"ALL ABOARD!"

I grew up around trains.  My Mom's dad, Hoyt E. McElroy, was a railroad man for the KATY in Denison, Texas, until his death in the 1950's.  His name is inscribed in the granite obelisk outside the KATY depot in Denison, along with all the old-time men who were special people at the Katy, also known as the M-K-T.  M-K-T stood for Missouri, Kansas, Texas. 

My Dad also worked for the KATY back during the late 1950's.   I called Grandpa McElroy 'Papaw', and still remember, like it was just yesterday, that kind old man and his soft brown leather jackets, his really cool 'old man hats' that he wore to work each day, his sweet-smelling pipe and cigars, and his gold railroad watch and long, watch fobs that hung from his vests.  I also remember how good he always smelled -- that clean, just-got-out-of-the-tub smell, mingled with the smell of Old Spice.  I remember his easy smiles and good nature.  I never saw him angry or in a hurry, and he always had time for his grandkids.  One of my fondest memories was of Papaw raking and burning leaves in his backyard on crisp autumn days. 

Papaw loved to take me and my brother George, to the local store, a block away, and buy us trinkets.  Little Scottie dogs -- one black and one white -- with magnets that would make the little dogs move around each other like...well, Scotties would move...fast and abrupt!  He would also buy us little pocket knives with pearl handles, or flashlights.  We were always astounded at his generosity.  He also loved to buy us candy.  Our trips to Denison from Dallas were always special treats. On occasion Papaw would take me to the train yard in Denison, four block west of their home at 515 E. Woodard.  He would let me climb aboard the train and explore the little KATY cabooses in the yard.  I still have one of the caboose keys.  It is a huge key. 

It was fun to go outside their home at different times during the day and watch the big steam engines moving about the train yard, assembling the trains.  Those massive locomotives would belch monstrous clouds of steam and soot into the sky, sometimes almost blocking the sun near the end of the day when the sun would lie low in the sky.  Those engines would rev up and then the huge wheels would spin as they sought traction on the steel tracks.  They would spin and then 'catch' and the train would begin to move, ever so slowly.  The sounds of those engines would rattle my chest and I could feel the sounds as well as hear them.  I loved the train yards, and would always breathe deeply to inhale the smells of creosote from the crossties on the tracks, as well as the smells of the diesel engines.  I loved to look at the different cars that made up the trains, with their different shapes, sizes and colors.  I marveled at the size of those cars and how even such massive engines could pull so many loaded cars.  It was fun to imagine the origins and destinations of all those individual cars.  I got hooked on trains!

Later on my Dad worked for the KATY and he, too, had a lot of neat 'gear' that he used in his work.  He taught me, as my Papaw had taught me, about the different signals that railroad men used (and may still use, for all I know).  For most of my life I have enjoyed standing near railroad crosssings and waving to and smiling at the engineers in the locomotives as they pass the crossings.  I love to feel the rush of the wind as they pass by, and feel the vibration of the very ground on which I am standing.  I love the noises from the axles of the cars and the sounds of metal structures scraping against each other as the trains pass.  I enjoy hearing the sounds of the air hoses and the rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the tracks.  My Mom was raised by Papaw and Granny right there in Denison.  She grew up around trains and also loved them.  As a little girl she never minded the soot that always laid like dust all over everything in their home.  The engines produced enormous clouds of soot and the soot, when the wind was just right, was invariably pulled right through the windows of their home when they were open or when they turned on their attic fan. 

When Mom was 81, she moved to Edmond so we could take care of her as we lost her one day at a time due to Alzheimers.  To the end of her life, she and I, while we talked around Oklahoma Christian Home, reciting Rudyard Kipling's 'L-Envoi' to each other and reminiscing about God, family, flowers, our rock collections, Heaven, Eternity...and, yes, trains, we would often hear the far-away sound of an approaching train.  Quickly we would jump into my truck and head a few blocks west of Boulevard, in Edmond, to a train crossing where we would stop and wait for the train.  We would get out of the truck (unless the weather was really bad) and stand there, soaking up the experience -- the sounds and smells and 'train breeze' and, hand-in-hand, with smiles on our faces and with an occasional tear in our eyes, remember days gone by.  Often my tears were not brought about only by the good-old-days, but, as I looked over at my tiny little Mom, I was living in the moment, realizing that I was losing her a little more each day, and before long, I would no longer enjoy these sweet moments with this perfect woman who was my Mom.  Those thoughts would cause me to grip her little hand a little tighter and hold her a little closer, as I tried through sheer will to remember every detail of this moment. 

Mom's gone now -- she, like a lot of old railroads, finally reached the 'end of the line' in November of 2004.   Although I still go out of my way to be the first at a railroad crossing whenever possible, it's not the same to me now, since she's not there to share in something that was so special also to her.  Still, old habits and memories 'die hard' and I imagine that I'll always smile and respond to the sound of Mom's 'choo-choo's' and seek them out, for they provide a visual and auditory portal into the past for me, allowing me to remember, with great clarity, not so much about the trains themselves, but the people in my life who loved them like I love them and thrilled to the sounds and sights and smells of the old KATY railroad..... "ALL ABOARD!"

Observations About Neighbors -- Part 2

My neighbors are, and for the most part, have always been wonderful people. We live in a neighborhood that has been fairly 'stable' for the 33 years we have lived here, since we built our home in 1975. It is the only home that Paula and I have ever lived in since we married in August of 1972. Most of our neighbors have been here for most of that time. I think, though, that we may be the 'oldest residents' of our neighborhood, just east of the OC campus.

The family to the south of us (where Neil and Joni now live) moved next door to us back in the late '70's, right after Gena was born. They were nice neighbors. They had three sons, and moved here from Michigan. The husband worked at an automotive assembly plant and his wife was a Registered Nurse. They worked hard and took care of their property and were good neighbors. We tried to interest them in Jesus Christ, but they, while polite, were not interested. I'll come back to their story in a few minutes...

Another neighbor, who lived across the street from us (and still lives there, by the way), is a member at Memorial Road. He and his wife, Shirley, moved here from a much smaller community south and east of the OKC area where they had raised their kids. Leon and Shirley Eldridge were such sweet neighbors, and Paula and I really enjoyed getting to know them. We had the Lord as a 'common interest,' and, over time, got acquainted with their two beautiful daughters, Crystal (Loden) and Jeanette (Zeller). This family had it all together, and they all loved the Lord. They are all wonderful people!

As sometimes happens in life, tragedy befell both of the families mentioned above. Our next door neighbor found out she had inoperable lung cancer, and Shirley found out that she had malignant melanoma. The way that these two women dealt with the realities of their condition, and the way they faced the future, was dramatically different, and this difference is the reason for this posting on my blog.

When the next door neighbor found out that she had inoperable lung cancer, she was, of course, shocked. She had never smoked, but she was a nurse, and worked in an area hospital where smoking occurred in the 'break room' that medical personnel frequented. She immediately launched into an aggressive program, with her doctors, trying to find some treatment -- some cure. She went to and consulted with, doctors all over the U.S. She tried 'alternative treatments'...including shark cartilage, and other potions, in a desperate effort to battle the cancer (I would do the same, I imagine). Nothing helped. She deteriorated steadily. While maintaining a cheery facade, she was clearly distraught. Toward the end of her life, she was panicky, and clearly beside herself with anxiety. With no belief in God or the hereafter, she faced THE END of her existence, in her mind. She told me one day, in a more or less joking way, that she had asked four people to pray for her...a protestant minister, a Jewish rabbi, a Catholic priest and an atheist(??!!!). In disbelief, and saddened by her admission of this -- (in a joking sort of way, as if this was somehow funny)-- I asked her why she had done this. Her answer me shocked me to the core, as she told me: "I WANTED TO COVER ALL MY BASES!" She still had no interest in a relationship with God, but, in an attempt to 'leave no stone unturned', she threw this out, in an off-hand way, as one more straw at which she was grasping, as she approached the end of her life. I was asked to deliver the eulogy at her funeral, and I did -- telling the assembled friends and co-workers of this nice lady, mother, wife and neighbor-- the things about her that were commendable, and
what a nice neighbor she had been. I was aware of people who knew her as a nurse, and they all had wonderful things to say about her. I talked about her, what she was like, as a neighbor -- always doing nice things for people around her. I shared with the audience, stories of Brenda's work in her yard, and how it appeared that she had planted, in her yard, one of everything God had created! I could not, however, say anything to ease the distress her family and friends, because neither she, nor her husband, or any of their children had (or have now), any relationship with Jesus Christ. The eulogy was hard to deliver, for there was nothing of lasting relevance that I could say. No hope of a continued life beyond this earthly life. My words sounded hollow to me, and I left the lecturn sad and unsettled.

My sweet neighbor across the street -- Shirley Eldridge -- fought valiantly as well, but, as she approached the end of her life, she, with a smile told my wife, Paula: "I'm ready to meet the Lord -- He can beam me up right now!" Shirley calmly approached the end of life with peace in her heart - with equanimity, with the assurance that only those who believe in Jesus Christ can understand. Leon and his daughters, Crystal and Jeanette and their spouses and children -- and a vast number of friends and Christians who knew Shirley and her family, ultimately lost Shirley. I was asked by the family to deliver the eulogy, and I was honored to have that privilege. It was a joy to tell a little about this wonderful woman, who graced this world with her life, and influenced so many for Christ as she raised two wonderfully sweet girls, and did so much for so many people during her life. The crowd of people at her funeral service were saddened by the loss of this beautiful lady -- their loss at not seeing her again in this life -- but there was a sustained happiness of those in attendance, at the realization that this fine woman was not dead, but will live forever!...in the eternal presence of God Almighty! I left the pulpit at the Edmond church of Christ, and, although sad over the loss of Shirley, I was simultaneously happy that her struggle was over and life for Shirley would continue -- in another place reserved for those who die in the Lord.

As we enter a new year, full of hope and promise, I think of New Beginnings...and, as I think of New Beginnings, I can't help but to once again, in my mind, re-live the stories of these two very nice women, and be impacted all over again at the contrast between their respective lives....one that is bleak and a heart-breaker, and the other-- a wonderful life, now made perfect through Christ-- a soul that will live for eternity in the presence of our majesstic God!

Thank you for allowing me to share this story with you. I pray that all of you will enjoy a wonderful New Year, basking in the light of the love of the Lord!

Happy New Year!

Observations about Neighbors -- Part 1

Over the years, I have, from time to time, sometimes been described as: 'different', 'quirky', 'marching to the tune of a different drummer' and...well, you get the picture. While these observers were ALL right, to a degree, I doubt that I am any different than most people. I just don't care if I'm viewed as a little quirky. I'll own up to that characterization. Guilty as charged. People who think that THEY are not quirky, are often the quirkiest of all...they just go to great lengths to hide their quirkiness from others. They tend to be very private and reserved...and 'stingy' with their words and expressed thoughts. They maintain a facade and they do not want it breached. They don't communicate well. It's often as though their spoken words cost money and they do not want to deplete their 'verbal account.' Sometimes it's funny to observe quirkiness in people who think that THEY have it all together....like the child who covers his eyes with his hands and thinks that he is invisible to the rest of the world.

I don't dislike people like that. I accept them for who they are, and relish the kaleidoscope of varieties that humankind is comprised of. I try to not make other quirky people uncomfortable in their chosen skins. Like you, I have neighbors who represent the entire spectrum of typical American middle-classness. My next door neighbors, to the south, Neil and Joni, are open, outgoing, generous and expressive. They tell you what they are thinking. They want to know what YOU think. They are comfortable in coming over whenever the mood or opportunity strikes them, and never have an agenda. They are wonderful people to have as friends or neighbors. We have never had neighbors who were any more open, hospitable, generous, helpful or caring. (I hope they read this...we might get some more of the wonderful things from Joni's kitchen!!!). Neil and Joni are Christians...not just in name, but every pore of their bodies exudes kindness and generosity. They LIVE their Christianity. Recipients of their hospitality come and go, every week, by the dozens. Their home is the Grand Central Station of love and hospitality. I love these neighbors! They are always baking or cooking something and bringing over part of it to share with us. Neil sometimes comes over and 'vacuums' up leaves from OUR yard that he thinks might have blown there from HIS yard! I have caught him pulling the occasional weed from my iris bed in the front yard. He's always doing things to help us or another neighbor. Neil and Joni walk the talk!

I love all my neighbors, but some more than others, and that's probably not unlike your own experiences with neighbors. I have another neighbor...I love this guy, too, and I want to tell you a little about him. His name is Randy, and he is an older guy, like me. He is from the 'old school'...in a lot of ways. He is married to a lady who has been our neighbor for many years. She lost her first husband, and when she and Randy found each other, some time later, they were married and we began to get acquainted with Randy. He wears a cowboy hat...all of the time...even when mowing his yard or planting flowers for his wife. He's usually also wearing boots. Randy is one of those guys that, when noticing that you are in the middle of a project in your yard, such as cutting down a tree, will stop what he is doing and come over to help....bringing his own chain saw. He will, without your even asking, get right in the middle of your project. He doesn't 'count the cost' in time and effort. He's there to help! If I were out of town with car trouble, and called Randy, he would drop what he is doing and come running to help. His generosity has nothing to do with me...it's all about who HE is...the kind of man that Randy is.

When I think of Randy, I smile, because he's a misplaced cowboy. He is an insurance adjuster during the day, and a 'gospel cowboy' at night, singing his way into the hearts of people around the state (and sometimes out of state). Music is one of his true loves. He has a good voice, and he used it to tell people about Jesus. Sometimes, when Randy sees me out in my yard or in my pickup, he will walk over to visit. He walks toward me with those boots and that expensive cowboy hat, and, were he to be wearing one of his pistols, he would look as though he were Wyatt Earp, heading for a showdown at the OK corral! He's a frustrated cowboy, though --- all hat and no cattle! Living in Edmond, in a neighborhood, with no barbed wire, no barns full of hay and no wide open spaces. He is better suited for the open range...100 years ago. Church attendance is not a big thing with Randy. He's not for church attendance, but he's singing about our risen Lord all the time. And he is all about giving of himself to others....at the drop of his $100 hat!

We have other neighbors -- Christians who are out of a different mold. They never miss a service of the church, and come rain or snow, they are going to that building! The sad part, however, is that for 30 years that we have been neighbors, they have nothing to do with anybody. They don't even know the names of the kids who live next door to them. They have nothing to do with anyone, never have anyone in their home...never know about births and deaths and sickness, joys or sadness in the homes about them, and for thirty years, never have anything to do with anyone in the entire neighborhood. The man is an elder in his congregation, and, to my knowledge, is a good man, married to a good woman. Observing how this older (older than me makes them very, very old!) couple present themselves to the world makes me reflect on something that has its roots in a fallacy common to Christians: that church attendance, i.e. being 'at the building' every time the doors are open is a 'be-all and end-all'. I believe that true Christianity is more of what one is 'all about' 24/7. That, I believe, is what Jesus and the writers of the New Testament say that is ones' true worship...what we spend our lives doing, thinking about, praying about---the focus, the substance of our lives. It may be difficult for any of us, wanting to live for God, while voluntarily sealed off in a cave (or house), having nothing to do with the world about us. While church attendance is very important, I have often thought that when the focus is on 'trooping back and forth to a church building' and less on living for Christ and doing for others, the focus may sometimes get out of kilter. Maybe I'm wrong (nothing new to me). Again, to quote my really smart Mom, who died in 2004, at the age of 85, 'I'd rather SEE a sermon than HEAR one, anyday!!

Anyway, here are three families of very different neighbors: One family is always at the 'church-house' and is always involved in doing for others--- very giving people. Another family is never at a church building, but is always doing for other people, and singing about Jesus. The other family is always at the 'building', but has nothing to do with the world about them, and never comes outside except to go to the church building. I will not make judgments about them -- for a couple of reasons: 1. That is God's business, not mine 2. I don't know their hearts. 3. I don't want to be
the 'pot calling the kettle black'...I have enough to do trying to live my life like God wants me to live it --- and that seems more and more to me like a full-time job.

Still, it is interesting to observe the differences in people -- I have another 'installment' about neighbors to follow soon. You'll perhaps find it interesting. It will contrast observations about two other completely different families in my neighborhood -- one family who could not care less about God and another family that lives for God...and what happened when death came to visit each of these families a few years ago. Thanks for reading my blog, and, for some of you brave folks, daring to leave a comment now and then! Happy New Year!

And the winners are....!

I promised a golf putter to the winner of a drawing of those who read my blog, on an earlier post. It was not a bribe, of course (that's a lie...it WAS a bribe!...and an experiment!). It was just a little fun, and, as promised, here are the winners...

There was just going to be ONE winner, but all the excitement of Christmas and the upcoming New Year got to me, and I had to do a little more than I promised!

The winners are, in no particular order: Matt Gayle, Devy Blackwelder, Melody Byrd, and Joni Arter. Sorry, Gena, your name didn't win my little lottery, but since you're my favorite daughter, you get one anyway, as does Jeff, my favorite son! People who responded more than once got their names entered more than once and had a better chance of winning. I heard more than once from Matt, Joni and Devy. Congratulations, and thanks for 'checking in' and reading my blog. This blogging thing is a lot of fun, and I'm so grateful for Gena's having gotten me into it back in July! I haven't had this much fun since the hogs ate my little sister!!!!

Here's what I need from the winners: (1). Your preference of a printed name (upper and lower case is necessary if your name is long, like Frederick Schlegelmilch, or something like that). The space I have to work with is 3/4" tall and 2 1/4" long. (2). You could send me a signature, done with a clean, fine line (not a felt-tip pen), in black ink. You would need to send it to me at CustomPutt, Inc., 3126 S. Boulevard, Ste. 258, Edmond, OK 73013. Or, you could write it out, enlarge it, and then scan it and email it to me at gshoemake@cox.net. My cell phone number is (405)-229-9649. You may want to call and make sure I have received it. (3). All putters are right-handed only. The total club length is a standard 35" from top of the grip to where the putter rests on the ground. If you are ordering this club for a short person, consider whether the club needs to be made a little shorter than 35". If you are ordering for a really tall person, consider if you would like the total club length to be a little longer, say 36 or 37". (4). If you live in OKC, you can come pick up the club when I have it ready, sometime shortly after the holidays. If you live away from OKC and can't come by for it, give me your UPS shipping address and I will send it to you.

Each club comes with a genuine, soft leather putter cover, made for my putter, with a velcro strap and black, acrylic fur interior, to protect the personalized area.

I'm working on my web site, and now that we're up and running again with our golf club business, and have all our supplies, phone number, fax line, and everything else it takes to get off the ground, we'll be doing this again next fall, and will have the contest a little earlier so the putters that we give away can be ready for delivery/shipment well before Christmas. By then we may revive some of the other custom-personalized gift items we offered previously (back before we could no longer get our components manufactured in the U.S.)--- French leaded crystal items, gold-plated desk items, and some brand new gift items -- all unique! Nothing like them anywhere else in Edmond, OK, or the rest of the known universe! Stay tuned! I'll stay in touch, so you be sure to stay in touch also!

Thanks for all of your nice comments since last July when I started blogging. I'm getting acquainted with so many sweet, wonderful people! ...many of whom I never knew before! I love reading all of your blogs, and looking over your shoulders into the lives of you and your families. This is great fun!

Merry Christmas! May God continue to bless all our lives and keep us faithful to Him!

Gene Shoemake

6 inch cuffs and a lesson in humility!

Between the years of 1982 through June of 1988, I sold datacommunications equipment for a Texas-based company. We were distributors for some companies and reps for dozens of companies -- all of which made equipment for the world of datacommunications.

I had the state of Oklahoma for a territory, and traveled a lot over Oklahoma -- mainly around OKC and Tulsa with some trips to Lawton, Enid, Bartlesville. To keep up on new technology, there was a lot of ongoing 'continuing education', with meetings and seminars in places like Minneapolis, Chicago, Denver, Dallas, Houston. I was a 'suit with briefcases', and flew from place to place as needed when the distances and schedules did not permit driving.

I often spent many hours in airport lounges and hotel rooms, but, with a young family at home, found myself communicating by pay phones in airports with my family in Edmond. It was often lonely work, made a little easier, ultimately, by the invention of shoe-size mobile telephones that filled half a briefcase. That helped somewhat, but one could not talk long distance for long, as it was very expensive.

To while away the time and relax, I began taking along for company, my Bible and the latest Robert Ludlum thriller. I also took a small pallet, and some brushes and other paraphernalia for watercolor painting, and often did small watercolor paintings in the airport lounges and my motel rooms.

On one particular flight, there was a very long delay in getting a connecting flight back to OKC from someplace out of town. It had been a very long week, with not much time for rest or relaxation, and I walked into other men's room at an airport lounge at DFW. I found a clean stall and hung my coat on the back of the door and carefully set my nice leather briefcase on a relatively clean spot on the floor. Then I carefully rolled up my pants so they would not touch the floor when I sat down in the stall. I had some time before they were due to call my flight and I thought I would sit there in the quiet and read while taking care of business. Pretty soon I heard them call for the boarding of my flight, so I got up, put on my suit coat, picked up the brief case and walked over to wash my hands and make sure my hair was combed (yes, I had hair back then -- lots of it!). I dried my hands, picked up my brief case and headed back to the lounge area. There were still a lot of people sitting there, not being in much of a hurry to board.

I was puzzled at how many of the people made eye contact with me, with nice smiles on their faces. That was uncommon. People at the end of a day, on a Friday afternoon are often business travelers and they are sometimes an indifferent, if not slightly unfriendly bunch. When I had left the boarding area, to seek out a men's room, they were a surly bunch. Now their smiles caught me off guard! Some of them were actually grinning at me! I smiled and grinned right back, and got in line to board the aircraft. I had never seen so many happy-looking people in a boarding area. All those smiles gave me a lift!

I boarded the aircraft and stowed my briefcase and coat in the overhead compartment. Only when I had taken my aisle seat in coach and had crossed my leg, did I realize the reason for the uncommon friendliness and huge smiles of the people in the boarding area for my flight. I was sporting 6" cuffs on my pants! I had rolled up my cuffs to keep my clothes clean while in the men's room. Then I had forgotten to roll the cuffs back down and had confidently waltzed into the boarding area with my suit and briefcase...and a pair of huge high waters! Good grief! How utterly embarrassing!

Okay--now everybody on board the flight from Dallas to OKC knew where I had been -- and exactly what I had been doing. Great. Just great. I was mortified. People grinned at me all the way to OKC. Oh yeah, I felt like the businessman extraordinaire all right. Suave? Cool? A regular Dapper Dan? You bet...

Oh well, I told myself as I walked to the parking lot at Will Rogers airport in OKC a little later...at least I gave some weary travelers a good laugh and something to think about besides their sales quotas and the pressures of trying to make a living. All in all, I guess it was all right. I thought a little more about it and then also had a good laugh...at myself!

Since that time, I've learned to not take myself too seriously. I often see others who could do with some 6" high waters to take the edge off their sense of self-importance. It's good medicine to be humbled now and then. In a world where many of us do not want any crack to appear in our facades of who we think we appear to be to the rest of the world, a little humble pie is good for the soul.

They say that within each of us are three distinct individuals...who others think we are, who we think we are, and who we REALLY are. An embarrassing occurrence can shatter the illusions we carry around that contain our perceptions of our individual identities and give us a wholesome reality check...and that's not altogether a bad thing, I think. These days I no longer want to be full of myself...I do, however, want to be full of Christ. Bring on the humility!

'Busted -- Six Ways From Sunday'

Dallas, Texas -- Summer of 1957. Edsel automobiles were new to the car scene. The Russians beat the U.S. in putting a satellite into space. I was not quite 13, and my brother George was 11.

We lived on 10th Street in Oak Cliff, 4 blocks from the Sunset church of Christ. The home where we lived on 10th Street, just off Hampton Road, was a modest brick home with a long building behind it that had a one-car garage on the east end, and laundry facilities on the west end. The middle of this long structure was one large room, which we occasionally used for 'overflow' company and as a place for George and I and our friends to play. It was about the size of an average living room. We had a ping pong table in this play area and Mom and Dad would often exile us to this 'away-from-the-house structure' when we were too loud or were not getting along too well indoors.

George and I often escaped to this garage-laundry-playroom structure to get away from a pesky four-going-on-five year old brother, Randy, and a bossy older sister, Nancy, who was 18. One day, while bored, George and I decided to explore the attic of this structure. Exploring was part of our agenda. Smoking some Marlboro cigarettes without getting caught by Mom was the primary item on our agenda. We lit up --- coughed a good bit, and then tried to act like we were enjoying the cigarettes. We felt pretty good about our safety. No way was Mom going to climb up into the attic to catch us smoking. Dad was at work, so we were safe.

We had borrowed Dad's flashlight -- a monster that used a bunch of 'D' cell batteries, and then had climbed up the vertical ladder in the garage. The flashlight was to be used to explore the attic while staying away from the inevitable spiders and wasps often found in garage attics. We found a large area full of boxes of stuff that Mom and Dad had accumulated over the years. Mostly junk, it was of no interest to us, until I found a metal box that looked interesting. It was green and looked very, very old. This was beginning to feel like a treasure hunt! We tingled with excitement! It was not locked, so, with George holding the flashlight while the smoke burned our eyes, I looked through the content of the box. Old letters! They had funny stamps on them and odd postmarks. They were old! They dated from the 1930's! They had been carefully sorted and were then wrapped in bundles with string. We were intrigued! What did we have here?!

I began reading the letters to George. We were both astounded as I read of passionate feelings my Dad was expressing to our Mom. These letters were written when dad was serving in the U.S. Maritime Service during World War II. Of course, George and I didn't know anything about 'grownup talk', like a young husband would use in writing letters to his sweet young bride, but we read and read and read, smoking those Marlboro cigarettes like crazy, and laughing out loud when we read a particularly juicy bunch of love talk! We were laughing and punching each other when I read a totally eye-popping passage in one of the letters! This was great fun!

After a long time, we heard sirens. They got louder and louder. It sounded like they were right outside. Then it dawned on us -- they WERE right outside! We put out the cigarettes and hustled down the wooden stairs, leaving the letters strewn about on the attic floor. Our next door neighbor had seen smoke billowing out from the eaves of the garage and had called the fire department!

George and I got a whipping for smoking. Part of the paddling probably was due to the embarrassment Mom and Dad felt for having had their privacy violated. The letters disappeared. The attic became off-limits. I got paddled harder for having been the older brother and the chief instigator of this summer escapade.

I didn't get much of an education from the letters, since not much of it made much sense to me. I was, for my age, pretty naive, I guess. George was even more so. And yet, as I looked back on that event over the years that followed, it gave me a little peek into things that had always been a mystery to me...about love and about the intensity of feelings that my Dad had for my Mom at a time when they were both very young and so full of young love. It gave me a little bit of perspective, because my parents were very private people, and a lot about life and love was kept very private. Kids my age at that time were largely responsible for their own education about this mysterious thing called love.

Although we didn't much care for the paddling we both received, and though that event is over a half-century in the past, the memory at this point in my life is a sweet memory. We were just two kids -- bored on a hot summer day -- who were having fun...when we got 'busted six ways from Sunday.'

A selfless act of bravery

Okay, it wasn't an act of bravery in the same league as, say, pulling people out of burning buildings, or saving little animals found wandering around in the middle of an 8-lane highway at rush hour -- yet, bravery by any man's measure of such things should be noted, acknowledged and, yes, even revered. That's why I privately thump my chest and step up to the plate to admit, with just a tiny, (for modesty's sake) uncharacteristic reticency, at my own recent act of extreme bravery. Night before last, I volunteered to go shopping -- for clothes -- with Paula and Gena. No, there were no other men present, at least at first. No others willing to throw all caution to the winds and forsake all personal safety, to do what obviously needed to be done.

We chose an early hour -- something before 9 p.m., as I recall. The parking lot was deceptively uncrowded, and this failed to explain the teeming thousands of female shoppers found inside. I knew I was in trouble when, trailing Paula and Gena into the store, I was hit with a wall of scent -- perfume, scented oils, powder -- all of the unmistakable signs of vast numbers of female shoppers. Paula and Gena boldly and with no hesitation, waded right into the ocean of women. Being of sound mind, and having no wish to be instantly transported into Eternity, I wisely held back, looking for some small break in the phalanx of winter-clad bodies, churning up and down the aisles, with wild-eyed looks of determination and desperation in their faces. Seeing no such opportunity, I removed a scantily-clad female manikin from her perch on a display, and, climbing to the top-most portion of the display, dove headfirst into the mass of women shoppers, holding the manikin out in front of me for protection. (Side note: The manikin was wearing a cute little powder blue outfit of lingerie that I'll have to remember to buy for Paula. The manikin looked positively fetching as she and I sailed out across the army of women shoppers).

Oblivious to my forced entry into the lanes of frothing humanity -- all looking for the bargain of the day (and all carrying their little 15% off card in their hands as though they were clutching a gift-card for Heaven itself)-- I was swept along in the throng.

Having trouble breathing, due to all of the powder and perfume, and deafened by the roar of shrill chatter of thousands of lady shoppers, I frantically looked for a safe harbor -- somewhere in the hardware department. I shouted at one lady after another, "excuse me, ma'am, but where do they sell the power tools?" Receiving no response to my questions, I shuffled along with the crowd, and hoped that, with all the close-quarter contact, I was not losing my car keys, wallet, pens, knife, and 'black gadgets' (as Gena calls them) that I always carry around when I'm in public. Little kids carry toy trucks -- real men carry cell phones, P.D.A.'s, and lots of other important stuff.

Finally, seeing Paula and Gena again after what seemed like hours of shuffling up and down the aisles with the 'bargain sharks', I somehow broke free of the frenzied mob and sought refuge with the two women I recognized and trusted. They moved with the calm assurance I would have expected to see of Clint Eastwood, in some rough neighborhood in a Dirty Harry movie. They clearly knew what they were doing. They rifled through row after row of hanging garments, spending no more than 1/10th of a nanosecond on each one-- in their zeal to look at each of the 10,000,000 garments in each department. They moved with a blur -- a facility of movement only found in women. Their hands moved so fast they appeared to not really move the hangers at all, but just to pass over them, palms down, as though they were imparting some kind of mystical blessing on the clothes as they passed over them. I stayed close behind them, fearing that if I didn't, that I would once again be swept up in the crowd of shriekers, gigglers and frothers.

Later that evening, I ran into Mark Henderson. Mark, like I, appeared disheveled and weary. He, too, had done the manly thing -- the right thing -- and had thrown caution to the winds and forsaken all self-interest. He, too, had gone shopping with his wife. He and I both looked like we had been there for days. We were wandering about, in the thinning crowds, at this late hour, looking for some display where we could shove some manikins out of the way and sit down for a moment or two. No luck. No hardware department, where Mark and I could have shopped and felt comfort amid the saws, grinders, power blowers -- stuff with real substance and heft! A place with black gadgets galore! That would have been nice....that and a couple of easy chairs and a big screen t.v. With those amenities, and and a snack bar and we could have done the shopping thing all night.

Much later, somewhere around midnight, we found our wives and two fork lifts to get their planned purchases to a cash register. The 'beep, beep, beep', of the fork lifts, heading to the front of the store, told Mark and I that our ordeal was almost over. Now, we stood in line at the register (we used to call them cash registers, but that term is out of date, since no one uses cash anymore -- I now call them 'wealth extractors'). Mark and I each stood dutifully by our women, while women commented on each others' purchases: "Isn't this little doo-lolly the most preciooooouuuuss thing you have ever seen?"...."I just loooovvvve the cross-stitched, basted, ruffled, little thing-a-ma-jig...it's just the frilliest ever!!!" ....and lots of other things that I heard but can't spell or remember. That wealth-extractor business went on for another half-hour, and, to get out of there, I would gladly have given up to half my kingdom...or more.

Mark and I survived, and we both expect to be ensconced in some male Hall of Fame for having braved an 'after Thanksgiving, pre-Christmas midnight madness sale' with half of the women in Edmond.

We never found the hardware department, but, that's not uncommon, I hear. A good number of my male friends have also never found the power tools or a 'rest station' at Kohls. Maybe next year...

Final note:
As we were leaving the store, the lady who was manning the 'cash extractor' asked me if I would mind returning the little manikin (with the tiny blue outfit made for fun and games). "Oh...sorry," I said. In all the excitement and frenzy, I forgot that I was still clinging to her. I returned her to her station, straightened her hair and re-arranged her little outfit and we all went home -- with our vehicle straining under the weight of 'ALL THE MONEY WE SAVED.'