The email list is fixed - at least I think so

An email box
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - You should have received a test message from me sometime in the last day or so that was just a test of our email list.

Somehow, somewhere in the electronic bowels of this Apple iBook G4, my emails lists started, well, co-mingling and it seems one of my notices about an update went to half of the upper administration at the university.

I suspect they were quite amused. (That's pure sarcasm, in case you missed it...)

In any event, after redoing the list and sending the test, it appears that the Class of '66 list is ok, and now I just need to get back to writing in this space on a regular basis.

It's more likely to happen now that I don't have any writing assignments (until Monday anyway), my sailboat is almost home (next weekend, seas permitting) and the semester is half over.

That means midterm exams and lots of grading - for my student assistant!

Iremember taking lots of tests in high school, all leading to the dreaded Regents exams. But did we take midterms, halfway through the semester or maybe in December? It seems to me that we got report cards on a quarterly basis, but I have scrubbed my memory clean of most of those details.

My students - right about now - suddenly remember that they are going to be graded in my classes and are keenly interested in what that grade may be. Just yesterday I had a very earnest young woman ask me what system I used for grading.

SWAG, I answered. I use the SWAG system.

SWAG?

Sophisticated-wild-ass-guess.

She wasn't very amused, but pretended to be. Still eight weeks left in the semester and there is that matter of a grade at the end.

Did Harold Burgard and Hubie Davis and Henry Weiss SWAG our grades? If so, they generally guessed a little low for me, I think. Then again, maybe not.

Forty years later, those grades are pretty distant (except for the ones that doomed me to summer school). But the importance of the death of chivalry (thanks to Harold), the ability to write a sonnet (14 lines of rhyming iambic pentameter, thanks to Hubie), and the knowledge that sodium and chloride make salt (NaCl, thanks to Henry) are as close to hardwired in as a human brain can get.

I better stop here, before I lose control and start writing "An Ode to Miss Goller..."

Today's song?

Poetry in motion
performed by Johnny Tillotson

When I see my baby
What do I see
Poetry poetry in motion

Poetry in motion walking by my side
Her lovely locomotion
Keeps my eyes open wide
Poetry in motion see her gentle swaying
A wave out on the ocean
Could never move that way

I love every movement
There's nothing I would change
She doesn't need improvement
She's much too nice to rearrange

Poetry in motion dancing close to me
A flower of devotion a-swaying gracefully
Woh-woh-woh-woh-woh-woh
Woh-woh-woh-woh-woh.....
Poetry in motion see her gentle swaying
A wave out on the ocean
Could never move that way

I love every movement
There's nothing I would change
She doesn't need improvement
She's much too nice to rearrange

Poetry in motion all that I adore her
No number nine love potion
Could make me love her more
Woh-woh-woh-woh-woh-woh
Woh-woh-woh-woh-woh.....

Rasta Ranch wine tasters talk to San Diego

Rasta Ranch talks to San Diego
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

VALOIS, New York - The phone rang last week while I was on deck on Sabbatical in San Diego, getting ready for a 400-mile upwind bash to San Francisco, my nerves fraying by the minute with the weather reports forecasting, well, sloppy weather.

So it was great to hear Bob Swanson's voice, along with the shouts of the crew from Jamestown (all bunched up in this photo) who were on their annual wine tasting pilgrimage to the finger lakes, specifically about a mile from the Seneca Lake house where I spend my summers. It's the Rasta Ranch winery, home of Uncle Homer's Red wine, a personal favorite.

They took this photo - as well as some others I will post on the Yahoo! site - and several times during our conversation I could hear the group having a very good time.

I've been out of contact, offline and almost incognito for a week as I moved Sabbatical north through the worst seas I have ever been in. But we made it as far as Monterey, Calif., where the ship will sit for a couple of weeks while I get the rest of life back on track.

And, frighteningly enough, I had numerous SWCS-related dreams on the trip while we bounced off 12-foot waves and took enough green water over the bow to make the whole crew about the same color.

More on those dreams later.

For now, Cheers, Bob! Thanks for the photos.

Joe Rushin - the best doctor I ever had

Joe Rushin
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, NY - In high school, when I had sprains and strains and all the things that happen when you run track (or have people wrenching on you on the wrestling mat) most often I would talk with Joe Rushin about what I needed to do.

He seemed to have a knowledge of physiology that say, Dr. Marvin Siegel, our family doc, was clearly missing.

I sure miss Joe right now, as my right knee is swollen like a football and the MRI to check it out is scheduled for December.

Yup, December. I just love managed health care.

Joe taught us how to use isometric exercises and how not injure parts of the body like knees. The ultimate though was to be allowed to sit in the whirlpool in the locker room if you had a sprain. You always had to have a spotter when you soaked, I guess because he was afraid you might fall asleep and drown. With the racket in the locker room, that seems pretty doubtful in retrospect.

Maybe I just need to break down and purchase a hot tub to soak. I could get one a lot quicker than December.

I ran across Joe's photo today when I was thumbing through the yearbook, avoiding all the work I need to get done today and this weekend for next week's classes and writing.

I always heard Flash Olsen and Dick Shevalier refer to him as director of athletics, but his title in the yearbook is administrative assistant.

Administrative assistant? Somehow, athletic director fits the Joe I remember a lot better.

Batting about .500 on names of people

One of those twins
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - Winni Anderson (on the Yahoo discussion list) gave me a heads up that the names of the twins I seem to be writing about every day in this space are Val and Vaughn, not Val and Vicki.

Oops. Sorry Vaughn. I still have a crush on you. Or maybe it was your sister.

But, in a more drastic goof, I said Winni's dad's name is Fred - but it's Syd. Fred Anderson was Nancy Anderson's dad. Confused?

So for roughly 40 years, every time I tell the story about the croquet hoops in the backyard, or make reference to Bud Hooper's NASA-style launch of his blue and white '63 Chevy through the Triangle Cleaners, I have called Syd by the wrong name.

Merde!

Some of my students read this blog by the way, and I expect to have a sign on my door when I get to the university today that says "Syd Called about Fred..." They're think they are sooooooo funny.

In the photo today taken from our yearbook, Val/Vaughn is standing behind the counter with I believe Andy Robinson. Given my recent track record on identifications, his name could be Stanislaus Phalegglast. But I'm pretty sure that it is Andy. And I'm pretty sure his last name is Robinson and he has an older brother named Steve.

Out front, standing on the right is Marianne Jim, and possibly Linda Hanson. But I won't swear to it and if I misspelled their names, too, I'll take one of my own remedial classes.

In the meantime, can someone find and please invite the twins (Val and Vaughn) to our reunion next year?

Today's song isn't from our high school days, but it fits, so what the @$%@#%#^:

Double Vision
by Foreigner

Feeling down n' dirty
Feeling kinda mean

I've been from one to another extreme
This time I had a good time
Ain't got time to wait
I wanna stick around
Till I can't see straight

Fill my eyes with that double vision
No disguise for that double vision
Ooh, when it gets through to me
It's always new to me
My double vision gets the best of me

Never do more than I really need
My mind is racing
But my body's in the lead
Tonight's the night
I'm gonna push it to the limit
I live all of my years in a single minute

Fill my eyes with that double vision
No disguise for that double vision
Ooh, when it gets through to me
It's always new to me
My double vision
Always seems to get the best of me
The best of me, yeah

Ooh, double vision
I need my double vision
It takes me out of my head
Takin' me out of my head
I get my double vision
Oh, seeing double, double
Oh, I have double vision, yeah
I'm getting double vision...

The conversation is lively over at Yahoo!

Yahoo logo for Class of '66
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - So today I logged onto the Yahoo discussion site for our class and learned that Herr Pfaff was once principal of SWCS, back in 1991.

He was my homeroom teacher my senior year. (I think it was senior year, that's a little hazy.) I just remember he was one of the few teachers who I thought of as relatively young.

Guys like Byron Windoft were, well, ancient. And Pauline Cook. Jaysus, don't go there.

In the meantime, Randy Carlson has let me know the names of the two, tall gorgeous blonde candy dispensers (Val and Vicki Morris) whose names I couldn't come up with when I was waxing poetic about Mallo Cups and how I was afraid to go up to the window when they were working. They're probably both grandmothers now - gorgeous grandmas...

So while I'm wandering down that lane again, does anyone know what every happened to Sandra Carlson (aka Sandy) from the Class of '67? I've tried Classmates.com in the past, emailing some of her classmates but come up empty. She had an older sister, Cindy (Class of '64).

Sometimes the nostalgia actually gets to be a little too much for me and I remind myself that my philosophy is to look forward, not back. Lot of scary stuff back there, as well as those fond memories.

But as I was writing a short piece some time ago (for the book I hope to someday publish, though I think it's becoming more of a therapy project) I was laughing so hard my wife came in to check on me. It was about an episode of a group of Class of '66 miscreants 'sleeping out' at Randy Carlson's house, but actually wandering the streets, ending up at Linda
Anderson's house, only to be discovered by her dad Fred.

We ran like frightened gazelles through the backyards of Webster Street until we hit Sue Post's house where they had been playing croquet, the wire hoops still set up.

Ever hit one of those babies running full tilt?

Anyway, while you ponder 10 or 12 of us sprawled on the lawn, think about joining the Yahoo discussion group if you are not a member.

I sometimes migrate some of that discussion in this space, but more often not.

The url is:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/swcs66/

Or you can simply click on the button on the list of links.

Today's song?

Sunday Will Never Be The Same
by Spanky and Our Gang

I remember Sunday morning
I would meet him at the park
We'd walk together hand in hand
'Til it was almost dark

Now I wake up Sunday morning
Walk across the way to find
Nobody waiting for me
Sunday's just another day

Sunday will never be the same
I've lost my Sunday-song,
He'll not be back again

Sunny afternoons that make me
Feel so warm inside
Have turned as cold and grey as ashes
As I feel the embers die

No longer can I walk these paths
For they have changed
I must be on, the sun is gone
And I think it's gonna rain

Sunday will never be the same
I've lost my Sunday-song
He'll not be back again

I remember children
Feeding flocks of pigeons
I remember sunshine
And you were mine

Sunday will never be the same
I've lost my Sunday song,
He'll not be back again [...fade]

Mallo Cups - when addictions only rotted teeth

Mallo Cups
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - You can't buy Mallo Cups in California, not anywhere retail anyway. If you go online, you can order a jumbo box (like the photo) which they can pack in a special wrap to keep the little Mallos from turning into total mush while they make their way to you.

In junior high and high school, Mallo Cups ruled for me - followed closely by Chunky candy bars, very closely. ("What a chunk 'a chocolate," Arnold Stang would say in the commercials.)

During the last winter my grandmother left for Florida for three months, Bob Fulcher and I would grab a half dozen or more Mallo Cups (or sometimes Chunkies), a quart each of Vernor's Ginger Ale, and sit and watch television at my house after school while the snow fell outside. I wouldn't eat much dinner those days until my mother discovered the garbage can full of wrappers and the empty quart bottles from the ginger ale.

We were on top of the world, even if we got some serious stomach aches in the process.

I remember the little Mallo Cup tokens that were included and if you saved up enough, well, they would ship you a whole box of the damn things.

Bob and Bud Hooper and I did once - and I think after we ate that box full of Cups the company sent us, we swore off the things for a long time.

Thanks to Mallo Cups, Chunkies and Vernor's Ginger Ale (oh, and Coca-Cola, lots of Coca-Cola) Dr. Joe Griffo installed a lot of silver in my mouth which many years later still is in place, a marvel of engineering several dentists have told me, especially the dentists that try to remove any of it.

I seem to remember that there was a sort of student store, run by the student council as a fundraiser. I don't remember if they sold Chunkies or Mallo Cups, but it was in the main hallway of school near the front doors.

Our senior year the store was most frequently manned by two tall, blonde, twins sisters from the junior class who so intimidated me that I don't think I ever bought a candy bar when they were working the counter.

The best candy around - though generally too expensive for me - was sold at a little candy factory right next door to the Hideaway Bar, converted years later to a restaurant. One chunk of candy there could cost 50 cents (50 cents!) a small fortune it seemed when a gallon of gasoline was 30 cents.

All of this came flooding back today as I am writing a magazine story about how people fritter away money - and how much they would save if they gave up something, like lattes, or smoking, or Grey Goose vodka. I'm supposed to calculate how much a person would save in a year and how much money the person would have in 10 years if they invested that money instead of spending on lattes, smokes or Grey Goose.

Figuring out the math on this story is enough to make me break out the Goose, but I also started to think about how many Mallo Cups, Chunkies, Reese's Peanut Cups, M&Ms, Good 'n Plentys, Raisinettes, Goobers and Tootsie Rolls (oh, and Tootsie Roll pops) I have had over the years and wondered about assigning a monetary value to them.

But I'm giving that up, because my head really hurts and there's not a Mallo Cup within hundreds of miles to soothe my battered psyche.

Today's song?

The choice was easy:

Candy Girl...
sung by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons

I've been a-searchin' all this wide world
Now finally I've found my
Candy girl Candy girl

I-yi-yi-yi found me a girl (Candy girl)
She-ee-ee-ee sets my heart a-whirl (Candy girl)
With huggin' and kissin' and lov-in'
(She's mine) mi-ine (mine) mi-ine
Whoa-oa-oa-oh-oh (Candy girl)

We get along so well (Candy girl)
I know just why I fell (Candy girl)


She's thrillin' (thrillin') oh, chillin' (chillin'),
yes she's so divine
(She's mine) mi-ine (mine) mi-ine
Whoa-oa-oa-oh-oh (Candy girl)

When we're out together
Everyone knows the way we feel
We both seem to glow with the glow of a love
And it's plain to see
Our love is real

I-yi-yi-yi'm happy as can be (Candy girl)
She-ee-ee-ee vows eternally (Candy girl)
To hold me (hold me) and love me (love me)
until the end of time
(She's mine) mi-ine (mine) mi-ine
Whoa-oa-oa-oh-oh

Candy girl

How did our teachers get through the day?

Pay for teachers
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - I just finished teaching two classes today, a total of about three hours of performance time and I'm exhausted.

For two separate undergraduate classes, I fielded questions about journalism, (why some stories are, well, stories and others ignored) and gave a brief lecture on the dismal state of ethics in the media.

It was short because my stomach rolls if I think about some of what's published and broadcast right now and labelled as news. (See O'Reilly Factor...)

But tonight I was thinking about our teachers in high school who stood up in front of frequently disinterested crowds - five days a week, maybe five hours per day - who then took home all those papers and tests and quizzes to grade in their off time.

How the hell did they do it?

How did Carl Rennells (Suddenly I remembered his name!) have the stamina to teach 9th grade algebra? In my class, a fellow named Don Dittman (I think) would wait for Carl to turn around to write on the blackboard and Don would hit him square in the back of the head with the neatly placed spitball. I was much more impressed with Don's accuracy than Carl's formulas.

One day, after we had gotten a test back (which nearly the entire class failed), Don talked most of the class into firing on poor Carl simultaneously. He turned his back was bombarded with wadded up paper from maybe 20 people, and the wet spitwads stuck to the board all around him, leaving kind of an outline like they draw on the floor around a corpse in one of the CSI series.

He turned around, sat down at his teacher's desk and put his head down like a kindergartener that day. He might have wept. I know the bell rang moments later and we filed out quite quietly.

Not my proudest hour, I think now.

But consider the energy that a guy like Harold Burgard poured into his classes. The guy was a maniac and waved those damn ditto sheets around like lethal weapons. My grasp of world history, I have him to thank for.

I got to know Harold after I graduated from high school. He hung out with my cousin, Gordy Puls (Gordy taught in the junior high) and when I dropped out of college I would sit and swill beer with Harold at Gordy's house while the two of them reloaded shotgun shells or cleaned the ducks they had just blasted apart out on the lake. (Drinking beer and loading shotgun shells might seem a little dangerous, but did I mention that Harold smoked, too?)

And that urban legend about Burgard breaking some kid's jaw at a high school before coming to SWCS to teach? I asked him once (after a few beers) if it was true. He didn't say yes or no. But remember that evil grin he had sometimes? That was his answer. Hmm...

After I started teaching years ago, I found I had a lot more respect for what our high school teachers put up with - and had to do. And in my case, I teach at a university where, in theory, everyone is in my classes voluntarily and, again in theory, at least curious about the topics.

I can't imagine what it took for, say, Ethel Goller, to every day stare down five or six advanced math classes of 25 students per class, classes full of kids whose minds were miles away from tangents and cosines, already wondering who they might be dancing with after the football game.

But those dances after football games I'll save for another posting, except to offer this number up as our song of the day - a favorite for those gym-class dance lessons that were either torture or heaven, depending...

Town Without Pity
by Gene Pitney

When you're young and so and love as we
And bewildered by the world we see
Why do people hurt us so
Only those in love would know
What a Town Without Pity can do..

If we stop to gaze upon a star
People talk about how bad we are...
Ours is not an easy age
We're like tigers in a cage
What a Town Without Pity can do..

The young have problems Many problems
We need an understanding heart..
Why don't they help us, try to help us
Before this clay and granite planet falls apart...

Take these eager lips and hold me fast..
I'm afraid this kind of joy can't last
How can we keep love alive
How can anything survive
When these little minds tear you in two..
What a town Without Pity can do..

How can we keep love alive
How can anything survive
When these little minds tear you in two..
What a town Without Pity can do..

On the set of "Kate & Steve" in upstate NY

On the set of "Kate & Steve"
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

CAYUTA, New York - In my spare time, I'm learning to make videos, videos I call 'rockumentaries,' which, as you might guess, include a lot of music in the films.

I've completed a half dozen of the things in the last couple of years including Cruising For Croissants (a 10-day canal boat trip in France) Sailing with Bees (a bee infestation in Sabbatical's mast) and The Whales of Banderas Bay. (Can you guess what's the big feature in that one?).

All of which leads me to the wedding I shot a week ago when a second cousin of Admiral Fox was married and I spent the entire afternoon filming and interviewing the participants, interspersed with a little eating and drinking of course.

Not many of our class got married by the time I did - Dec. 23, 1969 - and I left that next August for the west, so I missed a lot of champagne punch and toasts and garters flying into the crowd.

But one wedding I did attend in the late 60s I was reminded of while filming. It was when Merle Butler was best man at a wedding of a woman from the Class of '67 (all I remember is her name was Jody) who married a fellow from Egypt. I remember that Jody's intended had sandy blonde hair, but definitely sported Arabic-Middle Eastern features and his accented English was fascinating to listen to. I attended the wedding with Sandy Carlson (Class of '67 also) who was one of Jody's good friends. I went wherever Sandy asked, but that's another story.

Merle was serving in Vietnam at the time and suggested that I should do everything possible to avoid going over and get shot at. He was killed a few months later. But that's another story, too.

At the time, I didn't think anything about the racial and/or cross-cultural elements of that wedding at all. I just remember Jody's father being fairly beet red most of the wedding and at a hastily arranged dinner right afterwards. I realize now that he was not a happy camper - and it wasn't bourbon that was bothering him. His little girl was likely to be going back to Egypt, though that wasn't certain, and, well, her husband was definitely not your average Jamestown boy. (I remember wanting to ask him a question about the pyramids and Sandy cutting me off before I could say a word. She had a lot more class than I did.)

At the wedding last week at the gorgeous Fontainbleau Inn on the shore of Cayuta Lake, my wife's mid-20s second cousin (who grew up in rural Hector, New York and holds a degree in genetics from the University of Connecticut), married a sophisticated architect (also mid-20s) who grew up in Indianapolis and it was the wedding of the summer for the east side of Seneca Lake, with people who hadn't been invited calling up the week before the wedding begging to attend.

The sophisticated architect (and now husband) is African-American, the second cousin (and now wife) of English and Irish background. But in a some measure of change from the 60s it was one of the happiest weddings I've attended in my life. There was singing, dancing, and a ceremony that was heartbreaker. If there was any tension about this architect marrying a geneticist, I didn't see it. And my right eye is still sore from the filming and my jaw weak from talking with everyone I could.

This is one rockumentary I am really looking forward to pulling together. I've even installed some new software on a second dedicated movie computer - Final Cut - to do it justice.

Now if I could just find someone to teach all my university classes this semester...

Any volunteers?

Grey Goose mini-golf tourney at Webb's?

Miniature golf at Webb's
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

MAYVILLE, New York - For some reason, now that I am 2,500 miles away from Lake Chautauqua, I'm thinking more about our reunion than when I was a couple of hours away in Valois.

(Note to self: get new wheels for next year's high school class reunion. Showing up in late mother-in-law's ancient white Buick would be very uncool.)

I guess part of what prompted me to be thinking about next July was an email from Barb Bunce Garlock, saying that she and her husband and some other Pittburgh folks were thinking about making reservations at Webb's for the reunion weekend.

It's on my 'to-do list,' also, though the way my life seems to bounce, I hate making something that definite for nearly 11 months from now. I could be somewhere off the coast of Costa Rica on my sailboat dodging hurricanes the way things are going.

But that brings me to a serious topic: golf.

Serious? Well, okay, not that serious.

Back when we were all learning to play golf in high school in P.E. - and my mother was so intent that I learn that she paid for some private lessons - my myopia prevented me from doing much except digging trenches all over anywhere I attempted to tee off. Since getting eye surgery, I can whack a ball pretty well, but because I never really got into it, I won't be joining anyone on any golfing expeditions that are part of the reunion. (Unless we went somewhere with electric golf carts, I love to careen around in those like Rodney Dangerfield.)

But I see that Webb's Resort has its own miniature golf course, so maybe we can put together a few rounds of that with an appropriate trophy and recognition at our dinner soiree. Besides, it's much easier to carry around a tall, iced glass filled with Grey Goose & collins mix while playing the miniature version anyway.

Fore!

Reunion is official - now we have T-shirts

Official Class of '66 reunion T-shirt
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, New York - Sometime in the next day or so you should receive an email with more details about next July's Class of '66 reunion and a form to fill out about what events you will attend, food you want, and other sundries.

But today, here's a preview of the T-shirts you can purchase. Sweatshirts will also be available.

Randy Carlson has been sending me names for the email list. And if you are getting your email, you should be receiving the updates. A gaggle of people who work at Cummins should have their emails forwarded in the next few days, too, which will put us well over 50 members of the Class of '66 in email contact.

School has started for me in California so for a few days, I won't have much to say here, as I am already swamped with requests for advising, lectures to prepare, university committees to wiggle out of, and which student start-of-the-semester keg party to go to this Friday night. (Ok, the last one isn't real...)

But I'm still pondering the Class of '66 Yahoo website conversation about the different societies we had within high school, Lakewood vs. Busti, etc... And who, exactly were the 400s?

Later on that, though. I have a class in 20 minutes and undergraduate noggins to start knocking on.

What to make of the dreams of reunions

Darby O'Gill & the King I
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

VALOIS, New York - I've entered the last few days of summer vacation, which is a gross misnomer given that we have to close up the cottage, put away two boats for the winter, attend a wedding Sunday (which I have to videotape for a rockumentary) and then fly to California Monday at 0'dark early to begin teaching the same day. (I have three classes that day...)

Jaysus.

Add to that, a veneer of all the thinking I've been doing about our high school class and reunion.

So what do you get? Weird dreams. Extremely weird dreams.

Being Irish, believing in leprechauns, banshees and sundry other spooky things is second nature. So Darby O'Gill invaded my sleep two nights ago, as did the occasional banshee (a ghost, the kind of ghost you do not want invading your sleep time).

But last night the dreams were all about our high school class. Well, at least filled with people from high school. And while the usual cast of characters moved in and out of the scene - Randy Carlson, Bud Hooper, et al, - last night Nancy Anderson popped up and, well guys, she looked marvelous.

I barely remember Nancy Anderson, except that she lived on the corner of Brook and Erie Streets in a big brick place. She had red hair, more freckles than your average person named Anderson and sometime she just vanished, like Jackie Hamm, Gary Shenkle and a lot of others.

In this dream, we were having a reunion and she was going from person to person, filling them in on what had happened in her life since high school.

I strained to hear what she was saying but couldn't. Sometimes in dreams you can simply crank up the volume. Not last night. Nancy's secrets are safe, unless someone can fill us in.

I can hardly wait to take a nap today, if I have time between close-the-cottage projects.

Today's song? It's by the Everly Brothers, of course.

All I Have to Do is Dream

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
When I want you in my arms
When I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

When I feel blue in the night
And I need you to hold me tight
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam

I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine
Anytime night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz
I'm dreamin' my life away

I need you so that I could die
I love you so and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam

I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine
Anytime night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz
I'm dreamin' my life away


I need you so that I could die
I love you so and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

FADE
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

Do all Class of '66 reunions involve wine?

Three amigos
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

VALOIS, New York - You might think that a wine that goes by the name of Uncle Homer would be, well, not something that would stir the soul of Robert Mondavi, let's say.

But Sunday, Bob and Donna Swanson drove from Jamestown for the day and we visited - and revisited - a large bottle of Uncle Homer's Red during the afternoon.

It's a great wine, from a winery two miles up the road called Rasta Ranch, a place right out of the 60s with posters, tie-dyed shirts and Janis Joplin music playing not-too-softly while you sip.

That last time I saw Bob was at our 25th reunion and we had a lot of good laughs Sunday remembering things like trying to do 'the stroll,' at the Casino on the second night and how we survived the flood at the 20th soiree.

We also lamented the state of public education today, dredged up lots of memories of different teachers we had (it turns out Donna is related to Calvin Hanson), and wondered aloud about how many people might actually show up in Mayville next summer for the 40th reunion.

Between the list of people signed up for the Yahoo! discussion group that Allan Winger put together and the number of regular hits on this website, my guess as of today would be maybe 100 people (50 from the Class of '66 and their spouses).

Maybe we can get the whole event sponsored by Rasta Ranch Winery or Poplar Ridge, another Valois outfit. Poplar Ridge is a favorite of Bob & Donna's. It's owner, Dave Bagley, is a local legend, not just for his wines, but for sitting at the tasting bar sipping Coors light while people sample his selections.

In the meantime, I'm going to have some Uncle Homer's Red wine shipped to California to offer to some wine snobs I know. And I think I better brush up on how to do 'the stroll.'

With my knee still on the injured list seven weeks after an epic lake party here, it's likely I'll sit out dances with names that include The Twist.

So I say today, anyway. Enough Uncle Homer and who can predict?

============

Today's song, of course, is a stroll, the one stroll song I remember from high school dance class (or was it junior high dance class?). What I remember most, is getting my feet tangled while dancing with Sally Smith and, it seemed, the entire world watching.

I Want to Walk You Home

by Fats Domino

I want to walk you home
Please let me walk you home
I want to walk you home
Please let me walk you home

You look so pretty, babe, ooh-ooh-wee
I wish I was the lucky guy
Who could walk you right on down the aisle

I love the way you walk
I love to hear you talk
I love the way you walk
I love to hear you talk

I'm not trying to be smart
I'm not trying to break your heart
But if I ask you for a date
Will you tell me that I'm not too late

I want to hold your hand
Please let me hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
Please let me hold your hand

You look so pretty, babe, ooh-ooh-wee
I saw you walkin' all alone
That's why I want to walk you home

So let me walk you home
Please let me walk you home
I want to walk you home
Please let me walk you home

You look so pretty, babe, ooh-ooh-wee
I saw you walkin' all alone
That's why I want to walk you home
That's why I want to walk you home
FADE:
That's why I want to walk you home
That's why I want to walk you home

Class of '66 entourage visits Sonoma winery

Class of 66 in Sonoma
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SONOMA, Calif. - I missed the visit of Steve, Linda, Barb and Scott to California in July, a photo from which is posted on the Yahoo website put up by Allan Winger. (And posted here, too, obviously...)

Steve and Linda have a home in Santa Rosa, not too far from where I live in Sacramento. And they visited the Sonoma Valley (with Barb and her husband Scott), where I spent most of the 1970s working for newspapers before moving to Grass Valley (in the mountains) for a few years.

I probably should have stayed in the mountains and avoided the Sacramento Valley, but that's another story, better saved for another day or our reunion next summer.

It was great to log on to the Yahoo site and see the photo. I've been preoccupied with back-to-school issues and haven't been checking it as often as I should - or posting. I wonder if our teachers like Harry Robie or Hubie Davis or Harold Burgard got stressed the week or so before school, getting their lesson plans set up.

In my case, I have been teaching journalism classes for 20+ years and feel like a dinosaur. (I heard what you just thought, Cheryl...)

The weather in upstate New York has turned to fall already, a very familiar feel from when we would be getting ready to return to SWCS. The days suddenly seem shorter, the air is cool in the morning and already the leaves are starting to drop off some of the trees. The two boats on the beach already represent a chore, not potential good times. They both have to be hauled, winterized and stored before I make my sojourn back to California August 29.

When you live in Sonoma or Sacramento, fall arrives sometime in, well, maybe late November. Winter is December and January (it gets as low as 40 degrees sometimes) and spring is already springing in late February.

That's not why I moved to California in 1970. But it's a nice spiff anyway.

So today's song is a natural:

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN'
performed by The Mamas & Papas
 (Phillips-Phillips)

 All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
 I've been for a walk on a winter's day
 I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day

 Stopped in to a church I passed along the way
 Well I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray
 You know the preacher liked the cold
 He knows I'm gonna stay
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day

 ------ flute ------

 All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
 I've been for a walk on a winter's day
 If I didn't tell her I could leave today
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day
 California dreamin' on such a winter's day

Back to school time - Where's my shoes?

Timberland - better than Sperry Topsiders?
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, New York - It was just about this time every year that my mother would pile me into her Rambler and announce that we were making a pilgrimage to Carnahan's in downtown Jamestown.

Time for some new threads and almost always, a new pair of shoes for school.

Because I was completely clueless about what was fashionable, I was an easy shopper the first few years of high school. Two pairs of dark pants, three or four light shirts with collars, some socks and maybe a windbreaker.

The pants were the most urgent, because every summer I seemed to grow at least two or three inches.

But the shoes I remember because when it came to shoes, it was hard to figure out.

You needed Converse All-Stars for gym class (Did they even make any other kind of shoe like that then?), but for school, I really wanted some kind of slip-on loafers.

Mom like lace-up shoes. More mature, she said.

So for an hour or so, ever goddamned lace-up shoe (I would claim) hurt my foot, or didn't feel quite right, or was the wrong color (brown?) or just seemed, well, not what I needed for those slippery winter days ahead.

Eventually, I would get the loafers, usually having to agree to letting her buy an extra plaid shirt for me (I wasn't fond of plaid shirts, but if it meant maroon loafers, OK).

The guys are Carnahan's were great though, and it was the only place in Jamestown my mother had a charge account - a fact I used to good advantage the last two years of high school when I would slip in and pick up a shirt or two when dances were coming up, knowing the Wrath of Mom would follow.

But Jaysus, I couldn't wear a plaid shirt to a dance!

Except for my rare (and very much discouraged) forays to Carnahan's, whatever clothes I started out the school year with was what I ended up with until the next summer.

And some things don't change all that much.

Last week I wandered into some joint called Shoe Supermarket in Elmira, New York, went over to the boat shoe rack and grabbed the first size 10 pair of shoes that looked ok. Yes, boat shoes have laces, though once you tie them good, you never touch them again until the shoes disintegrate out from under you.

Now if I can just pick up a few non-plaid shirts for teaching, I'm set to go for the whole year.

What? No new neckties to start the semester at the university?

Not when you have have tenure, amigos...

A satellite peek at Lakewood and Jamestown

Google photo - Lakewood et al
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, New York - I'm reading a book by Thomas Friedman called The World is Flat, a look at how much the world has changed in the last 15 years - let alone in the nearly 40 years since we graduated from SWCS.

And as I was looking around today - trying to find a nice exterior shot of the Jamestown Post-Journal so I could rail more about their circulation policies - I stumbled across the satellite photos on Google that people have been telling me about, which are as astounding as I have been told.

I've played with the images a little in the past, but today when I zoomed in on Jamestown and then moved the cursor around a little, it was great fun to see Lakewood, Chautaqua Gorge, Mayville - even Frewsburg.

When the first U.S. spacecraft first landed on the moon, I was sitting watching TV with my grandmother (she was in her late 70s or early 80s at the time) who was stunned at what she saw. I was awed, too, but being a science fiction buff even then, it seemed, well, so natural for a spaceship to land and people to go stomping around.

After watching that first step out of the spacecraft, my grandmother - nicknamed Shotgun by my friends - got up and left the room, muttering to herself.

I later asked her what was going on and she just said, "NO..."

No?

"I don't believe it," she said. "I just don't believe it."

My grandmother had been born in the 1880s, seen electricity come to her part of New York City, was the first woman in her social set ride in an automobile, lived through the inventions of the phonograph, radio, television - and God-knows-what-all - and she had simply reached her capacity for swallowing change. I believe when she died some years later, she still refused to believe that someone had walked on the moon.

We've had a few changes ourselves since the Class of '66 went careening out into the night: incredible medical advances, computers, digital photography, the Internet and on and on...

Kee-rist, I had my eyes operated on eight years ago and after a life of myopia, now have 20-20 vision. (That would have helped a lot in sports in 1966...)

Friedman's book is going to help me explain to my granddaughter about what's going on in the world today, though one of the main tenets is that things are changing so rapidly, it's hard to predict what's next.

But in the meantime, I think I'll check the Google satellite shots of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico to see if the surf is up.

The Post Journal story about Cummins

LAKEWOOD, New York - Thanks to Sue Siecker - who has a subscription to the online edition of the P-J, here's the story I was trying to access the other day when I ran that photo of Hillary Clinton with a diatribe about the newspaper.

More on that exchange with the publisher, in another posting.

In the meantime, here's what went on for all you Cummins fans.

=================

Senator Visits Cummins Plant
To Mark 750,000th Engine

By NATE DOUGHERTY

LAKEWOOD — Sen. Hillary
Clinton leaned over a massive
engine in the middle of a stuffy
Cummins Inc. plant, signing her
name next to nearly 1,000 others
sprawled across the glossy red metal.
The U.S. Senator and former first
lady visited the plant to celebrate a
Cummins milestone — the
750,000th engine produced — and
tout the passage of three bills to
improve diesel emissions.
She also praised the competitiveness
of Cummins Inc. and the importance
of the manufacturing industry
to the American economy.
‘‘What you’re doing in this plant,
building these engines, is maintaining
American competitiveness and
American jobs,’’ Mrs. Clinton told a
crowd of about 400 gathered at the
plant. ‘‘If we don’t continue to compete,
and out-compete other countries,
we’re not going to have the
quality of living we have here in
Chautauqua County and in America.’’
Before her speech, Mrs. Clinton
took a tour of the plant along with
Cummins Inc. corporate officials.
As her entourage passed different
areas, workers in t-shirts and shorts
stopped to watch for a few seconds
before filtering back to their stations.
Near the end of her tour, she
stopped at a world map poster with
push-pins to show Cummins
employees and family members stationed
overseas in the military. Later
in her speech, she spoke of a conversation
with an employee who recently
returned from serving in Iraq.
County Executive Mark Thomas,
who accompanied Mrs. Clinton during
the tour, praised the plant’s
diversity and employees’ strong
work ethic, which has allowed it to
make significant growth in the last

few years.
‘‘It takes all of us to make this
work, make this plant work, make this
county work,’’ Thomas said.
During her speech, Mrs. Clinton
told the crowd how important Cummins
has been in building engines to
help reduce diesel emissions and gave
details of her own efforts to reduce
emissions.
The first, an amendment to a federal
highway transportation bill, allows
state and local governments to tap
into an $8.6 billion clean air program
to reduce pollution from construction
equipment used in federal highway
projects in areas with poor air quality.
Another amendment authorizes
$100 million to retrofit old school
buses or buy new ones to reduce emissions.
The third measure, the Diesel
Emissions Reduction Act of 2005,
establishes a five-year, $1 billion program
to fund technology to reduce
diesel pollution.
‘‘Clean diesel to me is one of the
best investments we could make, and
we couldn’t do it if Cummins wasn’t
ready to produce,’’ Mrs. Clinton said.
She also spoke about the launch of
the Senate Manufacturing Caucus,
which is intended to address the root
problems facing American manufacturers.
One of the main goals of the
Caucus is to find out how to prevent
manufacturing jobs from going overseas.
One of the main issues will be
removing roadblocks, Mrs. Clinton
said.
‘‘You’ve got to have a level playing
field,’’ Mrs. Clinton said. ‘‘If you
want to be competitive, you’ve got to
make sure no one throws road blocks
in your way.’’
Send comments to
ndougherty@post-journal.com

My gripe with the Jamestown Post-Journal

Senator Hillary Clinton
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, New York - While ruminating about this website (and thinking about what my next posting might be) I went to the Jamestown Post-Journal website and ran across the following teaser:

Senator Visits Cummins Plant
To Mark 750,000th Engine

LAKEWOOD - Sen. Hillary Clinton leaned over a massive engine in the middle of a stuffy Cummins Inc. plant, signing her name next to nearly 1,000 others sprawled across the glossy red metal.

=====================

Now I know that some of the members of the Class of '66, their spouses, maybe even their children, work at Cummins, so I clicked for details and got the obnoxious "You Must Subscribe" window that so infuriates me when I see it on any newspaper website that I usually write a detailed letter (on real paper even) to the newspaper in question to explain some facts of life about the Internet and why charging for these kinds of stories is, well, nothing short of bullshit.

Yes, I know. The Wall Street Journal does it. But the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times don't.

Neither should the P-J. It's Bush-league bull... (and that's not a reference to the President, unless you want to take it that way).

Then I went in search of a photo of Sen. Clinton to run with this entry and found her official photo, along with tons of others. (When you are thinking about a presidential bid, you better have a hot web site. She does.)

This picture (the one in which her facial expression makes it look like its really a picture of her wax likeness at Madame Tussaud's Museum) is her official Senatorial photo. As in, this is the best she is ever going to look.

I've fired photographers for better shots than the one I have posted here. Her official photo. Kee-rist!

But I digress.

I reluctantly realize that the Jamestown Post-Journal is probably the only source of certain kinds of information about members of the Class of '66. So, for those of you who do have online subscriptions, if you run across any news of our classmates - and think it should be posted - email them in my direction.

In the meantime, I'm going to draft a letter to the publisher of the P-J (James Austin, - jcaustin@post-journal.com) to offer some advice about the economics of web publishing and suggest that he give the Class of '66 a free subscription.

Maybe a lot of free subscriptions.

August - time to think about back to school

Track trials
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - Although the first day of school for me is August 29, already the days seem to be getting shorter (ok, they are shorter, I guess...) and the fall semester at the university looms like a thundercloud.

I remember getting out of school in June (hot-as-hell, usually) and running for the buses in front of SWCS, riding home practically singing.

Summer! An endless vista of boating, sleeping out at night (actually roaming around all night getting into trouble), and best of all NO SCHOOL. No having to roll out to catch a bus, no homework (not that I did any) and no confinement for six or so hours per day.

Those couple of months seemed endless in June, nearly endless in July and a couple of Augusts during high school, I remember being surprised when we suddenly had to find the long pants again and trudge to the bus stop for another go around.

The weather helped though. Labor Day marked the end of summer as the lake temperature usually plummeted right about then. I don't remember ever water skiing in the fall, although I kept boating until early October. But because the summer weather disappeared, sitting in class listening to Pauline Cook, or Byron Windoft or Herr Pfaff seemed less of a shock.

In Sacramento, when I return to school, the weather will be still full-on summer. In fact, it will arguably be much better weather than what the city has had this July (over 100 degrees every day with little relief at night).

The first few days of school also used to mean Coach Flash Olsen catching me in a hallway and asking why I wasn't going out for cross-country to get in shape for wrestling. And when I said I was too busy - or whatever other lame excuse I could find - he would give me that Flash stare and a little shake of his head as he walked away, usually muttering under his breath.

I realize now that besides my general sloth and indolence, I didn't go out for cross-country because I was trying to preserve a little bit of summer during after-school hours. In September and early October it was possible to pretend that summer was still there.

In Sacramento, when I get done teaching, I'll be heading out in my kayak on the American River, trying to hang on to the endless vista the same way.

Today's song? What else would it be?

See You In September
by The Happenings
________

I'll be alone each and every night
While you're away, don't forget to write

Bye-bye, so long, farewell
Bye-bye, so long

See you in September
See you when the summer's through
Here we are (bye, baby, goodbye)
Saying goodbye at the station (bye, baby, goodbye)
Summer vacation (bye, baby bye, baby)
Is taking you away (bye, baby, goodbye)

Have a good time but remember
There is danger in the summer moon above
Will I see you in September
Or lose you to a summer love
(counting the days 'til I'll be with you)
(counting the hours and the minutes, too)

Bye, baby, goodbye
Bye, baby, goodbye
Bye, baby, goodbye (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
Bye, baby, goodbye (bye-bye, so long)

Have a good time but remember
There is danger in the summer moon above
Will I see you in September
Or lose you to a summer love
(I'll be alone each and every night)
(While you're away, don't forget to write)

See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
I'm hopin' I'll
See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
Well, maybe I'll
See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell)
In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell)