UTAH EVIDENCES
When I was about twelve, my whole family went to Saratoga that Summer. It was a really cool place, like Pacific Ocean Park, I think it was called New Pike (?) down by Long Beach. For those of you in Utah, it was sort of like Lagoon, but not quite as fancy. While the whole car full of us sang merrily along, another car, coming from the opposite direction somehow met ours directly, head-on while passing. We were going about 55 miles an hour and so was the other guy. Crunch! We all got out, and ran over to the other car, to see if they were alright. They were. So were we. Not a scratch or bruise on any one. Because this happened right while I was in my formative years, it made me think. Kinda weird.
About 3 years later my mom went to Las Vegas to see Elvis, with my new step-dad, John. I decided to take the family station wagon for a spin. Laura left the keys in the ignition, and the next thing I knew was I was behind the Black Hill, going 100 miles an hour, last I looked. Then all of a sidden, a curve was ahead, and I turned to make it, and there was a rolling sensation, dust, a banging sound, over and over.
I knew the car was hot, and so, I kicked out the driver window and jumped out, gashing my right knee pretty badly. Blood was everywhere, even though I took off my shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wounded knee. I hitched a ride into St. George, and the nice guy took me all the way to my house.
I walked inside, grabbed a blanket, covered myself and went to sleep on the couch, with a pillow to prop up the knee. Mom came home, asked Laura where the car was, and then ran over to me. She freaked out when she pulled the cover off. Next thing I knew I was in the hospital.
- dinner here, continued in an hour -
Pictured: Filling out the detailed accident report of Matthew 6:3
That was delicious!
The doctors said that the hours that I spent sleeping had made the wound unstitchable or whatever. Seems that the body just prefers to heal itself if you just take it easy. So we went home and I have a nice scar to show for it all. Elbert Hubbard said that God will not look us over for titles and degrees, but for scars.
Badda-BING!
About 2 years later, I got into another head-on collision. This time it was with a High School teacher, Paul H. Smith. Seems he wasn't making enough money on his lowly teaching job, or with the additional loot from being a Justice of the Peace. He one day asked me if I wanted to Graduate, for a mere $10 per grade level from his class. "You're failing, you know." Yeah, I knew. School never meant much to me. I was too busy watching real life and reading and conversing with cool people.
Mother ran a cafe and there I poured coffee to the Jack-Mormons and other great folks. Some were Military, some old sailors, most were farmers, bored housewives and their kids late at night. Restaurants were the Internet back in 1969. Anyway, Mr. Smith called me on the carpet a few weeks later, in a private talk behind closed door. Spooky. I was nervous as hell. His father-in-law was the St. George Temple President or whatever. I think his name was MacArthur. Anyway, The dirt bag told me that if I didn't zip my lip, he wuld sick a few football players on me.
I took that as a threat, being all of 125 pounds and standing just 5'11" so I was shaken to the core. I swore to him I hadn't told a soul about his gift. He told me he could take away mom's cafe, "lock, stock and barrel."
I went home pondering this odd phrase. At that age, I just couldn't figure out what the Sam Hill it meant, but it didn't sound good. Mothers were the Google back in those days, and when Google saw me quivering, she asked me what was the matter.
"What does 'lock, stock and barrel mean?'" I asked her. She told me to use it in a sentence. "Well, if Paul Smith was able to take your cafe lock stock and barrel, what does that exactly mean?"
She slapped me. "Don't you ever tell such a lie about Brother Smith!"
My God. Slapped by Google. It freaked me out that my refuge was my #1 Enemy at the moment. Kinda like today in the USA. Very disturbing, indeed. Especially at 125 pounds, and only sixteen years old.
"I swear he said it. I can get it recorded, to prove it, Mom." I pleaded.
Within 15 minutes I was all decked out on my big Army jacket, with the tape recorder rolling as I entered the room, where Mr. Smith was grading papers. "Can we talk?" I asked sheepishly. "Sure. Have a seat..."
I explained to him that I didn't understand what he meant about mom's restaurant. That 'lock stock and barrel' remark. "Can you tell me what you meant?"
The tape later showed that my heartbeat was thumping big time. I was so afraid, honestly.
"So just keep it our little secret and everything will be fine."
It was wonderful to get a civics lesson all alone with the teacher. I think its how I formed my respect for authority.
- wifey wants the computer, back in a bit -
Mama wants salami.
When I was about twelve, my whole family went to Saratoga that Summer. It was a really cool place, like Pacific Ocean Park, I think it was called New Pike (?) down by Long Beach. For those of you in Utah, it was sort of like Lagoon, but not quite as fancy. While the whole car full of us sang merrily along, another car, coming from the opposite direction somehow met ours directly, head-on while passing. We were going about 55 miles an hour and so was the other guy. Crunch! We all got out, and ran over to the other car, to see if they were alright. They were. So were we. Not a scratch or bruise on any one. Because this happened right while I was in my formative years, it made me think. Kinda weird.
About 3 years later my mom went to Las Vegas to see Elvis, with my new step-dad, John. I decided to take the family station wagon for a spin. Laura left the keys in the ignition, and the next thing I knew was I was behind the Black Hill, going 100 miles an hour, last I looked. Then all of a sidden, a curve was ahead, and I turned to make it, and there was a rolling sensation, dust, a banging sound, over and over.
I knew the car was hot, and so, I kicked out the driver window and jumped out, gashing my right knee pretty badly. Blood was everywhere, even though I took off my shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wounded knee. I hitched a ride into St. George, and the nice guy took me all the way to my house.
I walked inside, grabbed a blanket, covered myself and went to sleep on the couch, with a pillow to prop up the knee. Mom came home, asked Laura where the car was, and then ran over to me. She freaked out when she pulled the cover off. Next thing I knew I was in the hospital.
- dinner here, continued in an hour -
That was delicious!
The doctors said that the hours that I spent sleeping had made the wound unstitchable or whatever. Seems that the body just prefers to heal itself if you just take it easy. So we went home and I have a nice scar to show for it all. Elbert Hubbard said that God will not look us over for titles and degrees, but for scars.
Badda-BING!
About 2 years later, I got into another head-on collision. This time it was with a High School teacher, Paul H. Smith. Seems he wasn't making enough money on his lowly teaching job, or with the additional loot from being a Justice of the Peace. He one day asked me if I wanted to Graduate, for a mere $10 per grade level from his class. "You're failing, you know." Yeah, I knew. School never meant much to me. I was too busy watching real life and reading and conversing with cool people.
Mother ran a cafe and there I poured coffee to the Jack-Mormons and other great folks. Some were Military, some old sailors, most were farmers, bored housewives and their kids late at night. Restaurants were the Internet back in 1969. Anyway, Mr. Smith called me on the carpet a few weeks later, in a private talk behind closed door. Spooky. I was nervous as hell. His father-in-law was the St. George Temple President or whatever. I think his name was MacArthur. Anyway, The dirt bag told me that if I didn't zip my lip, he wuld sick a few football players on me.
I took that as a threat, being all of 125 pounds and standing just 5'11" so I was shaken to the core. I swore to him I hadn't told a soul about his gift. He told me he could take away mom's cafe, "lock, stock and barrel."
I went home pondering this odd phrase. At that age, I just couldn't figure out what the Sam Hill it meant, but it didn't sound good. Mothers were the Google back in those days, and when Google saw me quivering, she asked me what was the matter.
"What does 'lock, stock and barrel mean?'" I asked her. She told me to use it in a sentence. "Well, if Paul Smith was able to take your cafe lock stock and barrel, what does that exactly mean?"
She slapped me. "Don't you ever tell such a lie about Brother Smith!"
My God. Slapped by Google. It freaked me out that my refuge was my #1 Enemy at the moment. Kinda like today in the USA. Very disturbing, indeed. Especially at 125 pounds, and only sixteen years old.
"I swear he said it. I can get it recorded, to prove it, Mom." I pleaded.
Within 15 minutes I was all decked out on my big Army jacket, with the tape recorder rolling as I entered the room, where Mr. Smith was grading papers. "Can we talk?" I asked sheepishly. "Sure. Have a seat..."
I explained to him that I didn't understand what he meant about mom's restaurant. That 'lock stock and barrel' remark. "Can you tell me what you meant?"
The tape later showed that my heartbeat was thumping big time. I was so afraid, honestly.
"So just keep it our little secret and everything will be fine."
It was wonderful to get a civics lesson all alone with the teacher. I think its how I formed my respect for authority.
- wifey wants the computer, back in a bit -
