Monthly Calendar Report for August, 2012

The snag of a lifetime! (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

—Here it is! The snag of a lifetime.
The August 2012 entry of my own calendar is two Norfolk Southern freight-trains face-to-face near the Tipton (PA) grade-crossing.
Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”), the guy I chase trains with in the Altoona area, had parked at the Tipton grade-crossing. An eastbound was coming.
I walked south along the right-of-way, and was about 100 yards south of the grade-crossing.
Phil was still at the grade-crossing.
The eastbound hove into view; it was approaching slowly.
I heard Phil shout: “Hey Bob, look at this!”
Behind me a westbound was quickly approaching.
We were gonna get a double. “Double” meaning two trains at once.
“I ain’t missin’ this,” I thought to myself. “The snag of the century.”
I set up looking west at the approaching eastbound.
Now, let the westbound appear. Wait for it. Let it appear in the picture-frame.
BAM! Got it!
The snag of the century.
Never again in a million years will I repeat this.
Two trains perfectly positioned, face-to-face.

Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.

Double at Brickyard.

Often I can get a second train passing another already partially past.
But two head-ends face-to-face is the snag of a lifetime.
Tipton is not actually Allegheny Crossing.
It’s the Pennsylvania Railroad’s final ascent to Altoona and the Allegheny mountains to the west.
The grade is easy enough to not require helper-locomotives.
West of Altoona we get The Hill over Allegheny ridge.
The railroad through Tipton is no longer Pennsy’s great “Broad Way.”
Only three tracks remain, and the one next to the eastbound is now a controlled siding, not a main track.




Flying Fortress. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—What we have here is a great photograph of a middling, though famous, airplane.
The August 2012 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a Boeing B-17G Flying Fortress.
Press-guys named it the “Flying Fortress” during an early demonstration flight because it had so many machine-guns defending it.
But that chin-turret below the bombardier’s post is a later add-on.
B-17s were defenseless against frontal attack.
Enemy fighter-planes would attack from the front, and shoot the B-17s out of the sky.
Shoot down a B-17 and you’re losing a crew of nine or 10.
The prototype B-17 first flew in 1935 — a 1930s airplane.
The Army Air Corps (no Air Force yet) was impressed because it was so much faster for the time.
Development continued even though the prototype crashed.
When WWII broke out the B-17 was available as a heavy bomber.
But it was a slow turkey. German fighters, much faster and more agile, could easily shoot it from the sky.
All its machine-gun defense didn’t amount to much.
Early losses were catastrophic.
The B-17s got self-sealing fuel-tanks, and more armor.
But still losses were catastrophic.
It was determined the B-17s weren’t very good at fending off frontal attack.
Hence, the B-17G as pictured.
It has a machine-gun turret under the bombardier-post, the chin turret.
When fighter-planes attacked from the front, they could be blasted with machine-gun fire.
This helped the B-17 some, but it was still a sitting duck.
I saw a B-17 flying once.
It was slow.
Fighter-planes could have run circles around it.
Its machine-gun defenses would have been pot-shots.
Nevertheless, hundreds were used for heavy bombing runs into Germany. From England they had the range.
In fact, at first they had more range than accompanying fighters.
They were fighter-less over Germany, easy pickings for Messerschmitts.
It was not until the P-51 Mustang they could do a bombing-run with fighters along.
The Mustang had the range.
Plus the P-51 was superior to the Messerschmitt.

A YB-17.

Early B-17s had a different vertical control surface (rudder) at the tail than what came into use later.
It was more like a sail; it lacked the long curved leading edge.
The B-17 had four 1,200-hp Wright R-1820-97 Cyclone turbocharged radial piston engines, and a cruising-speed of 182 miles-per-hour.
Its ceiling was 35,800 feet (astounding), and it had a range of 2,000 miles with a 6,000 pound bomb load.
But it was a turkey.
The image of flying a B-17 bombing-run is heroic, but I’m no longer so inclined.
They were sitting ducks!
13 are still airworthy, one a “ “Memphis Belle” clone (from the movie) at 1941 Historical-Aircraft Group in nearby Geneseo.



One of the greatest styling-jobs ever.

—Usually I try to interleaf my train-calendar pictures so they aren’t right next to each other.
But I can’t this time.
The August 2012 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is one of the greatest styling-jobs ever.
“Old Henry,” Henry Ford, founder of Ford Motor Company, felt styling was stupid.
What mattered was function, that a car reliably deal with difficult highway conditions.
Old Henry was essentially a farmer. He had farmer values.
Styling didn’t matter, except to the car-buying public.
Ford Motor Company didn’t have a styling-department, like General Motors’ Art & Colour Section, set up by Harley Earl.
The General saw that styling sold cars, so made a huge effort to make its cars attractive.
Ford played second-fiddle, yet managed to manufacture some of the greatest styling efforts ever.
For example the Model A, the ’32 Ford, and this ’40 Ford five-window coupe pictured.
The Model A and the ’32 Ford are the influence of Edsel Ford, only son of Old Henry. Edsel had to endure put-down from his father, yet made the Model A and the ’32 Ford two of the prettiest cars ever.
They have the lines of a Lincoln. Grand-looking proportions and style.

The Buick Y-Job.

In 1938 General Motors Art & Colour Section presented the Buick Y-Job, the first concept-car ever.
It was immensely attractive, and set styling for GM cars throughout the ‘40s.
Apparently the Y-Job still exists. It was never scrapped, and made its way to GM’s Heritage-Center.
Ford Motor Company didn’t have a styling department comparable to GM’s Art & Colour Section.
Yet it fielded some of the best-looking cars ever.
Ford was essentially E.T. (“Bob”) Gregorie, hired by Edsel in 1932; working against Old Henry.
Gregorie can take credit for this gorgeous five-window coupe.
“Five-window” because it has five windows beside the windshield, that is it includes small side-windows behind the doors.
Actually it has six, since the rear-window is double.

1941 Willys three-window coupe. (Actually four windows. The rear-window is double.)

A ‘39 Ford five-window coupe.

A three-window coupe doesn’t have the windows behind the doors.
Ford built three-window coupes earlier, but by 1940 were no longer building them. Although Willys was.
The calendar-car pictured is a ’40 Ford. But its body goes back a few years, first introduced in 1938 (or ’37).
The best-looking version of this car is 1939.
It doesn’t have the busy grill of the 1940 model.
The Deluxe 1939 model was the Standard 1940 model. The calendar-car pictured is a 1940 Deluxe.
I saw one of these things in south Jersey once; it was painted a light metallic green.
Its owner had just driven it home from a show.
He had wrenched in a 350-Chevy SmallBlock with air-conditioning.
The car was attractive, but a bit cramped.
People seem to have got bigger since 1940. —This was 1990.
I also remember a black five-window up on cinder-blocks near my family’s house in northern DE.
The entire front-clip had been removed, and the car’s front-end frame-stubs were under a tarp.
Supposedly the owner was waiting for an Oldsmobile V8 to install. —This was about 1960.




Norfolk Southern merchandise-freight waits in a siding on the Crescent Corridor in VA. (Photo by Marc Hoecker.)

—The August 2012 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is a nice photograph, but not nice enough to be ahead of that ’40 Ford five-window coupe.
Looking at that cloud-strewn sky in this picture reminds of my train-chases with Phil Faudi.
My most recent train-chase is a sterling example.
Not a cloud in the sky at first, fabulous light.
Then it started to cloud up, and later it thunder-stormed with almighty deluges.
Which is sorta what we see here. The sky has clouded up, but the sun broke through to illuminate the train.
And the photographer caught it.
I’d look skyward, the sun was out, but a cloud was fast approaching.
A train was coming, but wasn’t in sight yet.
Would it beat the cloud or wouldn’t it?
This train is waiting on a siding in VA on the Crescent Corridor for another train to pass.
It helps it’s waiting — for the sun to illuminate it between clouds.
The picture is a relief from the old Pennsy, now Norfolk Southern, that scores so many photographs in this calendar.

Photo by Rich Borkowski.

Norfolk Southern Stacker west over the old Pennsy stone-arch viaduct in Duncannon.

For example, last month’s photograph of a westbound Norfolk Southern stacker crossing the old Pennsy stone-arch viaduct in Duncannon (“done-cannon”) in the Susquehanna (“suss-kwe-HAH-nuh”) river valley north of Harrisburg, PA.
It’s a great photograph, but it’s old Pennsy.
Hundreds of photographs of Norfolk Southern trains on the old Pennsy have been in this calendar.
Norfolk Southern is benefitting from purchase and merger of the old Pennsy from Conrail. CSX has the old New York Central across New York state.
The “Crescent Corridor” is a joint effort of governments and the railroad to improve an old railroad route that parallels Interstate-81.
The railroad was sort of moribund, but could take heavy trucks off Interstate-81.
But to do so the railroad needed to be improved.
Governments and the railroad came together to make those improvements.
The siding the train is in is one of those improvements.
Those improvements allow higher train-frequency, and had to be added.
The “Crescent Corridor,” named after the old “Southern Crescent” passenger-train, goes far into the Deep South, leaving Interstate-81 behind.
It goes all the way to New Orleans.
The Crescent Corridor is fairly busy, but not as busy as the old Pennsy main (now Norfolk Southern) across PA.
But heavy trucking gravitates toward the Crescent Corridor.
The trailers end up as freight-containers on trains.
The Corridor is taking trucks off Interstate-81.
It’s investment well spent.




1970 Dodge Charger. (Peter Harholdt©.)

—The August 2012 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is another Harholdt side-elevation.
But it looks pretty good, since to me, by far, the best-looking musclecar ever is the Dodge Charger.

A ’70.

A ’69.

A ’66.

But this is a ’70, and I think the ’68-’69 looks better.
The ’70 has a chrome grill-surround the ’69 doesn’t have, and the Charger doesn’t need.
The later Chargers have fabulous styling.
Early Chargers were just a fastback roof grafted onto a Dodge Coronet intermediate.
But for 1968, they got it right!
Flying buttresses mimicked the fastback look, but the rear-window was inset.
Except a version for NASCAR, which actually made the car a fastback.
No doubt about it, the Charger looked fast.
General Motors musclecars might have been slightly better, but looked plain compared to a Charger.
The color of this car is dramatic; and I don’t remember it. Dramatic to look at, but I prefer dark green.
Too bad it’s a ’70. It has that silly chrome grille surround, which is insignificant in this picture, but there.
The car is also a Six-Pack, three two-barrel carburetors on a 440 Wedge.
Were it a ’69, I’d find it desirable.




The greatest railroad locomotive of all time. (Photo courtesy Bob’s Photo©.)

—Anyone who follows this blog knows I consider the GG1 (“Jee-Jee-ONE;” I only say that because a friend was mispronouncing it “Jee-Jee-Eye”) the greatest railroad locomotive of all time.
The August 2012 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is a GG1 pulling an express passenger-train southward on the Pennsylvania Railroad’s New York -to-Washington DC electrified line just south of Philadelphia’s massive 30th Street station.
The line is now Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor, upgraded to allow even higher speeds than Pennsy did, but still on the original alignment.
The Northeast Corridor is America’s supposed high-speed railroad, but restrictions are still in place that limit speeds to only 40 mph; for example Zoo-tower interlocking north of 30th Street, and the ancient tunnels through Baltimore.
The Corridor was extended to Boston, but entry into New York City is still “the Tubes” under the Hudson River finished in 1910.
The original Tubes are small, and won’t clear some Amtrak equipment, for example its double-deck cars.
They also can’t pass freightcars.
The “G” was incredible.
It could put 9,000 horsepower to railhead on short-term overload.
A recent General Electric Dash 9-44CW diesel can put 4,400 horsepower to railhead.
That 9,000 horsepower was great for blasting a train out of a station.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Our train back to Wilmington at 30th Street (behind the switcher).

In 1959 I rode a GG1-powered Pennsy passenger-train from 30th Street to Wilmington, DE, where I lived at that time.
Put the hammer down!
Within minutes we were up to 80 mph, soon cruising at near 100.
Our train was long and fairly heavy, but not much to our GG1.
And we weren’t being driven by a wild cowboy, pedal-to-the-metal exhibitionists that sometimes piloted trains.
What our GG1 was doing was very much standard practice.
A GG1 could blast a passenger-train out of a station.
Crews loved the GG1.
Once a fan rode along as a GG1 brought his train into Harrisburg station, where electrification ended.
There the GG1 would be replaced by four EMD (General Motors Electromotive Division) E-unit passenger diesels, the equivalent of that single GG1.
The GG1 engineer poo-pooed the E-units. What a drag to have to replace that G-motor, which was fabulous, with those sorry things.
The GG1 engineer’s comment was why would the railroad want to change out a GG1 when it was such a good locomotive?
Of course, the railroad wasn’t electrified west of Harrisburg, although the railroad considered it.
And west of Harrisburg begins mountain railroad, uphill via slight river-grade all the way to Altoona, and then the Allegheny mountains.
Electrification was great for mountain railroading, but maintenance-intensive and costly to install.
The GG1 pictured, #4925, is no longer in its Raymond Loewy-inspired cat-whisker paint-scheme, five gold pin-stripes.
It’s the less-costly single-stripe paint-scheme with its big red keystone thought to inspire brand-identity.
I, for one, don’t think the single-stripe scheme was that bad. It followed the same lines laid down by Loewy.
Looking at this picture I notice the hose-encased chains in front of the front door are misaligned.
I always abhor that.
If I were the motorman, I’d go up front and align the chains.
Order out of chaos! It’s the artist in me.




Tea-pot ready-to-roll. (Photo by Fred Kern.)

—Another Fred Kern photograph.

Photo by Fred Kern.

Last month’s calendar-picture.

Seems a lot of Fred Kern photographs run in this calendar.
Last month (at left) was Fred Kern. Next month will be Fred Kern.
The August 2012 entry of my AII-Pennsy color calendar is an H-9 Consolidation (2-8-0) just serviced at Lewistown, PA in 1953.
The Pennsylvania Railroad was essentially the 2-8-0 Consolidation steam-locomotive.
At one point they had 3,335 in service.
Pennsy had a number of Consolidation designs in service over the years. The H-9 is a later iteration.
Earlier Consols were smaller, and go clear back to the 1800s.
If pulling-power had to be increased to conquer mountains, Pennsy would just multiple the engines.
They could afford multiple crews.
Steam-locomotives can’t be multipled like diesels. Each locomotive has to have a crew. This is especially true of firing.
Each locomotive had to be fired specifically, and operated specifically. You couldn’t just M-U a steam-locomotive.
Other railroads went with multiple driver-sets under a single boiler: articulateds. (Called that because the front-driver-set was hinged, and could swing side-to-side.)
That way a single crew could operate the increased power of multiple driver-sets, although usually the most you saw was two.
Erie tried three driver-sets under a single boiler, but it would run out of steam.
Pennsy never got into articulation. They felt such locomotives were costly to maintain.
They also could afford multiple crewing. Most railroads couldn’t, so they went with articulation.
Pennsy also used Consols for switching. They designed a dedicated 0-8-0 switcher, but never manufactured it in quantity.
Consols got downgraded to switcher-service.
Pennsy built 0-4-0s and 0-6-0s for smaller dedicated switcher-service, but large switcher-service went to Consols (2-8-0).
The H-9 is one of a series of Consols that started with the H-8. The H-10 was the final iteration.
The H-8 was a redesign of the H-6 with a larger boiler.
That boiler was standard, and used on other wheel-arrangements.

A Pennsy E-6 Atlantic.

That boiler was also used on the E-6 Atlantic, 4-4-2, and was rather large for an Atlantic.
Pennsy abhorred additional driver-axles, so maximized the 4-4-2 layout.
Although, of course, Pacifics (4-6-2) came to Pennsy, the K-2 and then the famous K-4.
Pennsy was also maximizing the Consolidation layout instead of doing a Decapod layout: 2-10-0.

A Pennsy Decapod, shorn of its boiler-jacketing and piston-rods. (The only one not scrapped.)

Although Pennsy eventually did a Decapod, their massive “Hippo.”
(Called that by the crews because they were so large for their time.)
The later Consols were mainly shufflers, and Pennsy did a lot of shuffling. Trundling short local-freights out to work industrial sidings.
I remember this from my youth.
A short local-freight would be sent out to Haddonfield (NJ; “HAH-din-FIELD”) to shunt cars into and out of industrial sidings.
A single Consol might be good for 10-20 cars.
It’s what you see in this photograph, although I suspect the locomotive pictured is a switcher, or could be used to work a local-freight.

All the way up from northern DE

My brother Bill and his wife Sue drove all the way up here from their home in northern DE.
That’s at least 360 miles, maybe slightly more.
They encountered a horrendous traffic-jam driving up here. A trip which normally takes a little over six hours took seven-and-a-half.
Google, or MapQuest, whatever, says five hours his house to mine.
But obviously that’s not factoring in gas-stops, food stops or bathroom stops.
Nor are they factoring in parking-lot traffic-jams.
A few months ago I made the same trip (in reverse) to northern DE to attend a wedding.
My route went around Philadelphia on a Friday night. All the roads around Philadelphia were plugged solid, plus there were construction jam-ups farther north.
Help the grief-stricken widower (me), and check on him. Keep him company.
My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer over three months ago. She was 68. I miss her dearly.
I doubt they met who they hoped they might meet, a confident guy in full command of his faculties,
Instead I’m devastated and heartbroken, way more than I expected to be. A hollow shell of my former self. I barely exist!
My condition became apparent as soon as they showed up. I started crying.
They came directly to my house instead of Baker Park in Canandaigua to walk my dog. It was raining lightly.
My brother Bill, who’s 14 years younger than me (I’m the oldest), probably has the best understanding of my condition, although not by much.
All my siblings have a pretty good understanding of my condition, but my brother Bill’s brother-in-law lost his wife of 33 years in a motorcycle accident.
My brother says his brother-in-law’s grief lasted two years, that his eyes were always teary.
I hope I don’t need to expect two years of grief, but it might be that. In fact, it might go longer.
Right now it seems like it will never end.
I’m okay at bedtime, but have an awful time in the morning.
At first we thought we’d take the dog to Baker Park. It was raining, but not very hard. A walk seemed doable.
But we only made it two times around instead of four. (The dog and I usually do four circuits.)
Time was moving quickly, and we wanted to make pizza back home.
This would involve hitting a supermarket for pizza fixings.
That would gobble 30-45 minutes, and making the pizza back home might take an hour.
My brother wanted to depart for home about 4, driving about half-way, then stopping for the night.
At the supermarket I was surprised how confident Sue was, and I’m not.
She asked a store-employee where the pizza-fixings were.
I can’t do that! (At least not currently.) No confidence at all. It seems to have been vaporized by my grief.
We found a pre-made pizza-crust, but then found better.
Sue set crust number-one aside where some clerk would find it. Again, I can’t currently do that.
I probably could before my wife died, but that disappeared.
Back home we set about preparing our homemade pizza.
In these situations I find myself executing the cleanliness and orderliness standards of my wife.
This happened last weekend when my friends were here to make tuna-fish casserole and spaghetti.
Probably the reason my house is not a mess (laundry and dishes piling up) is I’m being my wife.
I’m even making the bed. It’s just I feel awful.
An honest answer to the “How am I doing” question would be “concerning responsibilities, fine. But otherwise I feel terrible.”
While here my brother recounted the Kübler-Ross five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
“I don’t expect anger or bargaining,” I said. “I seem locked in depression.
And sometimes I feel she’ll eventually return.”
“That’s denial,” he said. “It lasts a week or two.”
“Her death was factually obvious, but I couldn’t assimilate it,” I said.
“Then came a phase where nothing made sense, similar to a phase after my stroke.
That lasted a few weeks, but now things make sense. I just feel awful.”
“Keep going to that grief-share,” he said; “and things will eventually work out.
And stay in contact with your friends, especially that doggie-daycare guy,” who my brother met.
The doggie-daycare guy is probably my best contact with the real world; a person that seems to understand where I’m at, as opposed to all those that don’t.
“And if you need help, just call me,” my brother said.
“I have no idea what help is,” I said.
“Even if it’s just someone to talk to. Perhaps I could call every Sunday.”
“3 p.m.,” I said. “2 p.m. I call Linda’s mother.”
My brother called yesterday (Sunday, July 29) about 3:25. He was still driving home from his previous night’s stop.
“How ya doin’?” he asked.
The question I always dread.
The socially responsible answer is “fine,” but I feel awful.

• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where I 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 14 miles away. —Baker Park is a city-park therein, where I walk my dog. The park’s main feature is large athletic-fields, like soccer and baseball. I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• A dog-groomer in Canandaigua daycares my dog while I work out at the nearby YMCA. — I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named their “Wellness-Center,” usually two-three days per week, about two-three hours per visit.
• My wife’s name was “Linda.”

The new normal

My grief-share talks about attaining “the new normal.” Normality since my wife died.
I guess that’s what’s happening, though messy.
I do laundry and fold clothes, feed myself, do and put away dishes (a dishwasher), and make my bed every day.
These are things my wife used to do.
But it can get messy, especially feeding myself.
Preparing my meals is scattershot.
Last night (Thursday, July 26) I forgot to turn on the oven even though I set the oven-timer. —An additional hour got blown doing everything over.
For the moment my “normal” is tiny.
I barely exist. I feel I can’t get sick, nor my dog.
Problems got fielded, but they were very depressing and mind-blowing.
My landline quit, and my lawnmower gave me problems during May, when mowing is extreme.
Infernal Revenue notified me I owed them $23,000!
Everything has been fixed, but I was in the ozone doing so.

• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.

Devastated and heartbroken

The other day (Tuesday, July 24, 2012) it looked like I might get through the day without crying.
Yesterday (Thursday, July 26, 2012) it also looked like I might get through the day without crying.
I work out Tuesdays and Thursdays at the Canandaigua YMCA, a distraction from the fact my wife died.
But I ended up crying both days.
Over three months have passed since my wife died.
Relatives are beginning to think I should just get over it, snap out of it.
Can’t be done!
You don’t just push aside 44 years of dedicated marriage, and being so attached.
I’m devastated and heartbroken.
Way more than I expected to be.
I’m told this grief may go on over two years.
At first everything seemed unreal. Things made no sense, similar to right after my stroke.
I was so stunned it seemed like her death hadn’t happened.
I couldn’t assimilate it, even though it was factually obvious.
Now things make sense, although I can still be devastated and heartbroken.
And I still feel she will return some day, despite my being alone over three months.
Me and the dog, that is, although it’s just me and the dog.
The dog is happy I’m still around, but probably wonders what happened to mommy.
And why I cry all the time.
The dog is just one more distraction from my hurt.
Feed the dog, and walk her as much as I can.
But she’s not enough; I still feel devastated and heartbroken.
And so alone, just me and the dog.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named their “Wellness-Center,” usually two-three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I 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 14 miles away. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (as in “Scarlett O’Hara”) a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is our sixth Irish-Setter, a high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder]. By getting a rescue-dog, I avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad.)

Order-Out-of-Chaos!

Ever since my wife died I’ve had to cut out things that required the two of us.
There are certain foods I can no longer eat, like pizza. Pizza required two to make it; I’d make the sauce, and layer on the cheese, and my wife made the crust.
Home-made pizza.
Now I hafta purchase a fully-made frozen pizza at the store, to which I add cheese.
Other foods are spaghetti and tuna-fish casserole.
I could probably make the tuna-fish casserole, it’s not that involved.
I could probably also assemble the spaghetti, but at the moment I’m so distraught I’m not inclined.
It’s not just food-preparation, it’s also photographic jaunts.
I’d man the camera, and my wife had the dog.
Another is running. I’m not about to run with a large dog that might drag me into the woods if she saw a deer.
Bill and Lisa Robinson agreed to come and help me prepare tuna-fish casserole and spaghetti.
Bill and Lisa used to both work at the Messenger newspaper in Canandaigua, my post-stroke employer before I retired.
Lisa was in ad-sales, Bill in Editorial. Bill and I used to work in adjacent cubicles. We did the newspaper’s web-site at that time, Bill at first, then me when I got so I could do it.
At that time the web-site was not what it is now, so complicated I never look at it.
The web-site has gone through numerous iterations since we did it; at least one iteration while we did it.
Lisa quit, and then Bill.
At that time Bill and Lisa weren’t married, but they soon married. It was the second time for Bill; I don’t know about Lisa.
Lisa became a dog-groomer at a local veterinary hospital.
She developed such a large repeat-clientele, she decided to go out on-her-own.
So began Fetching-Looks Pet-Grooming, with Lisa as President, and Bill as her assistant.
Fetching-Looks is right down the street from the Canandaigua YMCA where I work out.
I don’t remember how we started, perhaps Facebook, but I needed a place to daycare my dog to work out at the YMCA.
They daycare my dog, and I have her groomed on occasion.
Bill fronts the store; Lisa does the grooming.
Bill has become my best contact in the grieving-process.
We are old friends who used to work together, so this makes sense.
He accompanied me to a local grief-share at his church, and suggested he could help me make tuna-fish casserole and spaghetti.
So yesterday (Monday, July 23, 2012) Bill and Lisa came to my house to help assemble meals.
They brought along their newborn daughter, Lilly, one year old July 18.
Bill manned the stove, and Lisa tended her daughter.
And so began our frenzied effort to prepare these two meals (which I will apportion into single-servings).
I became Bill’s clean-up man, telling him what to do, and trying to bring order out of chaos.
Bill is not Linda, but that’s okay.
You don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth.
First we did the tuna-fish casserole, then the spaghetti.
Pots and pans were flying.
We were trying to do what Linda and I would have done, but with tuna-fish casserole and spaghetti that’s not hard.
My spaghetti-sauce was already made, and next time I’ll probably use canned spaghetti-sauce.
Everything finished “Is there anything else we could do?” Bill asked.
“Well, we could install a floodlight using my heavy wooden extension-ladder that needs two big strong men.
Linda and I were getting too old to finesse that thing.”
Bill took the ladder and finagled it into position. It had to be set up in an open cellar Bilco-door to reach the light-fixture.
Bulb inserted, we tried it. It fools. It needs a few seconds to illuminate.
It worked; that bulb is finally installed. I’ve had it almost a year.
“What next?” Bill asked.
“The grand tour of the property, the 4.7 acres our dog has to hunt in.”
Quite a bit of the property is fenced with five-foot chain-link, perhaps three acres.
Much of it is reforested; the lot was an old corn-field.
The fence is so the dog won’t run onto the highway.
That done, Bill and Lisa left; everything took perhaps two-three hours.
“What can I say?” I said as they got into their car.
Help an old friend, devastated and heartbroken, that barely exists.
I now have enough meals for three-four months of weekends, plus a floodlight finally installed.

• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named their “Wellness-Center,” usually two-three days per week, about two-three hours per visit.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where I 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 14 miles away. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• My current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is our sixth Irish-Setter, an extremely high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder]. By getting a rescue-dog, I avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad.)

An imperative

Anyone that follows this blog, assuming there are any at all, knows yrs trly purchased a new camera-body Monday, July 9, 2012.
It’s a Nikon D7000, an upgrade of my D100, at least 10 years old, which failed during a train-chase in Altoona, PA.
I considered fixing the D100, but have wanted to upgrade for some time.
Had the D7000 not cost as little as it did, I probably would have fixed the D100.
Since July 9th the D7000 sat on my inside picnic-table, my dining-room table.
Normally I would have tried it as soon as I got it, but since my wife died April 17 I am not awash in confidence. —In fact, I have none at all.
But today, Sunday July 22, I had an excuse to try it.
I was supposed to attend a high-school graduation party for a grandniece, and this could generate a blog.
I try to illustrate such blogs with a photograph, which in this case would require the D7000.


The graduation-party. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Okay, I’ve been there.
I can’t blog it; the muse is quiet ever since Linda died.
What depresses me most about attending these parties is how out-of-it I feel.
I’m off in the ozone — I was like this at a recent wedding I attended.
Relatives I know were there, my sister-an-law Carol, her daughter Debbie, Debbie’s husband Kevin, and Christina, their daughter, my grandniece.
It was at a restaurant; we had a small buffet.
What matters is that I successfully drove the D7000, with flash, which is much like my D100.
There are still things I don’t understand about it, but only in the past year or two did I start getting anywhere with my D100, and that thing is over 10 years old!

• My beloved wife of 44 years (Linda) died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.

“There it is”

....I thought to myself as a black S-10 pickup pulled in front of me making me slam on the brakes.
That was yesterday afternoon, Thursday, July 19.
“My blog-topic for tomorrow.”
My muse has been fairly quiet since my wife died.
I don’t blog often, and I worry about having little to say.
I’m too stunned.
It’s not like before when I seemed swamped with topics.
I had just turned east onto West Avenue in Canandaigua from West Ave. Plaza, and was headed for the intersection with the main north-south drag through Canandaigua, Route 332.
I cruised blithely up the street under the low-clearance railroad-bridge that snags trucks.
The clearance is only 10-feet six-inches.
At the intersection is Canandaigua’s City-Hall, and Ontario County Court House is kitty-corner.
I live in Ontario County; Canandaigua is in Ontario County.
Street-side parking is next to City-Hall on West Ave. The S-10 was headed for that parking.
I waved and gesticulated at the idiot driving the S-10.
He gave me the finger, but stopped to let me go by.
Okay, so the guy misjudged my closing-speed.
Or did he?
I was right on top of him when he started his turn.
Perhaps he hoped I’d stop, but I’m a retired transit-bus driver.
I have experience with idiots. I keep coming.
If he had kept turning, I would have stopped.

• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability.

Is anyone else doing electronic bill-pay?

Am I the only one having my bank pay my bills electronically?
I noticed the confirmation-numbers of my bill-pays last night: 55, 56, 57 and 58.
55 was over a week ago; 56 and 57 were a few days ago, and 58 was last night.
No doubt people are having their payee charge their bank.
I see this option.
“Pay your bill electronically,” trumpets some utility. “Save postage; go green!”
I prefer authorizing the bill-pays myself.
I authorize the bill-pay instead of the payee.
I don’t like the payee doing it.
I’ve seen what can happen.
The payee mistakenly charges your account multiple times, and overdraws your account.
This happened to a friend.
Her college-loan repay started doing multiple charges per month, and overdrew her account.
Her attempt to straighten it out was fraught with much hair-pulling.
Parry a service-center in India, where her representative was more interested in expressing concern than actually fixing things.
“We are truly, truly sorry. Yada-yada-yada!”
Her bank, of course, charged her overdraft penalties.
Get the payee to understand and pay that!
Having the payee charge your bank when your bill comes due, may be more convenient.
But I don’t trust it.
If anyone makes a mistake, it’s me, not the payee.

Alumni News

Photo by BobbaLew.

I miss her dearly.

Today is Tuesday, July 17, 2012.
It’s been three months since my wife died, April 17, 2012, also a Tuesday.
Here I am blogging my wife’s death again.
I can’t help it.
I’m devastated and heartbroken.
Some people want me to get over it, but I can’t.
We were married 44 years. She was the center of my life.
She covered for me when I had my stroke, and covered for me ever since.
I returned this with the rise of her cancer woes.
I became her taxi-driver for medical appointments into Rochester.
She felt she couldn’t meet the challenge.
There were a few Rochester appointments she could do, but her appointments were mostly me.
Especially Strong Hospital, a zoo.
I could do it, so I did.
They didn’t bother me in the least.
I wanted to keep her going.
But the cancer triumphed. We ran out of treatment options.
No more medical appointments, but I miss her dearly.
A month or two ago I informed our college, Houghton College, where we met, my wife had died, Class of ’66.
My intent was to see this announced in the Alumni News.
Yesterday, Monday July 16, my most recent Alumni News arrived, and she wasn’t in there.
I’m not surprised.
Just about every entry in the Alumni News is the death of someone, but we didn’t reflect favorably on the college.
We never had any books published, and we don’t have the financial wherewithal to fund a building.
In fact, they have me as having earned a Doctoral degree, which I won’t explain, except to say it was related to a fund-raising effort.
Houghton is a religious school, except the God they seem to worship is the Almighty Dollar.
And I (we) had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to notice this.
So therefore my wife’s passing is not announced, although I think perhaps other factors contributed to this slight.
Like my message was left voicemail.
But anybody and everybody seemed worthy of mention.
Where’s my wife? She certainly was important to me.
But apparently not to the college.
I won’t make an issue of it.
This is almost as bad as the Facebook bit.
Both my wife and my sister, who died last December, still have their Facebooks.
And Facebook refuses to pull the plug without a Death Certificate.
They can just stuff it! They ain’t gettin’ no Death Certificate.
Go cry in your bazilyuns, Suckerberg.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.

“You people are very brave”

“And so the brave widower saunters toward his car to return to his big empty house with naught but his faithful dog to accompany him.”
So I said yesterday (Saturday, July 14, 2012) to the guy who helps daycare my dog as I left his grooming-shop with my dog.
This guy, like me, is an ex-employee of the Canandaigua Daily Messenger newspaper. We used to do the newspaper’s web-site. We worked in adjacent cubicles.
His wife-to-be, Lisa Schall, also worked at that newspaper, but in ad-sales. My friend was an editor.
Lisa and my friend married. My friend is Bill Robinson.
It was Bill’s second marriage; I don’t know about Lisa.
Lisa developed such a large clientele as a groomer at the veterinary hospital she began working at, Lisa and Bill decided to go out on their own, Fetching-Looks Pet Grooming in nearby Canandaigua.
Lisa is president, and Bill her assistant.
Lisa does the clipping, and Bill fronts the store among other duties.
I don’t remember how it started, perhaps via Facebook, but now Fetching-Looks does my doggie-daycare while I work out at the Canandaigua YMCA.
They’re not far from the YMCA; only a minute or two.
So here I am again blogging my wife’s death.
People want me to get over it, but I can’t.
July 17 will be three months since my wife died.
I’m still devastated and heartbroken. I cry often.
I also feel very alone. Here in this big empty house I barely exist. I’m told it’s an attempt to exert control by minimizing my world.
Bill made a comment at this grief-share I attended the other day. In fact, it was Bill’s suggestion I attend this grief-share. He accompanied me to it.
“You people are very brave,” he said.
“Quite often when a tragedy of this magnitude occurs, the injured party just goes in their house, locks all the doors, and closes the shades.”
He said this at Fetching-Looks yesterday after I made my “brave widower” comment.
“I can’t do that,” I said.
“If I did, I’d just get hyper depressed. I get depressed enough already.”
“Yeah, you’re out there doing things. Trying to live a normal life despite your incredible circumstances.
To me that’s brave.”

• My current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is our sixth Irish-Setter, an extremely high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder]. By getting a rescue-dog, I avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad.)
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named their “Wellness-Center,” usually two-three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I 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 14 miles away. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.

New camera

Anyone who reads this blog knows that my recent train-chase in Altoona was a disaster.
It seemed anything that could go wrong, went wrong.
My beloved Nikon D100 digital camera, at least 10 years old, went dark.
That is, the image in the viewfinder went dark, finally completely dark. Plus the image-files recorded on the memory-chip also went dark.
Here I am 280 miles from my camera-store with -a) a defective camera, or -b) I inadvertently hit a magic button.
We borrowed the camera of my bed-and-breakfast’s proprietor, but it too went defective, or so it seemed.
Whatever, I was no longer able to take photos with it.
Plus it started thunder-storming.
Light that morning had been fabulous; not a cloud in the sky.
But then my camera went dark, and it started to cloud up.
As the day progressed we were dodging deluges; the clouds turned into thunderstorms.
I remember shooting from under a highway overpass to avoid a deluge, except by then my borrowed camera had also failed.
So back home I took my suspect camera back to where I bought it, but they too had failed. They were outta business.
A photographer friend recommended Rowe Photographic, a place I previously avoided.
They were too successful, but they were all that was left.
Rowe said repair of my D100 might cost $400.
For some time I’ve been considering an upgrade, except my D100 did very well.
Nikon marketed a series of upgrades to the D100, the D200, the D300, the D3000, and now the D7000. (There might have been others.)
It’s still pretty much the same camera, with more resolution in the sensor, and a much larger image-display.
Now, with my suspect D100, I had an excuse to consider upgrade.
So the other day, Monday July 9, long past my D100 failing, I went to Rowe Photographic.
“Before I start, there are two things you should know,” I said.
“First, I had a stroke long ago, so I might have to ask you to repeat things to make sense of what you said.
Secondly, my wife died a few months ago, so I might just all-of-a-sudden start crying.”
I then explained my D100 failing.
“But I’ve always wanted to upgrade,” I added.
“But any upgrade has to be similar to my D100, and it would just be a camera-body. It has to accommodate all my lenses.” I had my lenses with me. I only have three: a normal, a wide-angle, and a strong telephoto. They are all zoomers.
I hemmed and I hawed, asking stupid questions.
Finally I asked about damages, what a new body would cost.
“$1,079, no trade.
We’ll never be able to sell a D100, and it needs repair.”
“Let’s do it!” I said.
“I was expecting you to say $3,000 or more,” I added.
“For $3,000 I woulda just fixed my D100.
$1,079 is a good price.”
“Right,” the salesman said. “It’s a win-win situation. The prices of cameras are coming down, but the cameras keep getting better.”
All my lenses fit the D7000. About the only difference is the D7000 doesn’t have a threaded shutter-button for a cable shutter-trip.
“The D100 is the only Nikon that had that,” the salesperson said.
I have to trip the shutter by hand when I have the telephoto on the camera-body on a shoulder-grip.
So now I have a new camera-body to figure out, and my wife having died I’m not awash in confidence.
In fact, I’d say I don’t have any confidence at all.
But the D7000 is a lot like my old D100, which I drove fairly well.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.

Grief-Share

“Would anyone like to share their story?” asked the facilitator at the grief-share I attended last night.
This was my first grief-share since my wife died April 17.
The long-time attendees had already shared their stories. Now it was time for us novitiates.
I’ve always been a take-charge kind of guy.
So off I went, charging into the unknown.
If I didn’t do this, we might be hemming and hawing for hours.
I’m reminded of two things:
—1) Long ago I was on a trial-jury regarding an auto accident. We were to decide who was at fault and damages.
We finally had the case, after hours of strange testimony and lawyer posturing.
So there we were in the jury-room, and nothing was happening.
Even though I wasn’t the jury-foreman, I finally said “We have to come to a decision, so here are my two cents: ‘yada-yada-yada-yada.’”
With that we were off the dime. (Home looked attainable.)
—2) After my stroke I was in a traumatic-brain-injury (TBI) rehab group.
Others who had motorcycle accidents were in the group, plus kids hit over the head with cast-iron pipes.
The leader of the group suggested a pizza-party, hoping one of our group would call a pizza-shop and order.
Since no one else did it, I decided I would do it myself.
Me, a brain-addled stroke-survivor interfacing the real world of a pizza-shop.
I was messy, but someone had to do it, lest we molder in inaction.
So off I went at the grief-share.
“My beloved wife of 44 years died April 17,” I said through tears.
“I’m devastated and heartbroken.
She’s the best friend I ever had.
People tell me I’m doing wonderful, but I feel terrible.
And I swear if I ever hear the word ‘condolences’ again, I’m gonna smack the person that says it.
People offer condolences and walk away. They have no idea how bad I feel. They can’t compute! They can’t handle death.”
“Yeah right!” they all said.
If there’s any reason for my continuing this grief-share, it’s because people therein seem to know where I’m coming from.
Such a loss is hard for the average person to understand, but since we’re all party to it, we understand.
So does a grief-share actually cure grief?
Not really.
Whether this is healing or not I don’t know. A good friend tells me one never gets over such a loss. You just learn to live with it.
A young mother who had lost a son offered a comment from a book.
“I have just suffered a major brain-trauma. A loved-one died. Therefore my emotions are in control, and I may not make sense. I may start crying for no reason.”

• My wife died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. (A stroke is a traumatic-brain-injury. Mine was from a clot.)

Utter Insanity

Now, can I blog some utter insanity, just like the old days before my wife died?
It’s awfully hard to blog anything when I have a heavy heart.
College-try time. Pick up the old shovel and start slingin’.
I’m walking calmly through the parking-lot at the Mighty Canandaigua Weggers yesterday (Thursday, July 5, 2012) returning to my car.
I start down a parking-lot aisle, and suddenly Granny appears in a silver Pontiac sedan. The slot was open, so she’s driven through from the other side.
She sees me perhaps four feet from the slot, so puts the hammer down!
Prior to my wife’s death, I would have yelled and then said “hex-KYOOZE me!”
But that’s not how I am since my wife died.
I seem to be cowed.
Like, she almost ran me over!
I get cut off willy-nilly, but just back off.
My blowhard brother-in-Boston, the macho Harley-dude, notes I drive “like an old man.”
Well yeah, I am an old man. (I’m 68.)
But I get plenty of Geezers glowering at me as if I’m an impediment to their progress.
And usually their doting wives are with them.
It’s simple, I’m cowed since my wife died.
The average person, like my brother, is not where I am.
I realize this isn’t much of a blog, but the muse is quiet.

• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.
• “Mighty Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester I often buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua.(“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I 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 14 miles away.) I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)

Declaration of Independence

(Photo by BobbaLew.)

Today is the Fourth of July, Independence Day.
Yrs Trly has done this for years, and the death of my wife is no excuse to not do it.

“The unanimous Declaration of the Thirteen United States of AMERICA.
WHEN, in the Course of human Events, it becomes necessary for one People to dissolve the Political Bands which have connected them with another; and to assume, among the Powers Of The Earth, the separate and equal Station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the Opinions of Mankind requires that they should declare the Causes which impel them to the Separation.
We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their CREATOR with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. —That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such Principles, and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established, should not be changed for light and transient Causes; and accordingly all Experience hath shewn, that Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the Forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long Train of Abuses and Usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a Design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their Right, it is their Duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future Security. Such has been the patient Sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The History of the present King of Great-Britain is a History of repeated Injuries and Usurpations, all having in direct Object the Establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States.
................(the causes)
WE, therefore, the Representatives of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, in GENERAL CONGRESS, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the World for the Rectitude of our Intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly Publish and Declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be, FREE AND INDEPENDENT STATES; that they are absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political Connexion between them and the State of Great-Britain, is, and ought to be, totally dissolved; and that as FREE AND INDEPENDENT STATES, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which INDEPENDENT STATES may of Right do. And for the Support of this Declaration, with a firm Reliance on the Protection of DIVINE PROVIDENCE, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honour.”

I’m proud of this country.
To me its founding was a good thing. A triumph of good philosophy and values over insanity.
I tried to say that in college, but was shot down. I have a hunch my professors felt the same, but it was their duty to criticize.
Despite their valid points, I still feel the same way.
I have been back-and-forth across this Great Land — sea to shining sea; crossed the hump in 1980.
“O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!”
The Declaration always makes me proud.

• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her dearly.

Daddy is technically-challenged

I have noticed the brochures of financial-institutions always have a skirt fiddling things on the family computer, while Daddy looks approvingly over her shoulder.
See example illustration at left.
As if Daddy is totally out-of-it when it comes to finances and computer-issues.
This isn’t necessarily so.
My wife, when she was alive, more-or-less fiddled financial issues, but I was very much into computers.
I didn’t feel challenged or intimidated.
There certainly were enough times I showed my wife how to do things on her computer.
We each had our own rig, hers a Windows PC, mine an Apple MacBook Pro.
PC because her work was PC-based, and mine was MAC-based.
If anything, I’d say a Windows PC is more intimidating than a Macintosh, but my wife drove it, fairly successfully.
There was occasional yelling and screaming.
I too had successfully driven a PC, usually in some faraway library.
But I always liked getting back to my MAC. (My MAC was more familiar, so I could do more on it.)
I feel fortunate this Macintosh hasn’t thrown any steaming hairballs at me.
Usually my wife took on the MAC hairballs.
I got one last year when my wife was in the hospital.
I forget what it was.
But I successfully Googled a solution.
That’s how my wife did it, and others too.
So I find it a put-down to imply the pants-wearer is a dunderhead.
I’m exaggerating, of course. I don’t always see this in financial ads and brochures.
But it seems to often be the case.

• My beloved wife of 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. She was 68. I miss her a lot.
• Note to Camera-Banger (probably my only non-family or non-friend follower): Things are making more sense than last time I commented, but I still can get EXTREMELY depressed.

Monthly Calendar Report for July, 2012

Train 20T eastbound down Two at “Ledges.” (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

—The July 2012 entry of my own calendar is the most successful photograph I ever got at “Ledges,” a photo-location downhill from Horseshoe Curve on Allegheny Crossing.
It’s Train 20T, a stacker, eastbound downhill on Track Two.
“Ledges” is a large rock outcropping next to the old Pennsy mainline, now Norfolk Southern, to Allegheny summit.
Standing atop the outcropping looks down on the tracks.
That new signal-bridge is a distraction, and rock takes up the right side of the view.
“Ledges” was first shown to me by Phil Faudi (“FOW-deee;” as in “wow”), the guy I chase trains with in the Altoona area.
I took pictures at that time, but I never felt it was photogenic.
Yet this photograph, taken recently, is fantastic.
In morning light the lighting is perfect.
I always felt I needed a double in this location, one climbing, already past, on Track Three, and one descending on Track One.
Or in the other direction, one descending, already past, on Track One, and one climbing on Track Three.
Two trains at once are fairly often. I’ve even seen three at the same time!
The climbing train would obscure anything on Two.
But this single train descending on Two is extraordinary!
The fact it’s on Track Two centers it in the composition.

Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.

Track One never works.

Track one, to the left, would be off-balance.
And climbing on Three in morning light makes the light wrong.
I was surprised by this photograph.
It’s extraordinarily successful.
“Ledges” is a great place to watch trains, but to my mind not a good photograph.
Yet this photograph blows me away.
Lead is a GE wide-cab Dash 9-40CW.
Second is a non wide-cab Dash 9-40C.
I have no idea what the third unit is. (It looks like a wide-cab.)
Dash 9s are usually 4,400 horsepower (Dash 9-44C). But Norfolk Southern ordered derated Dash-9s (Dash 9-40C) for reliability.
Three units is typical power for a stacker.
Stackers are priority, somewhat.
This train is rolling downhill at the speed-limit for freight, I think 30 mph.




Stacker west over an old Pennsy stone-arch. (Photo by Rich Borkowski.)

—Wow!
The July 2012 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees' Photography-Contest calendar is equal to my own calendar-shot (above).
We are in the Susquehanna (“suss-kwe-HAN-nuh”) river valley. The bridge is over Sherman Creek, which flows into the Susquehanna.
Farther south (railroad east) is the famous Rockville Bridge, another stone-arch but all the way across the Susquehanna.
Rockville is a monster; it’s bridge number-three, and was finished in 1902.
It was built by Pennsy, wide enough for four tracks.
It would take a direct hit from a thermonuclear warhead to take it out.
It still remains the longest stone-masonry arch railroad viaduct in the world. It’s comprised of forty-eight 70-foot spans, for a total length of 3,820 feet.
This bridge north of Rockville in Duncannan (“done-cannon”) is a much smaller brother. Same construction though: stone-masonry arch.
Many bridges on the old Pennsy are stone-masonry arch.
Pennsy built for time-immemorial; no wooden trestles.
The Susquehanna was one major barrier to building the original Pennsy, Harrisburg to Pittsburgh.
The other barrier was the Allegheny mountains, breached with a grading trick, world-famous Horseshoe Curve.
By looping within a valley, the railroad breached the Alleghenies without steep grades.
The breach is steep enough (averaging 1.75 percent; which is 1.75 feet up for every 100 feet forward) to often require helper-locomotives, but not impossible. (Like 4 percent.)
The Susquehanna was bridged with a massive bridge that crossed the wide river north of Harrisburg.
First it was only two tracks; the final bridge (Rockville) can carry four. (I think it’s now down to two and three.)
Another railroad also bridged the Susquehanna north of Harrisburg, Northern Central, but theirs was only a single-track covered bridge.
Pennsy’s bridge was substantial, and Pennsy later gained control of Northern Central. When they did, Northern Central trains started using Rockville Bridge.
The original Northern Central bridge was removed.
All over Pennsy you find stone-masonry bridges, even on lines Pennsy later came to control.
For example, the original public railroad from Philadelphia to the Susquehanna, later taken over by Pennsy.

Photo by Willis McCaleb.

Stone-masonry piers on the Trenton Cutoff.

A massive bridge on the Thorndale Cutoff for freight around Philadelphia toward New York City is stone-masonry piers.
(The Trenton Cutoff is also called the Thorndale Cutoff.)
Pennsy’s bridge over the Delaware river into Trenton, NJ is stone-masonry arch, as is the gigantic bridge over the Schuykill (“skoo-kull”) river in Philadelphia.
Both bridges are Pennsy’s old line to New York City, now Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor.
The “High-Line” freight bypass over Pennsy’s 30th-Street Station in Philadelphia is stone-masonry arch.



(My calendars are sorta plain from here on.)




1970 Dodge Challenger 340-SixPack. (Peter Harholdt©.)

—The July 2012 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is a pretty good picture, but I wouldn’t call it a musclecar.
A 340 cubic-engine isn’t big enough.
What we have here is a really great car, but not a musclecar.
It would have the balance a musclecar wouldn’t have. A 340 cubic-inch engine is not so heavy it would make the front-end plow in corners.
Nevertheless a 340 SixPack is a hot-rodded engine. “SixPack” is three two-barrel carburetors.
The car is also called the “T/A,” for SCCA’s (Sports-Car Club of America) Trans-Am series, which raced ponycars like the Mustang and Camaro.
Ponycars were such a success, Chrysler wanted in on the action.
Their Plymouth Barracuda, the first ponycar, based on the Plymouth Valiant, had to be improved to make it competitive with Mustang and Camaro.
This Challenger, and Plymouth’s new Barracuda, are the result.
But they are larger, based on Chrysler’s intermediate car.
If I have this right, the car’s firewall and windshield are Chrysler’s intermediate, the Charger and the Satellite.
The new Chrysler ponycars were bigger and heavier than the GM and Ford ponycars, which were based on compacts, the Chevy II and Falcon.

Race-driver Swede Savage’s Trans-Am Barracuda.

The newer Chrysler ponycars were raced in the Trans-Am series, although not very successfully.
I’m not sure they ever won a race.
They had major backing and a good driver, but weren’t very well developed, that is, reliable.
Chrysler had to market the T/A to race Trans-Am.




A Pennsy war-baby (2-10-4) goes up The Hill west of Altoona. (Photo by Fred Kern.)

—The July 2012 entry of my AII-Pennsy color calendar looks very familiar.
It looks like it’s at Brickyard Crossing just west of Altoona, PA.
The highway-crossing is not Brickyard Road. It’s actually “Porta” Road.
But the grade crossing had a brickyard nearby, since torn down.
So the crossing was called “Brickyard Crossing.”
I’ve been to Brickyard many times.
I found it maybe 10 years ago on an Internet map, and looked for it.
You’re up-close-and-personal.
And so many trains are on this line, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll see one.

Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.

WOW!

In 2009 I snagged one of the best Faudi pictures I ever got at this location.
You go up the gravel embankment at left; there’s a path.
One evening I found a fan up there in a lawnchair.
Pepsi in hand, he was watching the parade.
Right at the grade-crossing there’s a downhill defect-detector for Tracks One and Two. “Norfolk Southern milepost 238.2, Track One, no defects,” right on your rail radio scanner. (It’s not there any more; it’s been moved slightly up The Hill.)
A downhill train had already called out the signal not far west of the crossing. It was on Track One.
It started past.
And now a second train was coming up Track Three out of Altoona, just like the train pictured; climbing The Hill toward Allegheny summit.
The second train hove into view, blowing for the crossing.
BAM! Got it.
A double; two trains at once. One downhill on One, and a second train uphill on Three.

This engine has a Belpaire firebox.

Pennsy’s J 2-10-4 is it’s only engine without the famous slab-sided Belpaire firebox, a Pennsy trademark.
When WWII broke out, Pennsy found itself with tired old locomotives, and the War Production Board wouldn’t allow Pennsy to develop replacements.
Pennsy tried the Norfolk & Western “A” articulated (2-6-6-4), and also the Chesapeake & Ohio T-1 Texas type (2-10-4).
The J is the C&O Texas, a Lima SuperPower locomotive.
SuperPower principles were a special design to maximize steam capacity. They entailed a large boiler and a gigantic firebox.
SuperPower was an incredible steam-generator. The idea was to not run out of steam at high speed (where steam consumption was greatest).
The J was Pennsy’s first application of SuperPower principles.
But on Pennsy they were sort of misapplied.
Pennsy had too many grades to be a high-speed railroad.
But to handle WWII’s incredible traffic-demands, Pennsy needed something to replace its tired locomotives.
C&O’s T-1 was already designed, so the T-1 was what the War Production Board allowed.
Pennsy made a few small styling changes to make the T-1 a Pennsy engine.
But not the square-hipped Belpaire firebox. That would have been a major redesign.



The Cliff Hansen 1931 Ford roadster-pickup.

—The July 2012 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a severely-raked 1931 Model-A roadster-pickup.
This car is fairly attractive.
At least it has the ’32 Ford grill.
But that rake is too much, the fact it sits way lower in front than in back.
The tires are also different sizes, the rears being huge.
And the top is cut so low I wonder if it would be drivable.
Not with the top up. You’d be scrunched.
The color is nice, especially the red trim on the louvers.
There also is the fact it’s a pickup, but not very functional.
The pickup box was shortened.
Nothing to carry manure in. —I don’t like hot-rodded pickups.
The rod has a souped-up 410 horsepower 350 Chevy, and a Tremac 5-speed tranny. (“Tranny” = transmission.)
The right stuff.
But about the only way to enjoy driving this thing is top-down as a roadster.
Otherwise it’s a trailer-queen.
To my mind a hotrod isn’t worth it unless it’s drivable.
And the rake is so extreme on this thing I’d be scared of it.




Alcos on the Bel-Del.(Photo by H. Gerald McDonald©.)

The July 2012 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is two Alco road-switchers on Pennsy’s old Belvidere-Delaware branch (“the Bel-Del”) north of Trenton, N.J.
“Alco” is American Locomotive Company of Schenectady, NY. For years, American Locomotive Company was a primary manufacturer of railroad steam locomotives. (It was originally a merger of many steam locomotive manufacturers.) —With the changeover by railroads to diesel-locomotives, American Locomotive Company brought out a line of diesel-electric railroad locomotives much like the railroads were changing to, and changed its name to “Alco.” Alco tanked a while ago; they never competed as well as EMD (General-Motors’ Electromotive Division).

Photo by Edward Ozog.

A Washington Terminal RS-1.

Photo by BobbaLew.

A six-axle RS-3 in Wilmington’s (DE) Edgemoor yard.

The RS-3 was not Alco’s first road-switcher. That would be the RS-1 introduced in 1941.
The RS-1s were only 1,000 horsepower. The RS-3 is 1,600.
A six-axle version of the RS-3 was also manufactured. I photographed one long ago in northern DE.
The road-switcher was a concept that revolutionized railroading.
The engines had a cab with hoods at each end.
The long hood housed both the engine and generator. The short hood might have nothing, or only a small steam-generator to make steam for passenger-car steam-heat.
Walkways were outside, beside the hoods.
A road-switcher could be easily operated in either direction. It had the advantage of easy vision.
The first diesel locomotives on many railroads were full-cab units, like EMD F-units, or the Alco FA.
A full-cab behind you made it hard to see, difficult to operate in reverse.
A road-switcher negated this by -a) putting the walkways outside, and -b) putting the engine and generator in a narrow hood, like a switcher.
A road-switcher was essentially a road-unit without the full “covered-wagon” cab.
It could be easily operated in reverse.
The thing on top of the first unit is a trainphone antenna.
Train-engineers could communicate with tower operators via radio, the trainphone antenna.
Radio has advanced well beyond the trainphone antenna, but Pennsy was the first railroad using radio (I think).
Pennsy’s pretty Belvidere-Delaware branch is gone, abandoned and torn up.
Railroads have become conduits of freight over mainlines.
Branch-lines have become unviable; or somewhat unviable.
Branch-lines were often sold to independent shortlines, or abandoned.
An example of this is the old New York Central Auburn-line through Auburn, N.Y.
The Auburn was the first railroad across New York state into Rochester, N.Y. —Although not for long.
It avoided an immense defile just east of Rochester.
Railroad was soon built across that defile, becoming the New York Central mainline.
The so-called “Water-Level,” because it paralleled rivers and the Erie Canal. There were no mountain grades.
That defile, not that deep, just wide, was bridged with a fill.
But the Auburn was never abandoned. It was circuitous compared to the new railroad, but it went through farm-related traffic-generators.
It could also be used as a bypass when the mainline was blocked.
The Auburn is still extant as the independent shortline Finger-Lakes Railway. It was parceled out by Conrail, the successor to New York Central after Penn-Central failed.
The Auburn, under regular railroad labor-rules, was too costly to operate.
Finger-Lakes isn’t regular railroad labor-rules. As a shortline, job-descriptions are wide-open.
Delivery of freight in small lots has gone to trucking.
Small-time railroading just can’t compete with trucking, which has the advantage of infrastructure (highways) funded by taxpayers.
Although railroads were often funded by local merchants buying stock in the proposed railroad.
Highway infrastructure is crumbling. Taxpayers can’t afford to keep it up.
But for moving great quantities of freight, such as coal, or vast quantities of freight-containers, a railroad is all over trucking.
NO WAY could trucking deliver the quantity coal that can swallowed by a single coal-car.
And a single train might have 100 or more of those coal-cars.
And NO WAY could trucking efficiently deliver trailer-containers of freight when a double-stack train might have 200 or more freight-containers.
That single (or double) freight-container requires a driver, whereas a double-stack train of 200 or more containers has a crew of only two.
Plus railroads have nowhere near the rolling resistance of highways, so use less fuel per ton-mile.
Plus those 100 cars dutifully follow the pathway. Put more than two trailers behind a truck and you’re all over the road. Everything stays on path thanks to the flanged wheel.




Hawker Demon. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—UGH!
Another biplane (“bye-plain;” I only say that because as a youngster I was mispronouncing it “bip-lane”).
The July 2012 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a Hawker Demon.
I’ll let Wikipedia describe it: (It’s not on my WWII warbirds site.)
“The Hawker Demon was a fighter variant of the Hart light bomber. Developed when the Hart entered service, it was virtually uninterceptable by the Royal Air-Force’s fighters, which was demonstrated in air defense exercises.
While the Hawker Fury offered better performance, it was expensive and was only available in small numbers, so when a fighter version of the Hart was suggested, the Air Ministry selected the type as an interim fighter until higher performance dedicated fighters could be bought in larger quantities.
The new fighter variant added a second Vickers machine gun, while the coaming of the rear cockpit was angled to give a better field of fire, and a supercharged Kestrel IS engine was fitted.
Evaluation of an initial batch of six aircraft during 1931 was successful, and larger orders followed for the fighter Hart, now known as the Hawker Demon.
Over 200 Hawker Demons were built for the Royal Air-Force.
The Demons were powered by varying types of the Kestrel engine. It had an armament of a single rear .303-inch (7.7 mm) Lewis Gun with two .303-inch (7.7 mm) Vickers machine guns in the nose.
Large numbers of the type were fitted with a hydraulically powered turret in the rear, which had been tested on the Hawker Hart.”
At least this biplane doesn’t have the ugly cylinders of a radial-engine out there in the airstream.
Many do, cylinders unshielded by a cowl.
And the Demon ain’t a trainer. But as a fighter-plane it’s outdated.
Biplanes were an older design. Their radials, when used, weren’t the technological heavies of a Corsair or Bearcat.

Tiny (that’s a Hawker Hurricane at left).

About the only biplane I approve of is the Pitts Special, an airplane designed for aerobatics.
It’s a powerful engine in a tiny maneuverable airframe.
You just about have to do a biplane for aerobatics.
And with the Pitts Special the engine isn’t out there to destroy the look.
But it’s a biplane, all struts and bracing guy-wires, lacking the grace of a monoplane.

Beechcraft Staggerwing.

Another attractive biplane is the Beechcraft Staggerwing, an early ‘30s design.
“Staggerwing” because the lower wing was in front of the upper wing. Usually it’s the other way around.
There are a few Staggerwings left. I think the 1941 Historical-Aircraft Group in nearby Geneseo has one.
It’s a classic airplane, and fairly attractive as a biplane.
The Staggerwing was apparently the first airplane Beechcraft manufactured, and people thought Walter Beech was foolhardy to bring it out in the depths of the Depression.
But it was the first successful executive aircraft, and set the standard for a while.
Beyond that, The Staggerwing had retractible landing-gear. Most biplanes don’t.
It has a radial engine, but at least it’s in a cowl.

A Stearman trainer.

Most depressing are the Stearman biplane trainers.
Old and docile, they can hardly get out of their own way.
Their radial-engines are usually out there for all to see.
They’re hardly the elegant hotrods the Mustang and Spitfire are.