step up the crew manning levels of ships operating in the Western Pacific, read Vietnam, but hadn’t bothered to tell said ships in the Western Pacific. Further more, Because of our ignorance  we hadn’t prepared a suitable welcome or installed bunks for them to sleep on.

It took a few days to get things sorted out and we still all felt a little bad for these new boots and cringed a bit on being saluted. A few nights of liberty in Olongapo and the newbies became old salts over night.

SCHOONER OR LATER

Back in the late 1970’s when I was selling apartment buildings, we used to have our Tuesday  office sales meetings at The Little Ships Galley in Alamitos Bay Marina. We liked the LSG because it was ran by this old timer named Schultzy. Schultzy was pretty old to us kids back then and ran a pretty slack ship. All there was ever there was Schultzy and his buddies.

As a consequence, the place was always deserted. Schultzy lived aboard an older gaff rigged ketch named Aegean Sea and enjoyed our patronage and we could meet away without upsetting him. One day, the place was closed up and we came to find out that he had a severe heart attack which he survived. The place was closed for a few months so naturally we didn’t and couldn’t go there any more.

A guy named Dennis bought The Galley. I am told that he was and still is maybe a Newport Beach fireman. Denny cleaned the place the place up and renamed it Schooner or Later. He also hired a waitress who wore a short skirt. Before you could say Bob’s your uncle, the place was a roaring success. Lots more short skirted waitresses and a full kitchen staff. He even set up tables outside and had outdoor seating. It is forty years later now and Denny has lost, as we all have,  most of his boyish good looks but his little enterprise is still flourishing. It gets rave reviews on Yelp and local magazines. There was a segment on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives on the Food Network.

The reason I am taking this little stroll down memory lane is because of the interesting times, as the Chinese would say, they are still in business. Of course like all other eateries in our fair land, they are hanging on by their finger nails.

Besides selling their food, for take out only, they are operating a pop-up store. We can stroll over to S or L and buy eggs. Dairy, luncheon meats, cheeses and produce. All at very attractive prices. A flat of thirty eggs for instance is $15 witch is less than the supermarkets were charging before the hoarding and price gouging began.

They are also selling family dinners like fried chicken, meatloaf, enchiladas and tritip. Friday is tritip night so we bought the tritip dinner for “4 to 5” for $35.

Denny’s sister Denise runs the day to day operation and I applaud her for working so hard towards this symbiosis.

Bravo Zulu Denise

Life while restricted to the ship.

I spent the first eight years of my adult life in the Navy after graduating from high school. I also have lived aboard a boat for the last forty five years. Because of this I guess some people would say I’ve developed a few peculiarities about certain things along the way. 

I am most comfortable living in a small space. I have no interest in living in a large home. I did live in a large home way back when. It even had a ballroom in it. It wasn’t for me.

I like to have a sizable quantity of food stowed away in my boat. Canned meat and vegetables and lotsa pasta. I like to keep water and fuel in my tanks in the event I have to get away from some catastrophe either man made or natural. I’ve always figured that I could just sail away and anchor out somewhere until it was safe to return to civilization.

It is because of the above that when this corona virus panic took hold and people, read morons, started clearing the shelves at the market, I hardly took notice. It was like the gasoline shortage of the mid nineteen seventies. I had a Porsche 914 at the time. These little mid-engined jems had large gas tanks and small engines. Porsche used to advertise that you could drive it from San Diego to San Francisco without stopping for gas. It had a 500 mile range. After over a month after the gas shortage started I finally had to get gas. I didn’t know the protocol of lining up  and when I asked people were yelling at me “Where the hell have you been? In a cave or something.”

About 500 feet where we live is Schooner Or Later, a café that serves breakfast and lunches. They are trying to stay afloat by offering take out food and operating a pop up store. They are selling Dairy Products, Cheese, Eggs, Lunch Meat, Produce and Bread. Every other day, we walk over to S or L and get an omelet or a sammich and get two loves of bread. So far it, the quarantine,  has been only an inconvenience. I must admit however my better half scurries of to the store(s) occasionally and returns with her treasures. I believe that she rather enjoys scoring her finds from the barren shelves.  She says it’s like what it must have been like living in the Soviet Union. We could hold out for quite a while living on our dry stores but I think she likes getting away from me from time to time. I know I would but I can’t. I’m trapped.

I have faith in the American economy and truly believe that when there is no room left in the houses of the herd, which I believe will be soon, the stores will return to somewhat normal.

I’m thinking, and hoping, that his will end up like Y2K. What a fiasco that was.

KEEP THE FAITH.

VICTOREEN

In 1968, after eight years in Uncle Sam's Canoe Club, I was a civilian again, back in Cleveland  and I needed a job. 

A head hunter sent me to a job interview at a company called Victereen Instruments in Cleveland. At the interview, I was screened by by a man named Andy the vice president of engineering.  Andy said that they were getting a flood of Vietnam veterans looking for work and they were obliged to interview them all but not to get my hopes up  too much. He had a simple practical test for me. He had a Techtronix oscilloscope hooked up to a circuit and asked me what the time delay was on a pulse. What he didn't know and what I didn't think of putting on my resume was that I was sent to a three course at the Techtronix factory in Beaverton Oregon. For three weeks, eight hours a day, we learned all about the workings of a Techtronix scope. We toured the production floor and even saw how the scopes were reconditioned. Andy wanted me to tell him what the time delay was on the pulse. 

I told Andy that he thought that the time delay was 4 microseconds but the scope's triggering was set up wrong. That the time delay was more like 3.5 microseconds. He asked me what was wrong and I told him that he didn't account for the delay line on the vertical deflection plates. "What delay line?" he asked. I explained that the good folks at Techtronix put a 0.5 microsecond delay on the vertical plates in order to view the leading edge on the pulses being viewed. 

I asked him if he wanted me to adjust the pulse width to 4 useconds and he said yes. He showed me which potentiometer adjusted the pulse width and I set up the scope to trigger properly. I adjusted the pot to 4 useconds and immediately the Teletype machine started chattering away. Teletype TT33s were about the only digital printers available back in the Stone Age. Andy about crapped his pants. He said it took his guys four or five hours to set up the printers at the plant. 

I was hired on the spot into the engineering department. Victoreen made radiation analyzing equipment and the work was interesting but Andy was, dare I say, an asshole. After about fifteen months at Victoreen some technician lit a cigarette in the lab. Yes everyone smoked everywhere back then and tossed his match into a pan with solvent in it. Woosh, the pan turned into Vesuvius. Without a second thought, I grabbed a small fire extinguisher off of the wall and put out the fire. The next thing I knew, Andy was screaming in my face that I "Expended a perfectly good fire extinguisher". 

"Would you rather have had the plant burned to the ground?" I countered.  

A half an hour without any fanfare, Andy handed me a severance check and I was free. This was on a Thursday and we drove up to Dearborn Heights in Michigan to visit with my in laws. On Monday, I was back in Cleveland and interviewed at API instruments. I found out at the interview that the chief engineer at Victoreen and the chief engineer at API were good friends and the had talked about me. I got up to leave and was asked where I was going. I thought that after their talk that I was not going to be hired. Steve my soon to be my new boss told  me he was told that I could be a pain in the ass at times but was worth hiring. He added that his friend also told him that Andy was an asshole and was hired.