Thoughts, opinions, and musings from a curious "Seaspned Citizen"

Vol. 1     No.7

Dear readers, both of you.  After due consideration, I decided I was not ready to slash and burn yet and so I let my mind wander in the free style mode.  Should I dwell on my thoughts on immortality (I almost said “immorality”, there must be a lot of material of which I could kick the dirt off of, but this column is not a tell all) and “immortality” is a lot easier to deal with.  For instance I’ve been known to say I plan to live forever and so far, so good.  Philosophy 101 question; would you want to live forever, and if so, why?  The response, “why not,” is not acceptable.  I’ve been fortunate enough to do a lot of things and go a lot of places, memories stacked upon memories.  How much is enough? As a “seasoned citizen” I’ve learned to accept the fact that sometimes you’re the dog, and sometimes you’re the fire hydrant, and it can change by the minute.  It appears the iron in my blood has turned to lead in my a--.  If I’ve lost my glasses, the first place I look is on my forehead. All this has been a round about way of setting you up for one of my most significant (at least in my mind) memories.  One of the most popular movies out right now is “42” which deals with the time in Jackie Robinson’s life when Branch Rickey, the President of the Brooklyn Dodgers, reached out to the Negro American League and tapped him to break the color barrier in major league baseball.  Of course I know nothing of the upheaval and soul searching which went on in the offices of all the teams, you’ll have to trust the movie for that prospective.  What I can attest to is the day in the summer of 1947 when the Brooklyn Dodgers came to my town, Chicago, to play to Cubs in “beautiful Wrigley Field”. 

A little background.  I was in high school, and the regular entertainment for my folks and me was to take first the street car and then the bus to be first in line for the unreserved grandstand seats for at least one game every weekend of a Cubbie home stand. But this game was going to be special.  The Dodgers were coming to town and bring that guy with them. As you might expect, among the Cub fans, there were many descriptive names for that guy and none of them flattering. As you would expect, there was a perceptible air of excitement on the bus to the park and all around the entrances.  The lines got longer faster.   At that time as I recall, Wrigley Field seated about 42K. They hadn’t yet taken a big chunk of the center field bleachers to give the hitters a better background.  The whole park filled fast.  For once, as a Cub fan, you were really interested in the other team’s batting practice.  But then the ramifications of the day started to develop.  If you are from the Chicago area, and were a Cub fan you knew the crowd was going to be as white as the driven snow.  That’s just the way it was.  The “Negros” as they were known then lived on the south side and went to Comiskey Park and cheered for the White Sox.  In this case it was north was north, and south was south, and never the twain shall meet.  With that background being understood, you can imagine the murmur and restlessness which spread through the stands as people who normally habituated Comiskey Park suddenly started to filter into Wrigley Field.  I guess it was sort some of sign of civility in that there was no race baiting or catcalls which I recall.  Very soon, all the standing room was taken, the stairs each had two or three seated on them and the ramps between levels were packed.  I don’t know it as a fact, but there is no doubt in my mind Wrigley Field was splitting at the seams with attendance now up into the mid 50K’s.  The venders loved it even though moving around was tough. 

The Cubs took the field, the Dodgers came up to bat and then it started. A cacophony of cat calls and jeers erupted from both sides.  The “N” word and all it’s variations were hollered out from all over the stands, and, at the same time, cheers of ‘Jackie, he our boy” and “honkies” came just a quickly and just a vigorously.  Neither faction asked or received any quarter. Politically correct hadn’t been dreamed up yet. I can’t tell you who won or lost the game.  I do have two lasting recollections; Robinson was as fast as his billing had led people to believe, and, more amazingly, with all the venom, beer and adrenalin flowing. I recall no incidents of fights or weapons. When the game was over everybody went home and got ready for the next day.  That was a long time ago and a really different time.

At least that’s the way I see it.

Charlie

Thoughts, opinions, and musings from a curious "Seasoned Citizen"

Vol 1  No.6

All my readers, both of them, have encouraged me to find something nice to say in this blog instead of this constant carp, carp, carp.  What ever.  Let’s see, there must be something “nice” I can write about …….. I’m thinking, I’m thinking…… OK, I’ve got a few ideas.

Right up at the top of “nice”, if fact it’s better than “nice” is the fact my daughter Kathy, in her face-off with cancer is much better than she was a year ago. Way to go Kath, hang in there, we’re all with you.

I’m happy for family and friends, who accept, nay, tolerate my idiosyncrasies, foibles, off beat hobbies, and some times irrational politics. They forgive my nasty habit of turning the air blue without realizing the grandkids are in ear shot, and hearing and memory which now and then leaves something to be desired.

I’m happy for my wife Suzanne, who in a leap of faith took a chance on an old grouch, set in his ways, who was taught to keep his emotions in check a poker face and attempt to control his immediate environment. Just the opposite of her background. No one ever said it would be easy, and it hasn’t been, but she’s a keeper. In addition to happy, I’m lucky too.

I’m happy a friend of mine from Peets, who spent four or five years hiding out in his car in the Target parking lot doing drugs is now clean and sober, going to school, and working. He has also found time to adopt, care for and give a home to a couple of homeless canines.

I am happy to live in the Napa Valley. Another truism from Peets; people pay a lot of money to come here and visit, and we old curmudgeons who have earned a retirement are luck enough to live here. Not a bad deal. However, just so you know I haven’t gone completely soft, if there was a way to pluck this valley out of California and replant it among the sane, I would.

I’m happy to have stumbled along through life long enough to see many of my grandchildren growing into productive adults, and considering their gene pool, I will say in all modesty I have great hopes for those younger ones who reach their majority after my warranty has expired.  I’m proud of the fact that at this moment I have one grandson onboard the USS Pennsylvania, a ballistic missile sub, somewhere underwater between the west coast and the International Date Line and he has a younger cousin who has been brought in on the bottom rungs of the ladder to learn, and hopefully participate in a program of submersible vehicles used for deep water scientific exploration.  Subs are OK, but as you know no port holes or screen doors. I’d think it would get a little close after awhile. 

I’m happy to be with the Napa Valley Chorale, an outstanding group of singers and musicians who allow me to play in their sandbox with them as long as I don’t sing too loud.

There, now I’ve got that off my chest. Next week no more Mr. Nice Guy. Inept politicians, road hogs, wheeler-dealers with the public exchequer, and newspaper reporters who can’t understand the difference between opinion and news, stand-by for the ram.

At least that’s the way I see it.

Thoughts, opinions, and musings from a curious "Seasoned Citizen"

Vol. !  No. 5

 This letter was originally to the Napa Register but never got published.  I suspect a little too much acid for them to handle and when the criticism is leveled at City Hall, it gets even stickier. I really do understand their reticence to ruffle the feathers of their sources. I hope they, and hopefully the Chief understand I am not alone in my disgust with local driving habits. That being said friends, read on.  :-)

 

                                                            

   This is not a rhetorical question.  Let me see a show of hands of those of you who are sick and tired of rude, inconsiderate, arrogant, sloppy, unskilled, preoccupied cell phone users, or texting imbeciles who have some how been given the privilege of trying to operate a  2000 pound pile of metal and glass on wheels around our streets?  Well, I’m happy to see it’s a majority.  Unless I missed it, I don’t recall seeing the hand of our Chief of Police waving very frantically.  But surly, I must have just missed it.  I’m sure the Chief is as fed up with these Bozo’s  who run red lights in groups of three and four because they can’t really expect  “me” to wait for another green sequence can they?  And how the smug arrogance oozes out of the windows of the nit-wit who thinks Stop signs are for losers as they coast through not slowing enough to even call it a “California Stop”?  And is anyone else as mystified as I am about all the high end luxury SUV’s and sedans which apparently don’t come equipped with turn signals anymore?

   Come on men and women in blue. We love you dearly, you do a dangerous job and the community benefits from your commitment. But  folks, we can’t all be Homicide Detectives, SWAT Team members, or undercover Narcs. Somebody has to do the “grunt” work of enforcing traffic laws.  How about it Chief?  Saturation enforcement for a week on Trancas between SR29 and Jefferson.  Any officer who can’t write his salary in traffic violations, we take away his gun and issue him a white cane and Seeing Eye dog.

 I double-dog dare ya’. 

So there you have it, at least that's the way I see it.

America is the only country where a significant proportion of the population believes that professional wrestling is real but the moon landing was faked.--David Letterman

Thoughts, opinoins, and musings from a curious "Seasoned Citizen"

Vol. 1 No,4
I've said it before and I'll say it again.  Never start vast projects with half-vast ideas.  I read with chagrin the roll out PR being generated by some members of the Napa Valley Opera House management/staff for the conversion  of the "House" from what it was originally intended to a "cabaret/restaurant".  Council member Inman reportedly noted, "not all change is bad".  I would respectfully reply, the other side of that coin is "not all change is good."  Mrs Mondavi I believe surmised it best with her observation the idea has her blessing, "so long as the performing arts don't take a back seat to the restaurant-cabaret."  Does anyone really believe the local groups and non-profits who have tried to get performance dates, and received luke-warm to cool receptions from Opera House staff will really fair any better under the proposed make-over?  Less seats  means costlier tickets which means less access for a segment of the Napa audiences who can't afford dinner and drinks on top of a show..  
I'll admit to be speaking from recollection, but it seems to me some of the same voices leading this crescendo of drumbeats for change, are some of the same voices heard  leading Copia as it sunk slowly and ignominiously into a sea of red ink.  How about this.  Opera House staff agrees to a sincere sit down conference with representatives of all the local clubs, groups, and non-profits who would sincerely love to perform in the Opera House and search for ways to accommodate both our needs,  You need profit, we need a venue.  That's a true win-win!  In my opinion downtown Napa  does not need any more eating places or watering holes, regardless of what name you hang on them.  Why not send Michael Dorf/City Winery a few miles north and see if they can resurrect Copia which still has ample parking and constant exposure from the crowds at Ox Bow ?
At least that's the way I see it.
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Thoughts, opinions, and musings from a "Seasoned Citizen"

I may need to apologize to all my readers (both of them) for seeming to be flailing around with font size and style to find something with which I'm comfortable.  Right now this looks pretty good to me but we'll see by the end of this little piece of nonsense how I feel about it. 

My intention was to meander through 4th of July thoughts in this blog, but looking at the clock and knowing how far I've got to go, by the time I push the "publish" button it will be the 5th.  Oh well, so much for deadlines.

As I reminisced with a couple of my grand kids about the "good old days" and the Roman candle wars and bottle rocket shoot outs we used to have in the prairie town I spent every summer in, it brought home the fact of how much things have changed. And just for the record I don't automatically equate "change" with "good."  Momma wasn't  there to yell at us about putting out someone's  eye (we never did) , and the town Constable was a discreet moderating factor to make sure things didn't too far out of hand.  For entertainment the Volunteer Firemen would suit up in teams of two, separated by thirty or forty yards, armed with fully charged fire hoses, and slowly advance on the other team. One team member would walk backwards acting as a shield and taking the brunt of the water stream. The second member would be hiding back of the first, his job being to aim the water stream. The first team knocked to the ground, and rolled along in the gravel by that powerful stream obviously lost and another pair would come out to challenge. The women's groups from the two churches in town, one Roman Catholic, and the other Evangelical Reformed, met in the basement of the Catholic church since it was bigger and had a better kitchen to fix the noon meal for the town. (Population 260) Roast beef, fresh veggies, mashed potatoes and gravy, all the salads you could imagine and  an abundance of apple and mince meat pies.  Fast forward to our present era.  As I made a quick trip up and down my block I counted a few more than two dozen homes and only three of them were flying our nations flag.  That's a pretty sad commentary.  Do I think these people are disloyal Americans, closet anarchists, or just too lazy to hang a flag out?  Of course not.  Are they too poor to afford a flag kit from Orchard Hardware? Not in this neighborhood. So then, what's the problem?  Could it be the state of politics in our country at the present time is so putrid and the philosophy of "a pox on all your houses" so prevalent, it has caused us to blur the lines between supporting our elected representatives and supporting our country?  Someone took the time to figure out there are a few more than 500 people in the three branches of the Federal Government directly responsible for the condition of our country.  If taxes are too high, it is because congress voted them, if we are in debt, it is because congress and the President pass and sign the bills creating the debt.  If our laws are weak, diluted or prostituted, it's because the Supreme courts has sanctioned it.  But all of this should not stop us from saying it's my country, established, fought for and passed on by all our ancestors and I think enough of it to at least fly her flag, if not regularly, at least on her birthday. There was also a time when every merchant had a flag flying in front of their business. Perhaps the Scouts could refocus on somethings besides picking up Christmas trees and food drives, as important as that is, and try to get a few downtown merchants to dust off that tradition.  We should remember our newest memorial to Vets downtown was brought to life kicking and screaming by one young lady as her senior project. At least that's the way I see it.
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Thoughts, opinions, and musings from a curious "Seasoned Citizen"

         Vol. 1  No.2

          Napa Valley Register editorial, June 30^th, 2013, “Protracted negotiations muddy deal for Borrero.”  For some who don’t remember, or are new to the city, the Borrero building was grabbed off by the City of Napa, in the early days of flood control, forcing out an established merchant.  It has sat empty ever since.  The city now has two bids for the property, one for 1.6 million and one for 1.7 million, but the Mayor and Council are sitting on their hands, rather take action, claiming some sort of an “understanding” with the Napa Land Trust (NLT) to deliver the property to them if they could get their ducks in order in a specified time.  That window of opportunity came and went, came and went twice actually, with NLT unable to qualify.  At that point the two outside bids came in.  Then came a whole litany of mealy mouthed and odorous excuses along the lines of “we said we would, so now we should still give it to the NLT.  GIVE ME A BREAK!  I’d like to remind the esteemed Madam Mayor and the equally esteemed members of the city council, the City of Napa is not, repeat, is not, your own private sand pile or Monopoly Board.  You have the legal responsibility as stewards of our city to do what’s best for the city.  Turning down legitimate tax generating, job producing offers in order to take care of your pals at the NLT doesn’t qualify as either smart or honorable stewardship.  I can’t help but wonder who has already picked out their furniture for their new 2^nd floor office with a great view of the downtown.  And if the story was accurately reported, a new tasting room will go in on the first floor.  Just what we need, another tasting room.  You can paint a skunk any color you want, but it will still smell like a skunk.  Come on folks, get a little upset at getting your pocket picked in broad day light and let these would be back room wheeler dealers know, like the movie said, “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it any longer.”  Everyone with an ounce of common sense knows this stinks.  This brings me back to the Napa Valley Register editorial.  It was a huge disappointment. I understand that generally you probably feel the need to stay of the good side of the powers that be.  But come on Mr. Editor, with your local news monopoly (is there another paper in town to provide counter-point?) don’t you feel any responsibility to at least address the obvious? Sorry sir, but the way I see it, you used your entire column trying to convince people it is possible to pick up a piece of feces from the clean end.