Engage. Enrage. Enjoy.

Boom Boom’s Life Lessons #12

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One of the many gifts that Boom Boom gave us was the torrent of quips about how one leads one’s life.   He could say so much by saying so little.   A statement at just the right moment resonated in my young, eager eardrums.  How I interpreted or applied it was up to me.  No more words were spoken because no more words were needed.  Today, to kick off 2019 is a personal favorite.

After parking in the spot of his choice came the one mile walk to Tulane Stadium in the New Orleans Saints first years.  Boom Boom was sometimes a buyer and frequently a seller of excess tickets to each home game.  I was but 7,8, and then 9.  I watched.  I listened.  I learned.  He sometimes sold them for more money than other times.  He rarely sold to the first person he encountered.  He always kept the better seats for us.

One Sunday morning early in my tenth year and the Saints fourth year we turned the corner onto Willow St.  The stadium was quite visible a few blocks down.  The crowd, though still somewhat sparse, already had the supply and demand side represented.  He stopped cold.  From his coat pocket came three tickets.  “Son, put this one in your back pocket.  It’s the seat next to me.  Take these two and sell them for us.  I’ll see you in the stadium.”  “Ok,” was the best I could utter.  Quickly he strode into the distance.  I felt alone, all alone.

I bounced from one opportunity to another and then I made the sale.  Excited, eagerly I made my way to the stadium and then to the seat next to dad.  Have your sandwich he said.  “But,” I countered.  “I’m talking to this gentleman next to me son.”

Eventually he turned back to me.  “Well, how did you?”  “I sold them for $4.50 each.  I got $9.00,” I beamed.  He looked at me for what seemed like forever.  “Ok, son, I’m glad you sold them.  But, I don’t think that you got fair market value today.”

Fair.  Market.  Value.   Fair.  Market.  Value.   The words ricocheted around in my cranium like a pinball gone rogue.   I had no idea what those three words strung together meant, but it didn’t sound too good.

I wanted to ask.  He wanted to talk about the soon to start game and all of the strategy that the home team might employ.  And, so we did.

The lesson was more about getting “it” than it was about what “it” was.  Wasn’t it?  I’ve chased Fair Market Value and then some ever since.

 

Auld Lang Syne. Whatever That Means.

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The time grows short until 2018 is completely in the history books.  The year 2019 is fast upon us. If you plan to celebrate the old and ring in the New Year have some champagne to loosen the vocal cords.  When the ball falls and midnight is upon you belt it out.  Go ahead.  Belt it out.  The song, you know it.  Don’t you?  It’s Auld Lang Syne of course.

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
and surely I’ll buy mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine†;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

And there’s a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

Ok, maybe you don’t know the words.  Who does?  You’ve been faking it this long.  Keep up the good work.  No one remembers in the morning anyway.  But just what is Auld Lang Syne?

“Auld Lang Syne” is a Scots-language poem written by Robert Burns in 1788 and set to the tune of a traditional folk song. It is well-known in many countries, especially in the English-speaking world, its traditional use being to bid farewell to the old year at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve. It’s also sung at funerals, graduations, and as an ending to other occasions.

The poems’ Scots title may be translated into standard English as “old long since,” “long long ago”, “days gone by”, or “old times.” Consequently, “For auld lang syne”, as it appears in the first line of the chorus, might be loosely translated as “for the sake of old times”.

It’s been around since 1788.  That’s a long time for a lot of people to mumble through a song that know what know the words to, nor cares to.

Pass the aspirin please.

 

What’s in a Name? Part 2.

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Today we continue our trip across the United States to uncover five more towns with funky names.  Sometimes the “how” of how they got these names is crazier than the name themselves.

Let’s start with a name of a fellow who has earned a day or two off.  Our trip crosses the US.  His went around the globe in 24 hours just 48 hours ago.  And while he would like to pack lightly, he cannot.

Santa Claus, Indiana

Originally called Santa Fe, the town’s name changed in 1856 when town officials learned that there was already a Santa Fe, Indiana. However, the town has certainly made the most of the second-choice name.  It’s Santa Claus, IN, and it fully embraces its “Christmas-y” moniker. Touted as a place “where it’s Christmas all year round,” Santa Claus features attractions like Holiday World, Lake Rudolph Campground, and Frosty’s Fun Center.  Now do you believe in Santa Claus?

ZZYZX, California

No, we didn’t fall asleep with our fingers accidentally pushing down on the keyboard.  We promise.

Curtis Springer was a radio evangelist who tried to convince people he was a doctor by selling fake medicines on his radio show. He set up health spas around the country but never paid taxes on them. He established the Zzyzx Mineral Springs and Health Spa in 1944 at the spot, which was federal land, after filing mining claims for 12,000 acres surrounding the springs. He used the springs to bottle his water and provide drinks for travelers through the hot desert. He named the area Zzyzx  so it would be “the last word in health.” Eventually, the Feds caught up with his financial schemes and threw Springer in jail—for 49 days.

Burnt Store, Florida

According to local legend, the town gets its name from a trading house on the Peace River that was burned down in 1849. At that time, manager George Payne had recently held meetings with Seminole Indians, and he died in a Seminole attack shortly before the store burned. Though this account is questioned by several historians as a hurricane is thought to have demolished the first store while another account states that the trading post was abandoned long prior to its demise.  Regardless, Burnt Store remains today while its origin was somehow lost long ago.

Kickapoo, Kansas

Alliteration is always appreciated.  Yet, this town name has a pretty simple origin.  It’s the name of a Native American and Indigenous Mexican tribe still living in the area. A large,150,000 acre Indian reservation sits within the city limits. According to legend, the name means “wanderer.”  That sounds better than the alternative to us.

Hippo, Kentucky

No, there are no actual hippopotamuses living in or around Hippo, Kentucky. The name of this town comes from one of its twentieth-century residents, Bee Madison “Hippo” Craft. His nickname has nothing to do with hippopotamuses either.  The townspeople called him “hippo” as a rather insensitive shortening of the word they used to describe him.  That word was “hypochondriac.”  We’re sure that in today’s politically correct world there would be some opposition to how this name originated.  Hopefully his statue (if there is one) is safe.

Santa Claus covers a lot of ground in a short period of time.  Our guess is that he stopped, be it ever so briefly, in Zzyzx, Burnt Store, Kickapoo, and Hippo just like he did in New York, Los Angeles ,Chicago,Houston, and so on.

 

 

Remember to Say Thank You!

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Did you just get an other ugly sweater?  Gift cards are so in, yet so thoughtless.  Could the mashed potatoes be served any colder?  Who invited him?  Alexa, enough already.

Yep, ’tis the season.  Perhaps some simple advice would serve us all well today.  Say ‘thank you.’  That’s it.  It’s simple.  Just say ‘thank you,’ and tomorrow morning you can wake up and realize that you don’t need to go through this for another 364 days.

Need inspiration do you?  Take a look at this 42 second video.  In it Coach Orgeron shows us all how to be nice when choosing otherwise is foremost on our minds.  Just say ‘thank you.’

Coach is so nice he says it twice!

Oh, and, Merry Christmas!

Please Pass the Cold Turkey.

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Well the weather outside is frightful.  It’s winter time.  It’s cold.  And, that also means it’s time for an endless stream of holiday parties and family gatherings.  At this time of the year well-intentioned people can be both trying and exhausting.  But, that doesn’t mean it’s time to not include anyone or ignore them once you are with them.  Simply stated, you shouldn’t “give the cold shoulder.”  Or, should you?  A few hundred years ago maybe you should have.  The origin of the phrase gives dual meanings.

Meaning: A rude way of telling someone he isn’t welcome or to ignore someone
History: Although giving someone the cold shoulder is considered rude today, it was actually regarded as a polite gesture in medieval England. After a feast, the host would let his guests know it was time to leave by giving them a cold piece of meat from the shoulder of beef, mutton, or pork.

Holy cow, who knew?  Cold beef, mutton, or pork doesn’t sound so bad after all.   Of course if you were shown the door for all of the wrong reasons perhaps it was indeed past time to leave.   Did you drink more cold beers than any one human should?  If so a few aspirin in the morning will get you to the next soiree.  But, after too many holiday parties it may be time to, well, dry out some?  If you want to go to the extreme perhaps you “quit cold turkey.”    Cold turkey means that you have dead stopped doing something that you used to do with great regularity.  Why is a sudden behavioral change described that way?

Meaning: To quit something abruptly
History: People believed that during withdrawal, the skin of drug addicts became translucent, hard to the touch, and covered with goose bumps – like the skin of a plucked turkey.
Cold adult beverages, cold shoulders, cold turkey, and cold nights make for a long winter.  ‘Tis the season.

What’s in a Name?

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Surely you have been told that you must tell the truth or you will suffer the consequences?  But did you know that the first tv game show was named Truth or Consequences?  It aired first as a radio show in 1940 and later was on tv and in syndication until the mid 1960’s.  Oh, and surely you have heard of Hot Springs, New Mexico? No?  Well, if you were born after 1950 you probably have not.  Why?  It’s because Hot Springs, NM officially changed its name to Truth or Consequences, NM in 1950. 

Originally named Hot Springs, the city changed its name to “Truth or Consequences”, the title of the popular program. In March 1950, Ralph Edwards, the host of the then tv quiz show Truth or Consequences, announced that he would air the program on its 10th anniversary from the first town that renamed itself after the show.  Hot Springs won the honor, officially changing its name on March 31, 1950 (the program broadcast from there the following evening, April 1). Edwards visited the town during the first weekend of May for the next 50 years. This event was called “Fiesta” and included a beauty contest, a parade, and a stage show. The city still celebrates Fiesta each year during the first weekend of May.

Truth or Consequences, NM is far from the only town that has an odd name derived from odd origins.  Why would towns name themselves such a thing?  Below are a few more for you to ponder.  We begin, actually, with a town named Why.

 

Why, Arizona

Why, oh why, is this town called Why? It’s said to be because State Routes 85 and 86 formed a Y-intersection near the area. Since Arizona law required city names to have at least three letters, the founders changed the name from “Y” to “Why”—although if residents hadn’t seen it written down, no one would have known the difference.

No Name, Colorado

This is one of many funny town names that aren’t really names at all. Credit for the town’s unusual name goes to the developers constructing Interstate 70, who left several exits unmarked. When a Colorado Department of Transportation official went out to improve the signs, he wrote “No Name” on Exit 119. The town has had No Name ever since. State officials once tried to rename the area, but locals wouldn’t allow it.

Embarrass, Minnesota

The township gets its name from the French word “embarras,” which means “an obstacle or difficult situation.” When French explorers first traveled through the area, they had trouble getting their canoes down the river, so they named the river (and, eventually, the town) accordingly. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about here.

Hot Coffee, Mississippi

One inn owner, L.J. Davis, advertised that he made the best hot coffee around—and it very well could have been. Davis made the coffee with pure spring water and New Orleans beans, and he used molasses drippings as sweetener. People loved it so much that they named the town after it. 

 

We’ll have five more funky names to ponder soon.  Until then enjoy some Hot Coffee wondering Why No Name would Embarrass itself so.  At least it’s the Truth, hence there are no Consequences.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Have Yet Another Story and a Moral Thereof

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In the seasons leading up to and in the seasons after Tom Dempsey’s miracle kick there were plenty of other home Saints games that Boom Boom and I attended.  There were seven a year(14 game seasons) in fact, and nine including preseason games.

We went to all of them, and I mean all of them.  And we got there early and always stayed till the (often bitter) end.  And, I mean we got there early.  The gates opened at 10 AM for noon kickoffs.  We were in the car by 9:40 latest.  It wasn’t uncommon for us to arrive by 10:00 AM.  Why?  Well, for one, we beat the traffic.  We got a great parking spot too.  We always parked a mile away in a high school lot.  We always had the first spot closest to the exit.

I never asked why we got there so early, but it sure seemed fine to me.  Once I counted seven fans sitting on their old Tulane Stadium wooden bench seats in the entire 84,000 seat capacity stadium.  Seven.  And that count included the two of us.  Back then you could bring most anything in to the stadium.  We brought sandwiches, a canned soft drink for me, a thermos of coffee, and a flask of what dad called “snake bite medicine.”  There was something calming and exciting at the same time about sitting there, eating an early lunch, and chatting about the upcoming NFL football with dad.

Just about the time the sandwich was gone a few Saints would trickle out of the locker room.  This always included Tom Dempsey or the kickers that competed before and after him.   I would run from where ever our seats were to the end zone.  My goal was to catch one of the warm up field goal attempts that soared into the bench seats one after the other and then throw it back.  There were no nets back then.  I wasn’t alone.  The competition for a youngster was taller and older.  And, the football flew high, far, and fast.  I never caught one.  I did get my fingers on one once.   I actually dislocated a finger in fact.   It looked crooked and hurt much.  Around the stadium I went.   Dad gave it one good pull in spite of my protestations and it was back in place.  I started to ask if the “snake bite medicine” might soothe the pain.  Then I thought it better not to.

On one particular sunny Sunday morning we departed, as always, on time for the game.  I was looking forward to the sandwich, the chat, the opportunity to finally catch a ball, and the kickoff.  Surely this was the week that the Saints would break their losing streak.    After parking and walking we approached the ticket taker at our gate.  Boom Boom rooted around in his coat pocket (a sport coat and a tie were standard attire then) then his pants pockets.  His eyes got bigger with each empty pocket.  “Son, I think I forgot the tickets.”  “What do we do, Daddy?”  “Let’s run back home and get them,” he said.  His voice tone spoke volumes of the disappointment in himself.  “But, we will miss the kickoff,” I selfishly said.  “Maybe not” came the retort.

From the entrance we spun our heels and walked the mile back to the car.   Like salmon we wove our way back home.  Mom, being mom, heard the car and ambled outside worried about our arrival.

“What’s wrong?”  Boom Boom slowed down to a jog while passing her.  It was just long enough to admit that he forgot the tickets.

“Get back in.  Let’s go.”  And off we went.   Traffic had built, but not too badly.  Boom Boom had slipped the attendant a couple of bucks to save our parking spot.

One mile of brisk walk later we were in the stadium and headed to our seats.    We sat down for only a minute or so before we were asked to stand up as Al Hirt blasted the national anthem through his seasoned trumpet.

As the brass horn hit the last notes Boom Boom lamented, “Son, that’s the latest that I’ve ever arrived for any game. We almost missed the Star Spangled Banner.”   “ We made it before kickoff, Dad.”  “You never want to be late for anything,” he said.  Hmm.

By the end of the third quarter the Saints had done plenty enough wrong to insure another loss was well in hand.   We stayed until the final seconds though.   We always did.  Always.

During the game and then on the walk back to the car I thought about asking him why being in our seats before the Anthem was so important.   Then I thought it better not to.

“Thanks for taking me to the game Dad,” I chose instead.   “You bet,” came the quick reply.

So, what’s the moral of the story?  If you’re not early, you’re late.  And, don’t ask why.