Monthly Calendar Report for July, 2010

Tuxedos. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

―Two years ago this summer I did my first Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee,” as in “wow”) train-chase.
It was the most mind-blowing experience this old railfan has ever had.
I’ve been a railfan since age-2. —I’m currently 66.
Faudi is the railfan extraordinaire from Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh”), PA, who supplies all-day train-chases for $125.
Faudi has his rail-scanner along, tuned to 160.8, the Norfolk Southern Railroad operating channel, and knows the whereabouts of every train, as the engineers call out the signals, and various lineside defect-detectors fire off.
He knows each train by symbol, and knows all the back-roads, and how long it takes to get to various photo locations — and also what makes a successful photo — lighting, drama, etc.
I let Phil do the monitoring. I have a scanner myself, but leave it behind.
Phil knows every train on the scanner, where it is, and how long it will take to beat it to a prime photo location.
Phil showed up at 9 a.m. at Tunnel Inn, in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin”) in his baby-blue front-wheel-drive Buick.
He now shows up at 8 a.m.
Tunnel Inn is the bed-and-breakfast we stay at in the Altoona area.
It used to be the old Gallitzin town offices and library.
It was built by the Pennsylvania Railroad in 1905, and is brick and rather substantial.
It was converted to a bed-and-breakfast when Gallitzin built new town offices.
Its advantage for railfans like me — also its marketing ploy — is it's right beside Tracks Two and Three.
It’s right next to the old Pennsy tunnels through the summit of the Alleghenies.
Trains are blowing past all the time.
Three is westbound, and Two can be either way. —Track One is not visible; it’s on the other side of town, using New Portage Tunnel. Tunnel Inn also has a covered viewing deck behind its building, plus floodlights to illuminate trains approaching or leaving the tunnels in the dark.
“Quick-quick!” Phil said. “The Executive Business Train is coming up The Hill.
I don’t know which way it’s headed, but if it’s headed west, we can beat it to Lilly.”
Off we went to Lilly. (Faudi moves fast, but he’s not insane like my brother-in-Boston.)
The Executive Business Train is always parked headed west, so it’s always sent up The Hill.
If headed east it loops back down at Gallitzin.
Our hope was it was headed west.
We came to a stop on a highway overpass over the tracks in Lilly.
“You get out, and I’ll park down there,” Phil said.
Faudi walked back just as the Executive Business Train hove into view.
Pay dirt.
That’s the July image of my own calendar.
The Executive Business Train is an assemblage of classic passenger cars, plus restored EMD F-units, called the Tuxedos, because of their tuxedo-like paint scheme.
It’s used to take clients, and potential clients, on rail trips.
Rail accommodations in the classic manor.
The Tuxedos came from a vintage train operator, but were restored at Norfolk Southern’s massive Juniata (“june-eee-AH-duh,” as in “at”) Shops north of Altoona.
Internals were updated; modern technology in the ancient carbody of an F-unit.
I had to wait until an opening in eastbound train 36A; I was standing to the east to allow sunlight to illuminate everything.
No shadows.
The Executive Business Train was indeed headed west, and all four Tuxedos were on it (A-B-B-A).
An ultimate snag.


Willys.

―The July 2010 entry of my Oxman Hot-Rod Calendar is a hot-rodded 1940 Willys pickup truck.
Nice looking — its color is what makes it.
In the middle ‘60s Willys coupes became the darling of hot-rodders.
Mainly because they were lighter than the ’40 Ford coupe.
Plus, in my humble opinion, they looked better; spare and simple.
The Willys has a one-piece flat windshield. The Ford has a two-piece split windshield.
The Willys is three-window; the Ford five, busier.
Later Willys also had a more modern grill.
The Ford is still mired in the late ‘30s.
The ’40 Ford coupe is a great-looking car, but the Willys looks slightly better.

Photo by BobbaLew.

The S&S Willys coupe at Cecil County Drag-o-Way.

Drag-racers were attracted to the Willys’ lighter weight.
They’d wrench giant V8 motors in it, way more horsepower than they started with.
The rear axle would get swapped with one that could stand 89 bazilyun horsepower.
The front was a simple beam-axle, but would get swapped for one with lighter weight.
Ride-height would get raised to transfer weight onto the rear drag-slicks as it lunged forward.
The back end would have to be “tubbed” (as in “rubbed”) — stock wheel enclosures removed, and giant tubs installed.
No way could stock wheel-enclosures fit giant drag-slicks.
Hot-rodders also purchased the Willys pickup truck.

Photo by BobbaLew.

A Willys pickup at Cecil County Drag-o-Way.

Attractive, but not as much as the coupe.
I’ve always thought of the Willys coupe as the hot-rod I’d most want — with a Small-Block Chevy, preferably supercharged.
The calendar picture truck is massively tubbed.
Giant tubs have been built out into that pickup bed, to enclose the gigantic drag-slicks.
The cab and front-end is ’40 Willys, but the pickup bed is modified Chevrolet.
The engine is a 400 cubic-inch Ford V8, and the rear-axle is narrowed Oldsmobile.
Put your foot into it, and hang on for dear life.
But it looks like a trailer-queen.


Flying Fortress. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

―The July 2010 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a great photograph of a B-17 Flying Fortress.
I used to daydream of flying B-17s into the thick of battle over Nazi Germany, dodging anti-aircraft explosions (flak) and strafing Messerschmitts.
Nothing every happened of course; no injuries or fatalities, or my B-17 shot out of the sky in flames.
I was always blasting Messerschmitts, and bombing factories and rail yards into smithereens.
Until I saw one fly.
What a turkey — a sitting duck.
The B-17 was revolutionary in 1935, faster than most airplanes.
But by 1942 it was an old design; not much at evading more modern enemy pursuit fighters.
Nevertheless, the Army Air Corps had many, as did the Royal Air Force in Britain.
They were used for heavy bombing runs over Germany.
The B17 had a crew of nine or 10, and was called the “Flying Fortress” because it had so many defensive machine-guns, in the end 15.
A tail gunner, a top turret, a bottom turret, eventually a chin turret under the bombardier’s post, two additional machine-guns each side of the bombardier’s post, plus two single machine-guns out the sides to the rear.
It could present a massive amount of defensive firepower, but still it was a sitting duck.
The front machine-guns and chin-turret were a later offset to enemy fighters having so much success attacking face-on.

YB-17.

The 1941 Historical Aircraft Group in nearby Geneseo had one, “Fuddy-Duddy,” and I went through it years ago for $5.
Fuddy-Duddy is gone, but they have another.
I saw simple aluminum castings used as fuselage rings.
It was swiss cheese.
My impression was the airplane was far more fragile than I had thought.
The B-17 in the calendar picture has the extended rudder lead-in; earlier B-17s didn’t (above).

B-24.

Later heavy bombers were better; e.g. the B-24 Liberator.
Not until the B-29 Superfortress was the B-17 concept brought up to date.
The “Enola Gay,” the first airplane to drop the atomic bomb, was a B-29.

Two Pennsy I1 Decapod helpers (2-10-0) take a break. (Photo courtesy Bob’s Photo©.)

―The July 2010 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black and white All-Pennsy Calendar is helper-crews and the caboose crew taking a break on the Mt. Carmel line.
Pennsy used the Deks until the end of steam-locomotive operations on PRR, 1957.
The Dek is an old design, but well-suited for mountain drag service.
They were used on the Mt. Carmel branch in central PA to move heavy iron-ore and coal trains up to an interchange with Lehigh Valley Railroad in Mt. Carmel.
Two would be on the point, with two more shoving on the rear.
They were poorly suited to high-speed operation, but were suited for drag service.
They were immensely powerful, but -a) their drivers were too small, and -b) they didn’t have the boiler capacity to sustain high-speed operation.
When pressed, a Dek might get 50 mph, but it was hang on for dear life.
Their smaller drivers couldn’t accommodate the counterweighting to cut up-and-down vibration.
The train is stopped for whatever reason; perhaps waiting for a signal.
The two pushers have backed away from the train; it looks like they’re clearing a road-crossing.
They crews have got off, as has the caboose-crew, and assembled trackside to chew the fat.
The caboose probably isn’t behind the train; it’s out-of-sight, coupled behind the pushers.
A caboose couldn’t take all that shoving.
The pushers shoved the train directly, it’s caboose trailing.
Signal cleared, or whatever, the train reassembles and starts over.


A new day. (Photo by Bill Janssen.)

―The July 2010 entry of my All-Pennsy color calendar is one of the cars that replaced the famous old Pennsy Owl-Faces, the self-propelled MP-54 MU coaches (multiple-unit).
“Owl-Faces” because with their round port-hole end-windows, they looked like owls.
I had to get out my Pennsy Power II book by Alvin Staufer, copyright 1968.
I’m not sure the calendar is right. It says car #220 was made by St. Louis Car Company.
The Staufer book says Budd Company in Philadelphia, a “Silverliner” car.
That’s what I remember.
People hated the Owl-Faces.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Owl-Face non-passenger cars — very rare.

They were worn out and slow, and worst of all they lacked air-conditioning.
The Owl-Faces used A.C. motors, the current that came from the overhead wire.
Silverliners used D.C. motors and rectification. They could accelerate quickly.
Pennsy fell into the commuter business, particularly around Philadelphia.
Electrification was a means of transferring commuter business to self-powered trains — no longer trains pulled by individual steam-locomotives.
Pennsy electrified everything out of Philadelphia — electrification of New York City to Washington DC was an addendum. (Worth doing though.)
What mattered is electrification of the commuter business.
It permitted heavy train frequency. (Train frequency was high New York to Washington DC too.)
Powering of the standard MP-54 coach was Pennsy’s way of dealing with commuter service.
But eventually commuter service became an albatross. It cost too much money to operate.
The Silverliner cars were financed by government.
And eventually Pennsy’s commuter service was transferred to SEPTA, Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, Philadelphia and environs.
The Silverliners served long and storied careers, but mostly under SEPTA.


SC/Rambler. (Photo by David Newhardt.)

―The July 2010 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is a fairly decent picture of a really dumb car; a feeble attempt by American Motors to make a musclecar.
Were Link’s photograph (below) not worse, I would have given it the boobie-prize.
But it’s a fairly good photograph — although blurred by car-motion.
I get the feeling the photographer didn’t try very hard — it didn’t merit that.
Simple musclecar formula: soup up fairly large motor, lever into fairly light sedan, apply strident paint and graphics and large tires, fashion hood-scoop.
Some manufacturers were better at this; e.g. the Big Three; particularly GM, which could be more dedicated to musclecar requirements — like hood-scoops.
And Buick and Oldsmobile, who also tried to make musclecars handle.
American Motors wasn’t one of the Big Three.

Javelin.

The SC/Rambler reflects this. Its hood-scoop looks like it was made with a can-opener.
Yet musclecars were a phenom.
Even American Motors had to have one.
They also did the ponycar gambit, its Javelin (above).
But that was better.
It wasn’t a cheap modification of an existing platform.

AMX.

Stupider yet was the Javelin AMX (at left); sectioning the Javelin to make it a two-seater.
John Z. DeLorean proposed doing the same thing to the Camaro, and calling it the Corvette.
Thankfully, that never happened.



A worthwhile effort that failed. (Photo by O. Winston Link.)

―The July 2010 entry of my O. Winston Link "Steam and Steel" calendar gets my boobie-prize; a worthwhile effort that failed.
Link was trying hard.
Set up children fishing off footbridge over creek; include passing Norfolk & Western passenger train with steam-locomotive #128, a streamlined 4-8-2 Mountain.
It’s the same streamlining applied to the railroad’s later 4-8-4 J series, perhaps the greatest steam-locomotive ever built.
We’re in the Shenandoah valley, near Lithia, VA.
Sorry Mr. Link; it doesn’t work.
Too confusing!
And he managed to snag the locomotive with the rods down; the preferred picture of a steam-engine.
Um, there are people at the other end of the bridge looking at the locomotive; a mother showing her son.

What were they thinking?

A week or two ago I played tag with a new Chevrolet Camaro on Interstate-390 into Rochester.
It was red, and we weren’t racing.
The Camaro was in the passing-lane, and passed doing about 70.
I was on cruise-control in the right-most lane doing 65.
The Camaro was slowed by traffic, so I caught up and passed.
Clear of traffic, the Camaro speeded up and passed me again.
Every time I see one I think “What were they thinking?”
It’s UGLY! It’s an affront to the fabulous Camaros of old.
It’s so slammed it looks ridiculous.
Its windows are gun-slits.
It looks like a machine-gun pillbox.
Normally, I’m a Chevy-man. But in this case I’ll take the new Mustang.
It looks much better, and sounds pretty good too.

“What a revoltin’ development this is.”

The stylists at General Motors are headed in the wrong direction.
They’ve taken cue from the new Chrysler 300, which is also slammed and has gun-slit windows.
But not as extreme as the new Camaro.
Sadly, the Chevy Volt is styled the same way.
It’s a great concept; a fully electric car.
Electric motors are much better at generating torque for acceleration.
And they aren’t idling, consuming resources when stopped.
But Chevrolet lost me with the Volt’s styling.
Perhaps the ferriners can supply an electric car I can see out of.
No submarines for this kid!

• “Interstate-390” is the main interstate into Rochester from the south.
• “What a revoltin’ development this is” is William Bendix on the “Life with Riley” TV program in the early ‘50s. (Bendix was Riley.)

Buy the tool

FOUR word-processors are on this computer.
—1) Is good old Microsoft Word®, which I hardly use.
—2) Is AppleWorks® 6.0, a software now defunct.
—3) Is NeoOffice®, a MAC version of “OpenOffice®,” a freeware (I drive a MAC), and
—4) Is “Pages®;” a component of Apple’s iWork® — the application that replaced AppleWorks.
Go back to a prior machine, which I still occasionally use, and I can add three more.
—5) Word98.
—6) Appleworks 5.0, and
—7) Quark 4.1, the software we used at the Mighty Mezz during my employ.
5 through 7 are all “Classic” applications — they won’t work under OS-X.
All use Apple’s 9.2 operating system, “Classic-Mode” under early iterations of OS-X.
OS-X no longer has “Classic-Mode.”
—Word I hardly use, mainly because I’ve had so many difficult experiences with it.
It’s not stroke-survivor friendly. It punishes sloppy keyboarding, a stroke-effect.
It has magic keys, which if you hit accidentally, blast you into the ozone.
I’ve had everything I just typed vaporized by inadvertently hitting a magic key. (Thank ya, Gates!)
I got it only because it has two functions I occasionally use: case-change, and labels and envelopes.
They’re two of Word’s many bells and whistles; changing text-case, and generating labels/envelopes.
Other word-processors I have would probably generate labels/envelopes too, but Word is what I know.
And for changing case, I was told to do it myself.
For a stroke-survivor “doing it myself” is not that simple.
I used to use other Word bells-and-whistles at the Mighty Mezz, mainly “sort” and “convert to table.” They were tricks I used to fiddle honor-rolls.
I bought Word fulfilling a rule I have about mechanical work, which is: buy the silly tool even if you only use it once.
It’ll make your life easier. No mind-bending acrimony.
—AppleWorks 6.0 is a carryover from my previous computer.
I started using it because my AppleWorks 5.0 wasn’t OS-X compliant.
The only thing frustrating about it was it wouldn’t spellcheck a single highlighted word.
It always spellchecked the entire document.
With my new computer I suggested I wanted to continue using AppleWorks, but I was told it was defunct.
I’d have to replace it with “Pages” (or some other word-processor). “Pages” is a component of Apple’s iWork.
Supposedly it was AppleWorks improved.
The only reason I continue with AppleWorks is I have a lot of files in there.
Mainly HTML tags and footnotes I copy/paste.
I no longer use it as my default word-processor.
Converting all those files into Pages documents isn’t worth doing — it would take too long.
—NeoOffice is one of many free word-processors.
I’ve come across a slew.
Supposedly Word is doomed, because so many word-processors are now free.
A friend installed NeoOffice when he set up my new computer, mainly because I needed a word-processor — plus Word was big bucks, and not stroke-survivor friendly.
I used NeoOffice a while, but tired of it. I liked that it used the same fonts when I pasted in, but was frustrated by it’s wonky spellcheck.
It didn’t throw out all the misspelled words — plus it wouldn’t spellcheck a single word.
I can accept the no single word thingy, but missing misspelled words was a no-no.
I had to look for that stuff myself, lest I fly misspelled words.
And there are too many words I occasionally misspell (e.g. “a” for “e”), so I have to rely on spellcheck.
I’m also relying on spellcheck to flag mistypes.
So I gave up on it.
I’m now using...
—Pages, my default word-processor.
There are three frustrations:
-a) It won’t spellcheck a single word.
-b) It’s not pasting the same fonts I was using; I hafta fiddle, and
-c) It’s too smart. It has some thingy for indenting a list. I hafta fix this here list, lest it make a mess of what I wrote.
NeoOffice was too smart too. It used to memorize long words, so I could avoid typing them. Okay, but not everything. It was memorizing stuff that didn’t make any sense, e.g. my Photobucket jpeg addresses.
So I walked away from NeoOffice, but mainly because of its wonky spellcheck.
Pages is way better, and I can deal quickly enough with its smartness.
I wish I could turn that off — used to wish the same thing with NeoOffice.
My friendliest word-processor was...
—AppleWorks 5.0, the word-processor we used at the Mighty Mezz during my employ.
It didn’t punish you with magic keys.
And it would spellcheck a single word, plus it also did macros.
I had a slew recorded, like “Canandaigua.”
I could hit the “Canandaigua” macro key, and it would type in “Canandaigua” correctly.
With “Pages” no macros. All it will do is flag “Canandaigua” if I have it spelled incorrectly — I have it “learned.”
But AppleWorks 5.0 isn’t on this computer since it has the most recent iteration of OS-X (Snow Leopard, which lacks “Classic-Mode”).
—Using Quark as a word-processor is overkill; it’s more a graphics application.
The Messenger used it to generate its pages.
I had it only because the newspaper had it.
And I didn’t have the 89 bazilyun fonts the newspaper had.
I fiddled a few things at home we used in the Messenger, mainly the stockbox, which no longer runs.
And the stockbox I did here at home wasn’t what ran in the newspaper; I didn’t have the fonts.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• “OS-X” is Apple Computer’s current computer operating system. OS-10.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• “Gates” is Bill Gates, head-honcho of Microsoft.
• “HTML” is hyper-text markup language; which I use to do these blogs. Bold text is via HTML tags, as are pictures. What you’re reading are “footnotes.”
• “Photobucket” is an image repository — it’s where I store my pictures.
• “Jpegs” (“JAY-peg”) are a compressed photo format for computer display. I store all my photographs as jpegs.

I give up!

“To see Jay’s favorite daily driver, go online to www.hemmings.com/editorial/Leno .”
“Okay, we’ll try it,” I said to myself.
I cranked the address into my Internet browser line.
“To see this story in full, you must first establish an account.”
“Oh, for heaven sake!” I thought. ”So much for easy access.”
I established an account with my usual password.
“To see this story in full, you must be an active subscriber.”
”I AM!” I shouted. ”I’m searching from your magazine. It’s right in front of me.”
“Account-number please.”
“I don’t know that. I shredded your mailing label.”
“You can add your account-number later.”
Back to square-one. ”To see this story in full, you must first log in.”
E-mail address and password. Off to another page......
Then to another, then back to square-one.
Around-and-around we went; ”To see this story in full, you must first log in.”
E-mail address and password. Off to another page......
Then to another page, and back to square-one.
MERRY-GO-’ROUND ALERT!
Finally, “I give up! I ain’t that desperate to read your silly story. How much time do I wanna blow getting your site to display the story?”
Jay Leno is the host of TV’s current “Tonight” show.
Leno is also very much a car-guy, and has a massive collection of cars, many of them classics.
Most pleasing to me are -1) his ‘65-‘66 turbocharged Corvair Corsa coupe, and -2) his 1966 Oldsmobile Toronado, the two greatest cars to ever come out of Detroit.
Although his Toro has been retrofitted with a 1,000 horsepower engine and rear-wheel-drive.
He also has a ‘51-‘54 Hudson Hornet, and a ‘65 Shelby GT350 Mustang, both of which are among his 10 favorites.
I can imagine him charging Mulholland Drive in the Hollywood hills in his Corvair, or even his GT350; but that Toro would be frightening.
A Toronado is a BIG car — passing-lane on Interstate-10.
Mulholland Drive was always a classic sportscar road — I’ve driven it myself.
Twisting and turning it climbs the Hollywood hills, and passes the famous Mulholland Drive Overlook far above Hollywood Bowl. The view from Mulholland Drive Overlook is used as a backdrop in 89 bazilyun TV settings, and is frightening to look at.
It displays the future. The vast bowl that is Los Angeles is aglitter with lights.
I’m agape with the power needed to energize that carpet of lights, although most of it is hydroelectric, I’m told.
At the expense of the Colorado River, a mere trickle where it meets the ocean.
Most of it was siphoned for irrigation, which includes grassy green lawns in desert.
Pride-and-joy of Leno’s collection is a 1955 Buick Roadmaster he got in 1972 from his mother-in-law for 350 smackaroos.
It’s since been restored, and retrofitted with a 620-horsepower engine transplant. —This sounds like a Big-Block Chevy.
One can imagine him charging the LA freeway system with it; that is, between idling in traffic-jams.
That Buick was his first classic car; the car he dated his wife-to-be in, and the car in which he showed up for his first “Tonight” show appearance, well before he took over the show himself.
Supposedly, Leno’s “favorite daily driver” is his Model-T Ford roadster; fast enough for most LA traffic, and able to climb in and out of potholes.
I remember getting stuck in Hollywood. Cheek-to-jowl with giant Hummers and Ford Expeditions at 1-3 mph. (And they all had gigantic chromed wheels!)
But only the first paragraph of “Leno’s favorite daily driver” was displayed. I couldn’t read it in full without first leaping various web-site barriers.
“Why do they always do that?” my wife commented, recounting her similar experience with QuickCooking magazine.
“Why does every web-designer require a log-in?” although I’m more inclined to think they’re just reflecting their customers.
“We can require a log-in, and thereby you can better know your online readers.”
“Great! Do it!”
Great idea. Recipes online instead of cluttering some file-folder.
But first you must log in, and second you must be an active subscriber.
“I am an active subscriber,” my wife cried.
Instead of recipes she gets bombarded with trial subscription solicitations.

• I too am a “car-guy, and I’ve been to Los Angeles, which Interstate-10 passes.”
• The Chevrolet “Big-Block” V8 was introduced in the 1965 model-year at 396 cubic-inches. It was made in various displacements: 402, 427 and 454 cubic inches. It’s still made as a truck-motor, but not installed in cars any more; although you can get it as a crate-motor, for self-installation. The Chevrolet “Small-Block” V8 was introduced at 265 cubic-inches displacement in the 1955 model-year. It continued production for years, first at 283 cubic inches, then 327, then 350. Other displacements were also manufactured.
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”

Outed

“For whatever it’s worth,” I said to John Allison of the Canandaigua YMCA; “‘BobbaLew’ is me.”
John Allison is Wellness Director at the YMCA; that is, he supervises the Exercise Gym, perhaps more.
“Who’s ‘BobbaLew?’” John asked.
“Look at MPNnow,” I said. “Go to blogs. I’m the blogger ‘BobbaLew.’”
I pass John’s office after working out in the Exercise Gym — I try to work out there three days a week.
I usually don’t say much to people, being a stroke-survivor with compromised speech.
“You sound fine,” they say; and then they get exasperated when I can’t assemble words for speech.
Every stroke is different. Many at the YMCA Exercise Gym are stroke-survivors.
One guy lost part of his vision, one is slightly paralyzed, and another is extremely paralyzed — his whole right side is limp.
My stroke-effect is slightly compromised speech, but that’s better than not being able to speak at all.
A few months ago I passed John’s office, and noticed he was driving an Apple MAC laptop.
“MAC-attack!” I shouted, and strode in.
Wars are taking place between Macintosh and PC users; each badmouthing the other.
I drive MAC myself — have for years.
It goes back to our using MACs at the Mighty Mezz during my employ.
I started long ago with a PC, but switched.
“What do you think of your MAC laptop?” I asked. I was about to upgrade from my ancient MAC tower.
“It’s a MacBook Pro,” he said; “and I like it.
I’ve done graphics for the Y with it.”
Well, no negatory response, so I guess I’ll order the MacBook Pro laptop suggested by a friend.
What you see here is generated with that laptop.
“‘BobbaLew,’ eh......” John said. “I’ll check it out.”
“And I have never, ever badmouthed this place,” I said, referring to the Canandaigua YMCA.
“And I probably never will.
It’s what’s keeping me alive,” I said.

• The web-site of the Messenger newspaper is “MPNnow.” The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty putting words together.)

Marcy, it’s everywhere!

My wife has been invited to participate in a survey of what it’s like to participate in surveys.
Honest! I’m not joking!
I won’t name the surveyors. Protect them, as it were.
I can just imagine the survey questions.
“Please rate your most recent survey experience: -a) favorable, -b) somewhat favorable, -c) middling, -d) somewhat unfavorable, -e) unfavorable, -f) no opinion.”
Do we get a prize?
Rite Aid makes us eligible for a $10,000 prize-drawing, if we rate our shopping experience.
Is this thing for real?
It came in an official-looking envelope.
We passed. (No opinion.)

• RE: “Marcy, it’s everywhere!” —“Marcy” is my number-one Ne’er-do-Well — she was the first I was e-mailing stuff to. Marcy and I worked in adjacent cubicles at the Mighty Mezz, from where I retired. At one time she asked how I managed to dredge up so much insane material to write up, and I responded “Marcy, it’s everywhere!” —She now lives near Boston. (She’s the reason for this blog.)
• The “Ne’er-do-Wells” are an e-mail list of everyone I e-mail my stuff to.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”

Erica Kane survives plane-crash

The Canandaigua YMCA has three wall-mounted “plasma-babies” in its Exercise Gym (Wellness Center).
“Plasma-babies” are what my brother-in-Boston calls all wide-screen, flat-screen high-definition TVs. Other technologies are available, but he calls them all “plasma-babies.”
Thankfully they are all closed-captioned — no sound — so Patrick Cox isn’t blaring at you in the Taxmaster ads.
Normally, north-to-south, they are tuned to CNN, the Sports-Channel, and the Weather Channel.
Yesterday (Monday, June 21, 2010) the middle one was tuned to Channel 13, the local ABC affiliate.
It got the midday news.
I arrive about 11, and work out until about 2.
So I was there long enough to catch the beginning of the soaps.
A newspaper article was displayed, headlined “Erica Kane Survives Plane-Crash.”
Over the almost 10 years that I worked at the Mighty Mezz, I never saw anything like that.
If there was a plane-crash, the Messenger didn’t name a survivor in the headline.
The headline might be “Two Survive Plane-Crash.”
This article also had a giant photograph of Erica smiling.
In the real world this would never happen.
Ya might see a photo of a survivor in the hospital Intensive-Care unit, hooked up to 89 bazilyun tubes and assorted monitors.
Eyes closed, relatives gathered and praying.
Erica Kane — actually Susan Lucci — is a soap star.
The soaps aren’t the real world, much as viewers might wish.
People are always yelling at each other, and insanities fade to black.
I don’t know what soap it was, or even care.
“All My Children,” I think.
Back to Sports-Channel please.
There was Erica, scantily clad and attractive in a hospital bed, smiling at all-and-sundry.
One-by-one the show’s characters got trotted in, so she could beam and tell them she’s fine.
Play an actual plane-crash survivor; she probably refused.

• “Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had.

Extreme “Adventure-Tour”

Passing coal extra approaching Lilly. (Photo by BobbaLew)

We have so many errands and appointments it’s become a rat-race.
We have to maintain a printed calendar-schedule to avoid conflicts.
Conflicts still occur, and we have to reschedule things.
It’s a matter of priorities.
New medical appointments scotch previous lesser appointments.
I suppose the number of errands is the same as when we worked. But the number of medical appointments doubled.
Our life is logistics, connecting errands and appointments in the same direction, walking the dog, mowing lawn, and working out at the YMCA.
It runs us ragged. So much to do, and never enough time.
“Will this be a rough week?” we ask.
Infusion Tuesday, doctor appointment Thursday, haircut Wednesday, Lowes sometime. The haircut scotches the YMCA.
I need the YMCA to stay alive — blast away on the cardio trainers, and strength and balance training.
All to keep up with our dog,who is extremely high-energy.
So a surgical-strike to the Mighty Curve is a vacation from retirement, even at only two and a half days.
Down Thursday, chase trains Friday, back home Saturday.
“This trip is so short any more, I miss things,” my wife said.
“Well it’s still a drag,” I said.
We were in the infamous Foy Ave. Sunoco in Williamsport; a potty-break — half-way.
About five hours portal-to-portal, 250 miles from our garage to Tunnel Inn.
Tunnel Inn, in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin”) is the bed-and-breakfast we stay at in the Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh”), PA, area.
It used to be the old Gallitzin town offices and library.
It was built by the Pennsylvania Railroad in 1905, and is brick and rather substantial.
It was converted to a bed-and-breakfast when Gallitzin built new town offices.
Its advantage for railfans like me — also its marketing ploy — is that it's right beside Tracks Two and Three.
It’s right next to the old Pennsy tunnels through the summit of the Alleghenies.
Trains are blowing past all the time.
Track Three is westbound, and Two can be either way. —Track One is not visible; it’s on the other side of town, using New Portage Tunnel. Tunnel Inn also has a covered viewing deck behind its building, plus floodlights to illuminate trains approaching or leaving the tunnels in the dark.
First we went to the Mighty Curve, after setting up camp at Tunnel Inn, arriving at the Curve about 4:45 p.m.
The “Mighty Curve” (“Horseshoe Curve”), west of Altoona, is by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is now a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad (Pennsy) to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use.
I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child. —I’ve been there hundreds of times.
“Any idea when the westbound Amtrak Pennsylvanian will pass?” a father asked. It was 5:15.
“About 5:30, I think,” I said; “if it’s on-time.”
A few minutes passed.
“Norfolk Southern milepost 2-4-0-point-7, Track Two, no defects.”
“I think this is it,” I said.
It was 5:22.
The Pennsylvanian hove into view; PRAMP; PRAMP; PRAMP; PRAMP!
“I can’t believe I actually nailed that thing,” I said to the guy later.
Later I was told 5:06 at Altoona.
The idea was to chase trains around the Allegheny crossing with Phil Faudi (”FOW-dee;” as in “wow”).
Faudi is the railfan extraordinaire from Altoona, who supplies all-day train-chases for $125. —I did one two years ago, alone, and it blew my mind.
Faudi has his rail-scanner along, tuned to 160.8, the Norfolk Southern operating channel, and knows the whereabouts of every train, as the engineers call out the signals, and various lineside defect-detectors fire off.
He knows each train by symbol, and knows all the back-roads, and how long it takes to get to various photo locations — and also what makes a successful photo — lighting, drama, etc.
I let Phil do the monitoring. I have a scanner myself, but leave it behind.
Phil knows every train on the scanner, where it is, and how long it will take to beat it to a prime photo location.
Faudi calls his train-chases “Adventure-Tours.”
And that’s what this was; more so than any previous tour — this was tour number four.


No Trespassing. (Photo by BobbaLew)

—“Hey look at that,” my wife said after clambering up a brush-infested embankment back to the road.
“A No-Trespassing sign.”
We hadn’t seen it going in.
It was also new. We’d been there before.
—“Well, the car is still there,” Faudi said, after our long hike back from where Pennsy built a stone viaduct over Conemaugh (“KONE-uh-MAW”) River, along the “path of the Johnstown Flood,” a walking-trail.
“There’s a no-parking sign there,” he said.
Sure enough; “No parking for trail use. Violators will be towed.”
“Makes a lotta sense,” my wife observed.
“What are we supposed to do? Park over in South Fork, and then hike the three miles to the trail-head?”
—Our grandest adventure was to on top of the eastern portal of Pennsy’s old Allegheny Tunnel.
We had hiked down a trail barely wide enough for a four-wheeler ATV, ending up on the hillside atop the tunnel-mouth.
“I bet we can get down to that tunnel-mouth,” Faudi said. “All we hafta do is descend that weedy embankment.”
“Let’s try it,” I said. Anything for a good photograph.
At least half of the descent was sit-and-slide.
Three 66-year-old geezers in pursuit of a fabulous railroad picture; Faudi the rabbit, my wife second, and me the caboose.
I also had my camera around my neck.
Faudi was carrying my lens-bag, and my wife my rifle-mount for my telephoto lens. I needed neither.


Ya gotta be a railfan. (Photo by BobbaLew)

We made it, and I garnered two photographs.
Next was get back up the embankment.
Faudi ascended first; the second train was coming.
Faudi is far more stable than me, but getting back up was a struggle for him.
He also used our same route down, which included the sit-and-slide segment.
Last train photographed, we started back up, my wife first, but by a slightly different route, avoiding the sit-and-slide.
I was also carrying my camera, which I had to hand over to Faudi on top.
—Our final adventure was Bennington Curve, near the top of the railroad’s ascent of the mountains.
“I’ve never driven down here before,” Faudi said, as we descended a closed-in twisting Jeep-track, in his baby-blue Front-Wheel-Drive Buick, a passenger sedan.
“I sure hope no one’s coming the other way,” he said.
“Is this road even legal?” my wife asked.
“It’s on the maps,” I said.
“Mike” (the proprietor of Tunnel Inn, very much a railfan) “brings guests down this road all the time,” Faudi said.
We finally got to Bennington, but a large black Ford pickup was parked there, railfan ensconced in a lawnchair.
He probably came down the same trail as us; a miracle.
His position was maybe 15-20 feet above track-level, but “five hours earlier, the light woulda been right,” Faudi said. “Now it’s not.”
We descended a little farther, down to track-level inside Bennington.
“Look at that ballast,” Faudi said. “At least four feet, maybe five.”
Amtrak’s westbound Pennsylvanian was coming.


Pennsylvanian at Bennington. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

“Did you get all five cars?” Faudi asked.
”First three,” I said. I had my lens at 24 mm, the widest it would go.
I also have a wide-angle lens, but it would have rendered too much sky and foreground.
On the way back up the road, CLUNK! “Didn’t see that one,” Faudi said. (A rock.)

Snippets
—1) Conemaugh Viaduct is two rocky promontories about 50-60 feet above the tracks.
Easiest is the higher promontory, but shrubbery blocks the viaduct.
“You said something about a crevasse to get to that lower promontory,” I said.
“Let’s try it.”
Down into the crevasse I went; I retrieved my camera as I walked out onto the lower promontory.


At the Viaduct. (Photo by BobbaLew)

“This is the better shot,” I said.
—2) “If we use this spot, I think we can beat” (whatever), said Faudi.
“But it’s private property. I always ask permission.
I think we’re in luck; I see two cars.”
Barking dogs welcomed us, but the owner was out front.
“This land goes back before the railroad,” Faudi said. “It’s on both sides of the railroad.
The railroad agreed to build and maintain this access bridge for the property-owners.
I only take people here I think won’t abuse it. It’s a private bridge.”


From the private bridge. (Photo by BobbaLew)

“Which is why I’ve never been here,” I said.
“The family had to sue Norfolk Southern to get them to continue to maintain this bridge,” Faudi said.
“And they won.”
—3) We went to what I call the “five-tracks” site.
It’s where PA State Route 53 crosses the old Pennsy east of Cresson (“KRESS-in”).
It’s at the top of The Hill, the final assault on Pennsy’s tunnels in Gallitzin.
The two tracks to the left are the original Pennsy — those at right are also Pennsy, but on the grade of the New Portage railroad.
The New Portage Railroad was a modification of the Pennsylvania Public Works System, a combination canal and railroad, publicly funded, that was a response to New York’s fabulously successful Erie Canal.
It was a combination canal and railroad, because there was no way a canal could breach the Allegheny mountains.
At first the railroad on the Public Works System used inclined planes.
In the early 1800s grading was not up to easily breaching the Alleghenies.
The canal packets would get transloaded into railroad flatcars, which got pulled up the planes with stationary steam-engines cranking ropes.
The system was so cumbersome and slow, the State did a new portage railroad, which also included a tunnel at Gallitzin. —No more inclined planes.
But the entire Public Works System became moribund; made so by the cross-state Pennsylvania Railroad — which was founded because the Public Works System was so inefficient.
Private capital in Philadelphia wanted better than the Public Works System.
The Public Works System, which pretty much paralleled Pennsy, was sold for a song to Pennsy.
There was that New Portage Tunnel next to Pennsy at Gallitzin, so Pennsy incorporated it. But they had to ramp up to it on the eastern side; the dreaded Slide, 2.36% — 2.36 feet up for every 100 feet forward.
That’s Track One; eastward, down.
But steep enough to invite runaways.
The three tracks at right are on the grade of the New Portage Railroad; aimed at New Portage tunnel.
The track at right is “Main 8;” it’s mainly used for storage.
The hoppers on it were a coal-extra from a tipple in Portage; they were left in Main-8.
About six creaky railfans were at the five-tracks site.
“I wonder where that coal is headed?” one asked.
“No idea,” said another.
“Germany,” I piped up.
“That coal’s from the tipple in Portage,” said Faudi; “it’s bound for Germany.”
We left, and headed for Gallitzin, but Faudi reappeared and said we could beat a train to five-tracks.
Back in the Buick.
The six creaky railfans had left and were getting back in their car.
We had the place to ourselves.


Westbound at five-tracks. (Photo by BobbaLew)

“Too bad them guys were leaving,” I said.
The train came about a minute after we arrived.
“Sometimes we hafta be unsociable,” Faudi said.
“A better picture than at Gallitzin,” I said. “It was them hopper-cars.”
—4) Pennsy’s eastern tunnel-portal is almost right next to the New Portage tunnel exit.
Although New Portage is slightly higher, allowing an underpass from the old New Portage alignment to the original Pennsy alignment.
(Pennsy converted the New Portage alignment into additional trackage over the Alleghenies; its Muleshoe line [similar to “Horseshoe”]. —The Muleshoe has since been torn up and abandoned, and partially obliterated.)
Trains down The Hill, using Track One through New Portage and The Slide, do a full-stop brake-test just past the tunnel-exit.
This puts one-half of the train downhill, and the other half up.
Any helpers on the rear only have to shove half the train on restart.
We hiked to the overpass — a train was coming toward New Portage on Track One.
I was encouraged to take a picture of it as it exited New Portage tunnel.
But there was a trackside box in the way.
“Hey Phil,” I said. “What if I go up past that box?”
“This is a sensitive area,” Phil said.
“If Norfolk Southern Railroad Police bother me I wanna say we never crossed the tracks.”
Going past the box wasn’t crossing the tracks, but was right next to them.
I didn’t go there.


Downhill on The Slide. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I shot the locomotives as they passed.
I don’t wanna risk having future railfans shunted away.
I also wanna be able to return.
—5) At The Slide overpass over the New Portage alignment it was suggested that a good shot was taken off the bridge embankment.
To do so meant climbing the embankment, which started about four feet above the ground.
“How do I get up on this?” I thought.
“Well, there’s a ledge here at the bottom, and a second ledge about half-way up.”
I climbed them, and started up the embankment — no camera.
“This is the best shot,” I said; “but I need morning light, and an eastbound on Track Two.”
Next time, perhaps.
—6) Our train-chase would continue after supper.
“It’s June,” Faudi said. “The sun sets about 8:30.
We can continue, no charge.”
“Obviously Faudi isn’t in it for the money,” my wife observed. “He just likes chasing trains.”
“Yeah,” I thought. “A man after my own heart. A true train-junkie.”
Faudi mentioned Trains Magazine; “I been a subscriber since about 1963,” I stated.
“It was mainly David P. Morgan, their editor, and a junkie just like me.
And he wrote extraordinarily. Depicting the same sorta stuff I appreciate.
The efficacy of flanged-wheel on steel rail, and the appeal of ‘throttle-to-the-roof,’ especially steam-locomotion.”
We agreed to meet at the 17th St. bridge in Altoona about 7:15.
17th St. is the main drag west into Altoona from a nearby Interstate.
It crosses the old Pennsy tracks on a bridge.
Altoona was a main marshaling yard for Pennsy, also where the railroad had maintenance and locomotive erection shops.
Altoona is still an important point on the railroad. It’s where helper-units are attached to attack The Hill.
It’s also where helpers get taken off after descending.
Hard by the 17th St. bridge is “Alto” tower, which controls just about everything in Altoona — everything by radio; 160.8.
Alto has been around a long time. It’s been in same building since 1909.
First would be supper.
Faudi was going to treat his wife to pizza at a restaurant in Altoona.
It would give us a chance to hit Cresson Springs Family Restaurant, where I get their Philly Cheese-Steak sandwich, a Curve-trip tradition.
We drove directly to Altoona after Cresson Springs, and first would be our attempt to park therein.

HUH?

Every lot we drove into was private, and Faudi had suggested parking on the street.
Most street parking was “Police Business Only,” or something similar, but we finally found a spot in the shadow of the strange sign pictured.
The sign was completely unfathomable, and we both have college degrees.
My wife suggested it was boilerplate to cover some miscreant moving his car two feet within a parking-spot every two hours........
We found Faudi, who had parked in a 30-minute parking-zone on a side-street.
We moved to that, for fear of misinterpreting their sign, which seemed to be a catch-all for the Police Dept. — a Catch-22.
Up on the 17th St. bridge we walked.


Alto in twilight. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

The picture is a duplication of a view Faudi took years ago with his video-camera; although at night.
The race was on. The sun was quickly descending toward a mountain ridge.
It set before I took the picture.
But it was still pretty light, so my camera snagged the picture.

Addendum
—A) As is common, other railfans were at Tunnel Inn; particularly two dudes from west of Buffalo.
Both appeared to be in their 40s.
They had the handicap suite downstairs, which has two king-size beds.
We were all sitting together on the deck in the dark.
“Shameless plug,” I said. “If you’re a railfan, do the Faudi gig — it blew my mind.”
“I ain’t payin’ no money to get shown places I know about already,” a dude shouted.
“We been comin’ here since the ‘60s!”
Lessee, my first visit was in 1968.
Back then Horseshoe Curve was still four tracks, and Muleshoe was still in existence.
I could have argued back, but why bother?
It’s different since my stroke, which was in 1993.
My speech-center is compromised, so that I can’t carry on a conversation that well, particularly an argument.
Bellowing finished, the dude lit a foul-smelling stogie, and poured a tumbler of Jack Daniel's.
I could have mentioned that -a) Faudi knows every train-symbol, and -b) how long it will take to drive to a prime viewing-spot — i.e. if there’s time to beat it.
Worse yet I coulda said “HEX-KYOOZE ME; perish-the-thought I had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to suggest anything to a know-it-all.”
I used to do that driving bus.
But that was before the stroke; like when I could talk, and parry blowhards.
I did what I always do; I shut down.
It’s what I do with my all-knowing brother.
There’s no sense arguing with a know-it-all.
We left the deck — couldn’t stand the smoke.
Next day we’re with Faudi at the private bridge.
“Ask them guys if they know about this bridge.....” Faudi said.
Same thing at Bennington Curve.
(They probably know about it — Bennington Curve is rather popular — but not where we were.)
—B) At the end of this month, June 25-28, the National Railway Historical Society (NRHS) holds its annual convention in nearby Scranton, PA.
A number of rail excursions are planned, including some with steam-locomotives.
I considered attending, but then decided I’d rather chase trains with Faudi, than be stuck in some fetid railcar with dysfunctional air-conditioning out in the middle of nowhere with no clue as to what’s happening.
I’ve had it happen.
Railfan excursion out of Buffalo, and the steam-locomotive ran out of coal.
Back in Buffalo at 3 a.m., behind rescue diesels.
It was awful.
With Faudi it’s railfan overload.
—C) We took this here laptop to Tunnel Inn. It can do wireless Internet.
Tunnel Inn is a hot-spot.
Automatic sign-up; my ‘pyooter found Tunnel Inn’s wireless Internet.
It needed a password.
We cranked in one that was apparently old; what Tunnel Inn replaced.
Into the ozone; no Internet.
Getting it activated was a hairball — we kept failing continually.
We finally gave up — no Internet.
Tried again the morning we were to leave.
Tried various things, and got it.
On the Tunnel Inn wireless network at last.
Too late though.
Not that I cared — doing anything on this laptop was bog-slow.
I had taken along my auxiliary keyboard and mouse, which I use to do anything here at home.
But there was no space to set them up. I had to use the laptop keyboard and touch-pad.
Internet would have allowed me to post a blog, but I couldn’t do that with no Internet.
All I could do was key stuff in, and that was bog-slow.

Ordering Adventure

The other day (Wednesday, June 16, 2010) I successfully ordered Ben & Fat Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream at Mighty Tops in Canandaigua.
But on scrap-paper that can be misplaced or lost.
Lori’s Funky Food Market seems to have a better handle on this.
Special-order anything from them and a book gets trotted out.
Special-ordering anything from Tops in Canandaigua is out-of-the-ordinary.
Normally Mighty Tops carries Ben & Fat Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream, but the past three visits they were out.
“Cancha just have the store-manager special order it?”
That’s my sister-in-law in Florida; a Godsend because she knows how important Ben & Fat Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream is.
She knows that because she can’t get it where she is — that Ben & Fat Jerry’s is the BEST chocolate ice-cream in the entire known universe.
“To do that I hafta -a) find the store-manager, and -b) carry on a conversation.”
As a stroke-survivor I find my speech-center compromised; that is, my ability to carry on a conversation.
I can usually do it — if I control its speed.
But I often find myself stuttering looking for words.
It was pouring rain as I left the Canandaigua YMCA; reason enough to avoid Tops.
But after perhaps 100 yards it stopped raining, and I could see blue sky. So I set off for Tops.
I walked gingerly into the store, direct to the ice-cream section.
Nothing! So into the fray; screw up the courage.
“Who do I see to order something?” I asked the front-end manager.
She glared at me.
How dare I come into her store and not just buy something from the shelf.
“What exactly do you mean, sir?”
Note to friend the same age as me — I’m 66.
“As you advance in age, you’re knighted. Everyone starts calling you ‘sir.’”
“I’d like to order some Ben & Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream.”
She skewered her face as if thinking, then......
”Frozen-dairy call Extension 300,” store-wide.
Minutes passed.
“Well, I guess we gotta go find them.”
We hiked back into frozen-dairy; no sign of anyone.
She disappeared behind large swinging steel doors into the back; overhead was a sign that said “Associates Only.”
“Doncha mean employees?” I thought to myself.
She waddled back out, and asked another store-employee (Woops; “Associate”) if they had seen anyone from frozen-dairy.
”No.”
Back up front.
“Grocery call Extension 300.”
Ring-ring.
“He’ll be right up,” she said, striding away.
More minutes passed, then a callow youth appeared — no more than 25 — about 200 pounds in a dirty sweat-stained tee-shirt.
“What can I do for you sir?”
The knight bit again.
“I need to order Ben & Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream.”
“Did you look?”
“Nothing on display,” I stuttered, trying to find the right words.
“You normally carry it, but have been out for a while,” I finally said.
Off he went in pursuit of scrap-paper and a pen — this is Tops, not Lori’s.
Back he came with scrap-paper and pen.
Deafening silence.
“What do you need?” I finally asked.
“Name and phone-number;” all of which he scribbled onto the scrap-paper.
I get the feeling my sister-in-law in Florida had more success calling the Canandaigua Tops long-distance.

• “Mighty Tops” (Tops) is a large supermarket-chain based in Buffalo we occasionally buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua.
• “Lori’s Funky Food Market” is Lori’s Natural Foods, south of Rochester in Henrietta — a source for salt-free cereal, sauce, and health foods.
• “Ben & Fat Jerry’s” is of course Ben & Jerry’s. A fellow employee at the newspaper I retired from called it that.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty putting words together.)
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)

To iPad or not to iPad

Yesterday (Monday, June 14, 2010; Flag Day) I tagged along with my wife into Rochester to eat lunch with two guys she once worked with.
One is recently retired; the other still works, but at a different employer.
The younger guy was gonna bring along his recently purchased iPad.
“Looks like the whole reason you’re here,” the older guy said to me; “is to see that iPad.”
“Yep,” I said. “Do I wanna pursue an iPad or not.......”
The younger guy had dialed his iPad into a nearby Wendy’s wireless Internet connection.
It was displaying the menu of the restaurant we were in.
“This restaurant has wi-fi too, but Wendy’s is much faster.”
“So how much hard-drive does that thing have?” I asked.
“It doesn’t have a hard-drive; it’s not a computer.”
“Well, I’m processing photos, and cranking stuff into a word-processor. I need lotsa RAM.”
“You can get applications, but they hafta be specific to the iPad.
“Can it be a cellphone?” my wife asked.
“No.”
“Well what is it?” we asked.
“You surf the Internet with it, and do your e-mail.”
“In which case it ends every e-mail with ‘done from my iPad,’” my wife observed.
“I need more than that,” I said. “What if I wanna process a video?
I just got a refurbished MacBook Pro laptop,” I said. “The main reason I did was portability. My previous machine was a tower.
The reason I was interested in an iPad is it looks more portable than my laptop.”
We fired up a Google satellite-view. Finger touches to the display-screen zoomed in and moved it around.
We put the iPad down.
All-of-a-sudden the display flipped 90 degrees.
“That would drive me crazy,” I said.
“I haven’t got around to turning that off,” the younger guy said.
PASS!

• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.” She retired as a computer programmer.

Killian's dog-park

(Photo by BobbaLew)

Our giant fence project is complete.
......Whereby we enclosed about two-thirds of our 4.7 acres with five-foot chainlink, so our dog can run unleashed without getting clobbered on NY State Route 65 in front of our house, or worse yet disappear completely (I’ve had it happen).
Perhaps half of what’s enclosed is woods, what grew up unfettered during 20 years on our abandoned cornfield.
Our dog is a hunter, so now she can hunt critters with gay abandon.
I.e. Not dragging around us humans.
That includes rabbits, and the squirrels and chipmunks that pigged out from our bird-feeders.
Plus the kitty-cat that snagged birds.
Our dog had already caught at least six bunny-rabbits before the fence.
I bet she soon catches more.
The other night she caught a mole.
The fence was finished last Friday (June 11, 2010), installed by Custom Fencing by Shanks of nearby Lima (“LYE-muh;” not “LEE-muh”), NY.
It took a whole week to do it, and one day it rained.
Fence-post holes had to be drilled in mud — our property has wet spots.
The posts are set in concrete.
But it’s not a swamp or a bog.
Just wet in a few places.
We tried to run fence on paths established long ago, but brush was impinging.
They had to do clearing.
So now we have a dog-park on our own property, although just for our current dog.
We call it the “Killian (‘KILL-eee-in’) Memorial Dog-Park,” in memory of a previous dog who would have loved it.
Like our current dog, Killian was a rescue Irish Setter, also a hunter.
It cost a fortune, but we were driven by one thing.
“You can’t take it with you!”

• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish Setter. She just turned five, and is our sixth Irish Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.
• “Lima “ is a smallish rural town to the west of where we live in Western NY. It’s about six miles away.

Train ride

Midway. (End of trolley-wire.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

The other day (Thursday, June 10, 2010) the dreaded Alumni held its train-ride.
The so-called “Alumni” are the union retirees (Local 282, the Rochester local of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union) of Regional Transit Service in Rochester, NY. For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS), the transit-bus operator in Rochester.
The Alumni was a reaction to the fact Transit management retirees ran roughshod over union retirees — a continuation of the bad vibes at Transit: management versus union.
Transit had a club for long-time employees, and I was in it. It was called the “15/25-year Club;” I guess at first the “25-year Club.” But they lowered the employment requirement, and renamed it “15/25-year Club.” The employment requirement was lowered even more; I joined at 10 years.
My employ there ended in 1993 with my stroke; and the “Alumni” didn’t exist then. The Alumni is a special club — you have to join.
“Dreaded” because my siblings are all anti-union.
It was a train-ride only in the sense it was on railroad track, the short connector between New York Museum of Transportation (NYMT) and the Rochester Chapter of the National Railway Historical Society’s (NRHS) Rochester & Genesee Valley Railroad Museum in Industry, NY.
The track is only about two miles or more, and somewhat torturous.
It was built by Chapter members.
It climbs out of the Genesee river-valley, up to the plateau the New York Museum of Transportation is on.
The Rochester & Genesee Valley Railroad Museum is down in the valley of the Genesee River.
The Rochester & Genesee Valley Railroad Museum is in the old Industry depot, an old railway station along the old Erie Railroad Rochester branch.
The Erie crossed the southern part of the state.
The Rochester branch wasn’t originally Erie, but came to be.
Parts of it were abandoned and torn up to the south, but Livonia, Avon & Lakeville Railroad, a shortline, began operating between Livonia (“liv-OWN-eee-yah”) and Avon (“AH-vahn,” as in “at,” and “Ron;” not “aye”), and also a short stub into Lakeville.
LA&L abandoned part of the line to Livonia, but has since expanded and now operates the trackage past the Industry depot.
Rochester Chapter of the NRHS is one of the founding NRHS chapters, the fifth. It was founded in 1937.
It now has a surfeit of old railroad equipment, including several operating diesel locomotives.
It also built its own railroad, a full-size Lionel set.
They built up to nearby New York Museum of Transportation, which has several old trolley cars, and antique highway equipment, including old Regional Transit Service buses.
I picked up Art Dana (“DAY-nuh”) on the way there.
Dana is the retired bus-driver from Regional Transit with fairly severe Parkinson's disease.
Art's wife is gone, so he lives with his sister in nearby Pittsford. He's 69.
Art and I have similar interests, hot-rod cars and trains.
We drove to the parking-lot of our old union hall, 22 Fourth St. in Rochester.
Actually, it’s the hall of the local Laborers’ Union, Local 435.
We hold our union meetings therein, and our union offices are in the building.
Stuffed with donuts and coffee, we all got into our cars for convoy to the New York Museum of Transportation, which is out in the hinterlands.
Google-maps were issued with step-by-step directions.
I had brought our van for carrying people, but didn’t need to.
It was just me and my wife and Art.
Everyone went their own way. Some followed the Google-directions, but not this kid.
”Them Google-directions are not of the real world,” I said. “I know where it is, and I’m headed for the expressway.
Just follow me,” I said to retired bus-driver Teddy Dunn (“done”).
“Them Google-directions are wonky.”
On the expressway, I got jabbering with Art.
“Where are we?” I said. “I hope we’re going the right way. Teddy is still following me.”
We were, and as soon as we pulled into the NYMT parking-lot, we all started yammering at each other.
Old bus-drivers.
“Whadja go that way for?”
“Thems were the Google-directions.”
“Them Google-directions were crazy!” I said.
”I had no idea where this museum was, but I sure wasn’t driving through the city” (the Google-directions), said another.
We all went inside, and assembled in the museum store.
They had us reserved — we’d made reservations, but we had to pay the remaining balance.
Our NYMT tour-guide collected the remaining balance from the “money-man” (Frank Randisi [“rann-DEE-zee;” as in “Anne”], the Alumni vice-president).
Tour-guide explained our train ride would be by trolley-car to the end of its overhead wire (“Midway”), and then by track-speeder down to the Industry depot.
Track-speeders are tiny motorized cars for carrying section-crews for maintaining track.
They’re not full-size railroad equipment, and at first they were powered by a pump lever — humanly powered.
It’s the train-ride both museums usually give, manned by volunteers.
The guy driving one speeder had full oxygen equipment, with a tank on his belt.
The speeder has benches for sitting, and ya hope it doesn’t rain.
At least in the trolley you’re inside.


”Say cheese!” (Photo by BobbaLew.)

The picture above has both speeders we used — actually the speeders are pulling trailers.
Curvature out of the NYMT is incredibly sharp; okay for a trolley, but probably too sharp for railroad equipment.
And the grade up from the Industry depot is around four percent (four feet up for every 100 feet forward); too steep for a regular mainline railroad.
But operable by Chapter diesel-locomotives.
Tour-guide and his associates were obsessed with safety, and you could see why.
Railroad operation could take a limb off.
The second problem was elderly passengers getting off the equipment.
They needed step-stools.
Perhaps 10 mph; ker-click, ker-click!
It ain’t welded rail.
It’s the old jointed rail, what railroads used to be.
33-foot sections of steel rail joined together into a continuous railroad with steel splices.
You can still find such applications, but now its mostly ribbon-rail, welded into quarter-mile lengths, perhaps longer.
The connector isn’t a serious railroad, but it’s better than nothing.
Without it the Rochester Chapter couldn’t store and maintain all the antique railroad equipment it has.
We passed a siding to their maintenance-shed, plus who knows how many old railroad cars.
Plus cars of the “Empire State Express” which they got, and use in excursion service.
The “Empire State Express” was a New York Central Railroad train of fluted-steel streamlined passenger cars, which ran across New York state.
No heat, and they’re deteriorating.
But the Rochester Chapter keeps them up — I rode a fall foliage excursion in them years ago.
But I doubt those “Empire State Express” cars could handle that curve into the New York Museum of Transportation.
The “Empire State Express” cars are pushing 80 feet; a trolley about 35-40 feet.
The trolley was an old Philadelphia & Western car, that ran out to Norristown, a suburb of Philadelphia.
It’s not Rochester based.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a Philadelphia & Western car; I also rode one down in Scranton, PA.
Apparently Philadelphia & Western hung around long after most trolley lines; in fact, Philadelphia still has a few.
But they’re five foot gauge; five feet between the rails, not standard gauge, four feet 8&1/2 inches — what most railroads are.
Some of us were told cars had to be retrucked by NYMT down to standard gauge.
What a job that must have been.
First ya gotta jack up the heavy carbody, so the five-foot truck could be wheeled out.
Then ya gotta put it all back together with a standard-gauge truck.
The New York Museum of Transportation is not a trolley shop. Heavy lifting is done by guile and cunning, and all by volunteers.
Philadelphia & Western was competition for the Pennsylvania Railroad, which had begun heavy commuter service out to the Philadelphia suburbs.
But it also served suburbs Pennsy didn’t serve, and operated trolley lines out to other suburbs.
Ride complete, we all ambled through the museum.
But not without looking at various restoration projects.
The New York Museum of Transportation has a surfeit of old trolley equipment, including some in complete shambles (especially the wooden cars).
Apparently restored was a trolley set up as a dining-car, but only wide enough for four-seat tables on one side, and two-seat on the other (seats facing each other).
Everything was dressed up pretty with checkered linen tablecloths, red on white.
The car was divided into two sections — one wonders if by sex.
We were told the Industry depot had two waiting rooms; men and women.
This was because the men often missed the spittoons, and ladies’ dresses swept the floor.
A fellow retiree and I surveyed a track-sweeper. It had giant electric motors inside, I suppose to rotate the giant sweeper-brushes under the undercarriage.
We also looked at a giant model-railroad.
Actually, there were three; two were N-gauge, the other was HO.
One was an interpretation of the infamous Rochester Subway, which was long ago installed in the abandoned Erie Canal bed that once went through Rochester.
The Subway was not like New York City. It only used trolleys, although often multipled as two.
Plus it was dedicated equipment; slightly larger than a city trolley.
It was abandoned in 1956.
“Where’s Lawyers Coop?” (“co-op”), my wife asked, pointing to model buildings next to the model Genesee River.
“Well this is Rochester in 1932,” the caretaker said.
“Lawyers Coop existed in 1932,” my wife said. “It’s not here.
I worked at that place 35 years.”
The layout was automated.
Tiny N-scale trolley-cars rocketed between stations at 89 bazilyun scale mph, and suddenly stopped at each station.
“Stop like that,” I said; “and ya throw the passengers out of the seats.”
Next stop was the mighty Calkins Road Weggers in deepest, darkest Henrietta, “The one with that silly clock-tower.”
But not without observing old Regional Transit bus #815 in a compound.
815 was a GM model “RTS” bus, wide-bodied (102 inches), with a turbocharged 6-92 V6 motor, 92 cubic inches per cylinder.
GM also sold the RTS at eight feet wide, 96 inches.
“I bet we drove that old turkey hundreds of times,” I said to Teddy Dunn.
815 was down on the ground, as dead buses always are.
The suspension is air bellows, and they leak down when the bus isn’t running.
The door was open, so I climbed aboard.
Dusty tan plastic; what I was always greeted with.
“You should get in the driver-seat,” our tour-guide said. “Little kids always do.”
We were supposed to convoy to Weggers, but retired bus-drivers don’t convoy.
I think many went directly home.
Only a few did the Weggers lunch.
We were supposed to get Alumni dollar coupons, so I asked Randisi.
He was passing out dollar-bills; cash. The food coupons.
Wegmans has a restaurant inside, its “Market Cafe.”
It’s a buffet with 89 bazilyun offerings. They sell food by the pound.
$8.61 for too much pulled-pork, and a side of macaroni and cheese.
That’s a fortune. No idea what the cost will be until you check out.
Would I recommend the train-ride?
I’ve wanted to do it for years; ever since the Rochester Chapter put up that trolley-wire.
Track speeders are a bit off-the-wall; what if it rains?
Track speeders are not a real railroad.
I rode that Lionel set years ago, and was surprised at how rudimentary that railroad was.
But it wasn’t the Arcade & Attica, which is in a creek-bed.
It’s not a commercial enterprise. The railroad went up hill and down dale. They couldn’t do extensive cuts and fills.
The grade out of Industry is incredibly steep.
But it’s a railroad.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• “Industry” is small rural town south of Rochester; the location of a reform school.
• The “Genesee River” is a fairly large river that runs south-to-north across Western New York, runs through Rochester, including over falls, and empties into Lake Ontario.
• “Lakeville” is a small town at the north end of Conesus (“kuh-NEE-shis”) Lake, a tiny Finger Lake in Western, NY. (The “Finger Lakes” are a series of long north-south glacier-formed lakes, that appear to have been formed by a large hand imprinted in the terrain.) —Livonia and Avon are rural towns south of Industry. The original Erie Rochester branch went southeast from Avon to Livonia.
• RE: “Section-crews for maintaining track....” —The track-maintainers maintained a section of track.
• “N-gauge” is a model railroad scaled to 1:148 scale with 9 mm between the rails. “HO-gauge” is about 1:87.086 with 16.5 mm between the rails (half 0-gauge). —N is quite a bit smaller than HO, which itself is quite small.
• “Lawyers Coop” was a Rochester-based publisher of law books. It has since been bought out by Thomson West.
• “Deepest, darkest Henrietta” is a rather effusive and obnoxious suburb south of Rochester. Calkins Road goes through it.
• “Bellows” are rubber bags filled with air, in place of springs. They are inflated by the same air-pump that operates the air-brakes, and the wipers.
• “Mighty Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. It dominates area grocery stores.
• “Arcade and Attica” are two towns in the southwestern part of NY. The “Arcade & Attica” is a small tourist-line that connects the two. It has restored steam-locomotives, but they’re not superheated. (Superheated is to pipe the steam back through the firebox exhaust flues, to superheat it. Superheat became the norm for railroad steam-engines after about 1910. It’s more efficient.)

Still small voice

Last night (Friday, June 11, 2010) I decided to print a story I had two-thirds finished, so I could review it, and finish it.
Simple; Command-P, print.
I did so — nothing!
I was doing something else, so didn’t notice.
“Well, I guess I gotta see why this thing didn’t print,” I said.
I tried again; Command-P — nothing!
I fired up my printer dialog box.
“Printer offline,” it said.
WHAT?
How come I see a green “on” light at that printer? That printer is on, and connected.
A small voice began ricocheting inside my cranium.
“Have you tried rebooting yet?”
It was Dan Gnagy (“NAGG-eee”), the techno-maven at the Mighty Mezz during my employ, parrying one of my fevered phonecalls about some fetid computer mystery.
“Have you tried rebooting yet?” he would solemnly intone.
I’ve driven OS-X at least four years, and have never had to reboot.
Well, a few times early-on, but that was force-of-habit.
With OS-X you can Force-Quit a hung computer application instead of rebooting.
“Okay, let’s shut everything down and start over,” my wife said.
A total reboot, first time in eons. I couldn’t see a means of Force-Quitting the printing function.
Computer rebooted I tried again; Command-P.
Click-whirr.
The little dear is printing.
“Have you tried rebooting yet?”

• The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• “OS-X” (or OSX) is the current Apple Computer operating-system; I drive an Apple Macintosh.
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.” She retired as a computer programmer.

Staples, that was easy

That’s what their ad says.
.......Well, I beg to differ.
“Staples, that was a struggle.”
My fantabulous Epson 1280 photo-quality inkjet printer was running out of ink cartridges.
The color ran out recently, and the black runs out maybe four times a year.
I needed to get replacement inkjet cartridges, which have to be Epson, since I tried non-Epson a while ago, and they were awful.
—What did they do? Fill their black cartridges with green ink?
So I figured I’d try Staples; seems I had before.
I cranked “Staples” into my Froogle-search — a mistake. I got stapler supplies.
“Staples” into Basic Search. There it is: “Staples.com.”
Fire it up.
Crank cartridge number into search-window: T007.
“No results; try again.”
WHA.....
I see “printer supplies;” I try that.
“Brand name?”
“Epson.”
89 bazilyun Epson printers are presented in a giant list.
Poke through list, find 1280.
Bam!
The two inkjet cartridges for this are T007201 (black) and T009201 (color).
“Add-to-cart; proceed to checkout.
Log in for easy checkout.”
I do so.
Error message!
“Your log-in has invalid characters — try again.”
What makes them invalid? No explanation.
I lower-case everything.
“Your log-in has invalid characters — try again.”
“You’re not helping me!” I say.
Okay; check out as “guest.”
“You entered the catch-phrase incorrectly — try again.”
“I thought I did it right,” I said.
“All these letters are lower-case.”
I try a third time, and this time it works.
Woops! Error message.
“You failed to enter your credit-card information.”
Oh, a wrestling-match, eh?
This is better than going to a Staples store, where I take the cartridges out of stock and check out?
Admitted, online ordering saved me a motor-trip, but “Staples, that was a struggle.”

• “Froogle” is, or was, a product-search affiliation of Google.

Anomaly alert!

“Why in the world is this thing recording?” I asked, as I returned from walking our dog.
It was 8:30 p.m., and our VCR was recording “The Bachelorette” (thrill).
Constant readers of this here blog, if there are any at all, know I had to completely reprogram our VCR after a thunderstorm knocked out our electricity.
It had lost all its settings.
Stop recording “The Bachelorette;” begin 20-minute search for recording program.
I program to record the nightly TV News, 5:58 to 7 p.m. every day.
WHOA!
Mon-Fri is begin at 7:58 p.m.
How did that happen?
I distinctly remember setting it to 5:58 p.m.
ANOMALY ALERT!
Edit entry.
Reset to 5:58 — couldn’t find a delete button.
Successfully changed back to 5:58 p.m.; we’ll see if it records the news.
Last night (Monday, June 7, 2010) it didn’t.

Ain’t technology wonderful?

The other night (Friday, June 4 into Saturday morning, June 5, 2010) a thunderstorm rolled through about 1 A.M.
As is customary out here in the country, it zapped our electricity.
Long enough for our standby generator to kick on.
Our standby is powered by natural gas, and ticks off 20 seconds before kicking on.
It also zapped all our clocks; the ones powered by house current, our microwave and the stove.
It’s that 20-second delay.
“Uh-oh,” I said as I sat down to eat breakfast.
“Looks like our VCR is dead. It’s not telling time.”
I eat at the same table our TV and VCR are on — actually it’s a combination DVR/VCR and DVD player.
I get my time from this here computer, which gets its time from the Nist time-server.
Nist time is something the computer-guru at the mighty Mezz showed me how to set up long ago.
We put Nist time on my work computer at the Messenger, and I thereafter put it on my home computer.
I could use Apple’s time-server, but it seems about 20 seconds ahead of Nist time.
Our cellphones get satellite time, which I think is Nist time.
Our bedroom clock is getting satellite time.
It updates automatically.
So what I do is set my digital watch per this computer, and then reset everything else.
So much for battery-backup of all my VCR settings, as promised by the salesman.
Maybe it only dumped the clock, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
VCR on, I reset the clock first, then looked at my recording program.
Nothing was in there.
I had previously set up the VCR to record from 5:58 until 7 P.M. every weekday, also Saturday and Sunday.
The TV news; all we ever watch.
I had to do everything again.
Next was a channel-scan; just in case.
The VCR scans the cable input for TV channels.
I had reset everything before, except the channel-scan, and it didn’t record anything.
The VCR is machine number five.
There have been four previous VCRs.
The first two apparently had battery backup, so if the electricity tanked, settings weren’t lost.
This machine, and the two previous, lose everything with the slightest power failure.
PROGRESS, I’m told.

• RE: “Out here in the country......” —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city east of where we live. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• RE: “Apple’s time-server........” —My computer is an Apple Macintosh “MacBook Pro” laptop. Previous computers were also Apple Macintosh. All came with Apple’s time-server; and I changed all to Nist.
• Our “cable input” is Time Warner; also our Internet.
• I think “Nist” stands for National Institute of Standards.

Once you play a Steinway Model-D, everything else is junk

Yrs trly has nine years of classical piano training.
It was arduous and difficult. but worthwhile.
Most difficult were 32nd note arpeggios, and Clementi pieces.
I became fairly good at it, so that by age-14 I was my piano-teacher’s number-two student.
I played Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumble-Bee,” and my crowning achievement was Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” a piano arrangement thereof.
It was extremely difficult, heavy with syncopation.
An earlier piano-teacher was a task-master; she loved getting tears.
She dreamed of turning me into a Billy Graham pianist; glorious improvised chords and sweeping glissandos.
Flourish!
But I found myself hornswoggled by Jerry Lee Lewis — boogie-woogie piano.
He too did glissandos, which I found painfully abusive.
I lost interest as I got older.
In high-school I was directed toward alto saxophone, in the marching and concert bands.
For a while I was first-chair saxophone; a joke, since I hated practice drills.
I joined a rock-’n’-roll band in my senior year, and pretty much led it.
I was setting the beat with my boogie-woogie piano riffs, and could do just about anything if it was in the key of “F.”
We also played jazz.
I got so I could play Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” and “Unsquare Dance.”
We had a really good drummer, and trumpeter — both excellent improvisors, which I wasn’t.
Later came college, nearby Houghton College (“HO-tin,” as on “oh”).
I lost interest in my saxophone, and put it aside.
Houghton was also a classical music school, and it had two Steinway Model D concert grand pianos.
One was semi-retired to a practice-room; it supposedly had a broken sound board.
But it sounded fine to me.
The other was their premier concert piano, on the stage of the auditorium.
Most times I played the one with the broken sound board, but occasionally I snuck time on the stage piano.
The Model D is Steinway’s premier concert-grand, the one Rubinstein plays.
Incredibly responsive.
Caress the keys, and it plays softly. Play hard and it plays stridently.
Once you play a Model-D, everything else is junk.
Plus both Houghton pianos were in tune.
What a piano! I was smitten.
“Green Onions” and “Take Five” in ringing renditions.
Also “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring” segued into “Louis-LouEye.”
During high-school I played various pianos.
One was a Steinway baby-grand at a country-club; a second was a Baldwin concert-grand at another country-club.
The Baldwin was wooden and dead.
The baby-grand was better; but not a Model D.
I measured a Steinway Model D before building our house; idea being to make our rec-room large enough to swallow a Model D.
Dreaming!
A Model D is a Ferrari — $100,000 or more.
That was at the old Joseph Hale store in Country Club Plaza.
They had other pianos there; e.g. a Steinway baby-grand, also a Yamaha baby-grand.
No Model Ds.
The Steinway was dead; the Yamaha much better.
But still not a Model D.
Too many fragrant memories of the Model Ds in college.
Sadly, my ability playing piano seems to have been compromised by my stroke.
And I haven’t tried much since college — that’s 40+ years ago.
But sheet-music is waiting in a bureau-drawer; Gershwin’s “Preludes for Piano.”

• Muzio Clementi.
• Evangelist “Billy Graham.”
• Houghton College in western New York is from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it, although I graduated as a Ne’er-do-Well, without their blessing. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college.
• “Country Club Plaza” is a small shopping-plaza east of Rochester.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.