Halloween

Today, October 31st, 2012, is Halloween.
And I am totally unprepared for it.
We don’t get trick-or-treaters out here.
Even when my wife was alive, we’d never get anyone.
I’d carve jack-o-lanterns and put them outside our garage people-door, and purchase candy to give out.
In case anyone showed up.
We’d leave the light on at that people-door, but no one ever did.
Well, once a few did, long ago, the neighbor’s children.
That family broke up and moved. They divorced.
Another time I heard trick-or-treaters out on the road in front of our house,
“Don’t go there,” one said. “They have a dog, and it goes bonkers.”
That’s called protecting the property.
While our house was being built, our contractor suggested an alarm-system.
I passed.
“Best alarm-system I ever had has four legs and barks,” I told him.
The trick-or-treaters were protected by a five-foot chainlink fence, but our ferociously barking dogs were trying to jump it.
I used to send the dogs out to greet the Jehovah’s Witnesses. They put the fear of the Lord into ‘em.
Now that my wife died, I barely exist — although perhaps more so than a few months ago.
Preparation for Halloween has been nil.
I’m depending on prior experience: the fact we never got anyone in the past.
My aging neighbor doesn’t do anything, so I won’t either.
But for Christmas I hope to put up our electric candles.

• RE: “Out here.....” —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• RE: “Even when my wife was alive.....” — My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. I miss her dearly.
• RE: “While our house was being built....” —We designed our house and had a contractor build it back in 1989.

Monthly Calendar-Report for November 2012

Train 20R diverts to a drag-track off Track Two in front of beloved Alto Tower, at right. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

—The November 2012 entry of my own calendar is a Norfolk Southern freight diverging off of Track Two, which it came down The Hill, into vast Altoona yard.
The train is being diverted to a slow track.
The train is heavy, and probably used Track Two to avoid “The Slide,” atop The Hill, on Track One.
“The Slide” is steep.
Track Two, not as steep, would not be as frightful.
Alto Tower is now closed. (It’s open here.) It still stands, but no longer controls train-movements through Altoona.
The tracks have also been reconfigured through Altoona. Pockets for helper-locomotives needed for The Hill have been relocated, and now all tracks used are now straight through.
Track Three used to diverge off Track Two right past Altoona’s Amtrak station.
Now Track Two just runs straight through and becomes Track Three up The Hill.
Through eastbound trains down The Hill use Tracks One or Two, so now a crossover was installed to get eastbound trains from One over to the eastbound express-track past Altoona’s Amtrak station.
I’m told all three tracks over the Hill will eventually be operable both ways.
Old Pennsy signal-bridges, like the one in this calendar-picture, have been removed and replaced by new Norfolk Southern target-signals (see photo below).

The trash-train descends The Hill on Track One. The new signals are in, plus the crossover is in from One to the eastbound express-track past Altoona station. Track Three over The Hill is out-of-service, so a second crossover is set to get trains off Track Three over to Two. (Alto Tower, closed, is out of the photo at right.) (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

Another signal-bridge was on the north side of the overpass for westbounds. —We’re looking south in the calendar-picture (railroad west).
That signal-bridge was also removed.
For many years Alto controlled train-movements through Altoona, and assigned helper-locomotives.
Now it’s all completely controlled from Pittsburgh, which isn’t working out too well.
But that’s more unfamiliarity with operations, not the remote location.
Alto was right on top of things, but Pittsburgh can be on top of things remotely.
Supposedly Alto will be removed and rebuilt at Railroaders Memorial Museum in Altoona.
Alto has history. It’s significant. Altoona was once the base of Pennsylvania Railroad operations.
It was Pennsy’s shop-town that also manufactured equipment, including locomotives it designed itself.
Pennsy’s line over the Allegheny barrier was an engineering triumph, and Altoona was where it began.
This picture was taken June 18th, 2010 just after sunset, which was after 8 p.m.
We had eaten supper, and since we still had light, Phil (Faudi) suggested we chase more trains.
We would meet at the 17th St. overpass over the tracks, right next to Alto.
Phil could hear a train on his scanner descending The Hill. But the sun was setting.
The old waazoo. Would the train show up before sunset, or the sun set first?
We could hear it whistling for Brickyard Crossing far to the south (railroad west), but the sun was setting.
The locomotive’s headlight hove into view in the distance as soon as the sun dropped below the Alleghenies.
But there still was enough light. 1/45th of a second at f4.0, which I think is wide-open for that lens.
This is the best picture of Alto I ever got.

They’re all pretty good, but the next is fabulous.

Righteous!

—The November 2012 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is one of the best-looking cars Ford ever marketed, a 1934 Three-Window Coupe.
The car has a 350 Chevy SmallBlock, and a Jaguar independent rear-end.
I don’t know as I’d wanna toss this thing into a corner, but it sure does look nice.
I’ve always been partial to the Three-Window Coupes, which this car is.
“Three-Window” means it only has three windows beside the windshield.

A 1939 Ford five-window coupe.

A “Five-Window” has small side-windows behind the door-posts.
Ford stopped building Three-Window Coupes in the ‘30s. But the Three-Window always looked great. Spare and minimal.
They made great-looking hotrods, even better looking than roadsters.
It looks like the top of this car was chopped some, a move that looks okay as long as the body-sides aren’t sectioned.
Chopping and sectioning are removal of metal to make the car lower.
“Chopping” lowers the car’s roof by cutting out of the vertical door-posts.
“Sectioning” cuts metal horizontally from the body-sides.
Thankfully this car wasn’t sectioned. It had great lines already. Ford, with its rudimentary styling-section, produced some of the greatest looking cars ever.
That was Edsel Ford, only son of Old Henry, who finagled good styling despite Old Henry’s resistance.
Chopping was okay. It made the car look “cool.”
But it probably also scrunched the driver. I’ve seen top-chops so radical they’d make the car undriveable.

Philadelphia Army-Navy Game; November 1955. (Photo by Ray Mueller.)

—The November 2012 entry of my AII-Pennsy color calendar is four GG1-electrics, in the Loewy paint-scheme, at the Army-Navy game in Philadelphia in November 1955. (One GG1 has its internal steam-boiler popping off. That boiler supplied steam for steam-heat for the following passenger-train)
As I’ve said in this blog hundreds of times, the GG1 electric was the greatest railroad-locomotive of all time. Gorgeous to look at, fast and immensely powerful, and it lasted forever. Loewy didn’t do much, but he made the locomotive look fabulous. Perhaps his greatest contribution was to convince Pennsy to use a welded shell instead of riveted. —The prototype GG1 was riveted; #4800.
The welcoming locomotive on the home-page of that GG1 web-site is “Old Rivets,” #4800.
“Old Rivets” was never scrapped. It sits outside at Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania next to Strasburg tourist Railroad.
But it looks forlorn. The weather is deteriorating it.
In 1955 the Army-Navy Game was still played at Philadelphia’s Municipal Stadium (later John F. Kennedy Stadium).
John F. Kennedy Stadium has since been replaced.
Next to Municipal Stadium Pennsy had an electrified yard, Greenwich Yard.
A trainload of West Point cadets might get picked up in New York City for the Army-Navy Game.
Annapolis (the Naval Academy) was on a Pennsy line, but not electrified.
A trainload of Navy cadets got delivered to what is now the Northeast Corridor, the old Pennsy Washington-to-New York main.
Multiple trainsets might deliver West Point and Annapolis cadets.
And all the trains were powered by the magnificent GG1.
Other trains carrying non-students might also come to the game; Washington DC or New York City. Pennsy’s line west to Harrisburg was also electrified.
And GG1s powered the trains.
You might see 10-15 GG1s in Greenwich yard.
For railfans the operation in Greenwich Yard was more entertaining than the Army-Navy Game itself.
After all, 10-15 examples of the greatest locomotive of all time were there.
And in 1955, when this picture was taken, GG1s were still in the beautiful Loewy paint-scheme with the five gold pin-stripes, the so-called “cat-whisker” scheme.

Photo by BobbaLew.

The single-stripe scheme.

A less-costly single-stripe scheme was later applied, and to me it still looked pretty good. It followed Loewy’s lines.

Lookout! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The November 2012 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a P-40 Warhawk, not a P-51 Mustang, the propeller airplane everyone venerates.
I’ll let my WWII warbirds web-site weigh in.
“The P-40 fighter/bomber was the last of the famous ‘Hawk’ line produced by Curtiss Aircraft in the 1930s and 1940s, and it shared certain design elements with its predecessors, the Hawk and Sparrowhawk.
It was the third-most numerous U.S. fighter of World War II.
An early prototype version of the P-40 was the first American fighter capable of speeds greater than 300 mph.
Design work on the aircraft began in 1937, but numerous experimental versions were tested and refined before the first production version of the P-40, the Model 81, appeared in May 1940.
By September of that year, over 200 had been delivered to the Army Air Corps. 185 more were delivered to the United Kingdom in the fall of 1940, where they were designated the Tomahawk Mk I.
Early combat operations pointed to the need for more armor and self-sealing fuel tanks, which were included in the P-40B (called the Tomahawk Mk IIA in the U.K.).
These improvements came at price: a significant loss of performance due to the extra weight. Further armor additions and fuel tank improvements added even more weight in the P-40C (Tomahawk Mk IIB).
Curtiss addressed the airplane’s mounting performance problems with the introduction of the P-40D (Kittyhawk Mk I), which was powered by a more powerful version of the Allison V-1710 engine, and had two additional wing-mounted guns.
The engine change resulted in a slightly different external appearance, which was the reason the RAF renamed it from the Tomahawk to the Kittyhawk.
Later, two more guns were added in the P-40E (Kittyhawk Mk IA), and this version was used with great success (along with their mainstays, the earlier B-models) by General Claire Chenault’s American Volunteer Group (The Flying Tigers) in China.

The Flying Tigers, in echelon formation. (Note infamous shark’s mouth; the calendar-plane doesn’t have that.)

Some additional models, each with slight improvements in engine power and armament, were the P-40F (with a 1,300 horsepower Rolls-Royce Merlin engine), the P-40G, P-40K (Kittyhawk Mk III), P-40L, P-40M and finally, the P-40N, of which 5,200 were built (more than any other version.)
While it was put to good use and was certainly numerous in most theaters of action in WWII, the P-40’s performance was quickly eclipsed by the newer aircraft of the time, and it was not considered one of the ‘great fighters’ of the war.”
So here is photographer Makanna in the open back seat of his chase-plane, probably a Texan trainer.
The P-40 is right behind.
“Now buzz me,” Makanna radios the P-40 pilot.
I hope he’s using a strong telephoto.
The P-40 flies right into the photographer’s face.
The P-40 apparently didn’t crash into Makanna’s chase-plane.
Although it looks like it almost did.
And Makanna snagged a great photograph.
How many times has this view been published? —Mustangs, Corsairs, Thunderbolts.
None looks as dramatic as this one, or should I say scary.

Grain west of Bellevue, Ohio, on the Norfolk Southern main to Chicago. (Photo by Dave Ori.)

—The November 2012 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is a Norfolk Southern grain-train on the storied main to Chicago.
I think the train is westbound; the lighting tells me that. I think the line is the old Nickel Plate, although it may be ex-Pennsy. In fact, it may be ex New York Central.
What interests me most is the locomotives are high-hood units. That is, the short hood in front of the cab is not the cut-down version offered to enhance forward vision.

An EMD GP30 (note shortened front hood in front of cab).

The manufacturers started offering locomotives with the short hood cut down. But not every railroad specified it. In fact, some railroads continued operating their Geeps long-hood forward.
Southern Railway and Norfolk & Western, the original components of Norfolk Southern, ordered Geeps with the high short-hood.
Both units, SD40-2s, are ex Southern Railway.
#3327, the lead unit, is ex International Railway. probably in Texas.
#3325, the trailing unit, is ex Central of Georgia.
Two SD40-2s for a heavy grain-train aren’t much power.
But Ohio is relatively flat.
A heavy grain-train could get by with two SD40-2s across Ohio.

Photo by BobbaLew.

A General-Electric Dash-9.

Such a train on the grades of the old Pennsy in PA might require three or four General-Electric Dash-9s, plus helpers across the Alleghenies.
This picture is only somewhat interesting. It lacks the drama of some Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar-contest photographs, like slugging it out on difficult grades, or threading narrow valleys with torturous curves.

1971 Plymouth GTX. (Peter Harholdt©.)

—The November 2012 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is a 1971 Plymouth GTX.
The GTX was Plymouth’s response to the phenomenally successful Pontiac G-T-O.
But not as successful as the RoadRunner, which I prefer.
Both the G-T-O and the GTX cost a fair amount, relatively speaking.
The RoadRunner was aimed at making musclecar performance available for not much money.

A ’69 RoadRunner.

Plymouth didn’t expect to sell many RoadRunners, but the RoadRunner sold like hotcakes.
Thousands sold — well over 20 times as many as expected.
The GTX concept, introduced in the 1967 model-year, was eclipsed. The RoadRunner, introduced for 1968, skonked it royally.
People loved the RoadRunner concept. Hotrod performance for an affordable price.
The GTX did not go away. It was still an attractive concept. The gigantic and powerful 440 cubic-inch engine was standard.
But it wasn’t as attractive as the RoadRunner — a hotrod for the proletariate.
The GTX stayed in production as a standalone model through the 1971 model-year.
The calendar-car is 1971.
Both the GTX and RoadRunner were based on Plymouth’s intermediate sedan; as was the original Pontiac G-T-O, based on Pontiac’s Tempest intermediate.
But the GTX was based on the Plymouth Satellite, and the RoadRunner on the Belvedere.
Though intermediates, they were slightly different.
A 1971 GTX is the second generation of the model.
Between 1967 and 1971, Plymouth’s intermediate body was upgraded at least twice. —Although I think the earlier ones look better.
And compared to GM and Ford intermediates, the Chrysler intermediates, Plymouth and Dodge, were fairly large.
Though not enormous.
I once rented a 1970 Plymouth Fury (the full-size model), and its hood was big enough to land an aircraft-carrier based Corsair fighter-plane.
Yet despite their largeness, the Chrysler intermediates attracted a lot of buyers, especially the RoadRunner — with Dodge it was “SuperBee.”
The early RoadRunner, pictured, looked great.
When I was in college (in the middle ‘60s), a friend purchased a 1964 Plymouth with 383 four-speed. It replaced his aging Chrysler 300, I think 1960 or ’61.
That Chrysler had a cross-ram 413.
(“Cross-ram” means the intake manifold had very long runners to prompt wave-action to boost intake at about 2,500-to-4,500 rpm. The twin four-barrel carburetors were out beside the valve-covers. —413 cubic-inches displacement, which is large.)
That 300 was very fast, good for 140 mph or more.
I can imagine him buying a RoadRunner.
Another friend bragged about beating a RoadRunner with his hot-rodded ’56 Chevy. He had wrenched in a 350 SmallBlock with four-speed floorshift.
The difference, of course, is the ’56 Chevy owner had to make his car a hotrod.
The RoadRunner owner just purchased his car from the dealer. The RoadRunner was already a hotrod! —A musclecar with a hotrod motor.
So too would be a GTX. But it might be out of the prospective owner’s price-range.

The Crestline, Ohio roundhouse at its zenith. (Photo by Glendale Hoffman©.)

—The November 2012 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is an aerial shot.
Another aerial; Classic Trains Magazine publishes one every month.
They’re interesting, but boring to look at.
Apparently Pennsy passenger-trains from Chicago east changed engines at Crestline. The line from Chicago was straight enough to permit steam-locomotives with long driver wheelbases, for example the S-1 (6-4-4-6) and T-1 (4-4-4-4), both of which were duplexes: multiple cylinders driving a single driver-set.
Only one S-1 was built. There were many T-1s. but they weren’t too successful: too smoky.
A duplex is not articulated, that is the front driver-set hinged to the rear driver-set so it can swing side-to-side, making negotiation of tight curvature possible, like crossover switches.
The driver wheelbase of a duplex is solid, not hinged. Even though there may be two driver-groupings each powered by a cylinder-set; hence four cylinders for a 4-8-4, identified as 4-4-4-4, the T-1.
Take on a curvy railroad, and a long wheelbase might derail.
Apparently the S-1 is in this photograph, out-of-service to the lower-left of the roundhouse.
This roundhouse had to be enlarged to fully swallow the T-1 and S-1 (also some Q-model freight locomotives).
A T-1 is almost 123 feet long, and the S-1 is slightly over 140 feet long.
One stall had to be enlarged 30 feet to swallow the S-1. It looks like it was the first stall at lower left. The S-1 is outside aimed at that stall.
All that investment was for naught with dieselization. The T-1s are impressive, but nothing compared to an E-unit diesel.
It might take four E-units to equal a single T-1, but those four E-units were better than the T-1.
Diesels could be multipled; a single engineer controlling all four units. Multiple steam-locomotives are multiple crews; a crew for each locomotive.
One can also see the stalls enlarged to swallow T-1s. They appear to be at the roundhouse’s extreme right.

Reverend Max Bishop

I could have OCR-scanned this entire letter.
But I think I’ll do only what’s pertinent.
“It has been six months since the death of your loved one. ... Again, we are reminding you that we are here for you. You are not alone. ... Please call if you need additional services, including someone to talk to. I can be reached at 1-800-253-4439 or 315-789-9821. My extension is 3030.”
First of all, “Ontario-Yates Hospice” is the hospice we used. My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17 of this year. I miss her dearly.
Ontario and Yates are New York counties. I (we) live(d) in Ontario county.
“315” is Ontario-Yates Hospice’ area-code.
Rev. Bishop has a tickler. It informed him my wife’s death was six months ago. Congratulations, Rev. Bishop.
Ontario-Yates Hospice was not religiously based; although I wonder about Rev. Bishop’s title.
“Please call if you need additional services......”
Ahem, I have; but only because Rev. Bishop encouraged me to attend his non-denominational grief-share.
I didn’t. It was 45 minutes from my house. I figured I couldn’t leave my dog alone in my house over four hours.
I attended a closer grief-share only 25 minutes from my house.
But that one was church-sponsored, although they weren’t obnoxious about it.
If they had been I would have split.
So I attempted to call Rev. Bishop a few times.
I got a machine at Ontario-Yates Hospice, and then an answering-machine at Extension 3030.
I left messages at least twice, but Rev. Bishop never called back.
This reminds me of the old Rodney Dangerfield joke: “I called the suicide-prevention hotline, and got put on hold.”
The death of a loved-one is serious. The bereaved can become suicidal, although I’m not.
I don’t think Rev. Bishop should have himself protected by a machine.
I don’t think he should be screening his phonecalls.

• “OCR-scanning” (optical-character-recognition) is to scan a text-document (like a letter). The OCR software then “reads” the document and converts it into a computer text-file.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)

October 26th

Yesterday was October 26th, 2012, a Friday.
In 1993, 19 long years ago, it was a Tuesday, and I was still driving bus for Regional Transit Service in Rochester (NY), a public company, the supplier of transit bus-service in Rochester and environs.
I was driving a killer run, eight straight hours on the main drag through Rochester, stop at every stop.
No let-up at all, just one break in mid-morning, about 15 minutes (just long enough to leave my bus and go to the bathroom at a hospital).
The run had a logistical advantage. It started at 5 a.m. (an ungodly hour), but relieved in front of the bus-barns at 1:30 p.m. I could walk right to my car in the company parking-lot. I didn’t have to wait for a ride from downtown Rochester, the usual relief-point. Doing so might add a half-hour to my daily time commitment, wake-up alarm to back home in garage in 12 hours.
Of that I got paid for eight hours — I only drove bus eight hours.
When I lived in Rochester bus-driving was a fairly-good job. I could work the rush-hours, and/or take kids to-or-from school.
Rush-hour trips might be a pleasant ride in the country, and school-trips meant being off with pay if school was off.
I couldn’t do work like that living out in the country. I was 40 minutes from work instead of five minutes.
My killer-run was “city-work.” It ran every weekday. There was no canceling if school was off.

Nickel Plate #765 (it masqueraded as Chesapeake & Ohio #2765 on this trip, since it was on a C&O line).

I had just spent the previous weekend in West Virginia chasing Nickel Plate #765, the best restored railroad steam-locomotive running.
They run it hard, and can.
I’m a railfan. and have been since age-two —I’m 68.
I persuaded my brother-from-Boston to attend.
Getting there was an all-day drive on Friday October 22nd, then chase 765 Saturday October 23rd, then drive back home Sunday October 24th — a drive of about eight hours solid, which I doubt I could do any more.
I managed to work my killer-run the next day, Monday October 25th, although it wasn’t easy. I could barely stay awake.
That night I got up about 1:30 a.m. to go to the bathroom, and as I was standing over the toilet, BAM! I felt my whole being dip.
A clot passed through an undiagnosed heart-flaw, partially blocking blood-flow to my brain.
I was having a stroke, although I didn’t know it. At that time we didn’t know what a stroke was.
Double-vision began, but I went back to bed, planning to get up at 3 a.m. as usual.
My condition did not improve, so I called in sick, thus suddenly ending my 16&1/2-year career of driving bus.
Time marched on. If we’d known it was a stroke, I could have been taken to the hospital and administered clot-busting drugs, minimizing the brain-damage.
About 8 a.m., my condition having not improved, we called my doctor.
He advised my going to the hospital. My wife would drive, since I still had double-vision.
My wife had no sense of direction, but I was able to direct her on the long drive to the hospital despite double-vision.
Thus began my long recovery; it lasted about two years.
First was hospitalization (and testing), about two weeks, then inpatient rehabilitation in another hospital, about a month, and then home for outpatient rehabilitation.
By the time I reached the first hospital, it was much too late to administer clot-busting drugs, so all they could do was monitor.
I slowly degraded as brain-tissue died, but then I began to recover.
My doctor came in, wrung his hands, and told my wife I’d be a vegetable for the rest of my life.
It made me mad. Through incomprehensible jabbering I declared I’d prove him wrong.
And so began my long recovery. My left side was paralyzed — there was no brain-tissue to drive it — but other brain-tissue apparently took over.
Same with my speech. My original speech-center had been killed by my stroke. But apparently remaining brain-tissue took over, brain-tissue not designed for speech.
-So my speech is slightly degraded. I have a hard time putting words together. But I can pass for normal.
-Similarly my balance is slightly degraded. I do balance-training working out at the YMCA, which makes a difference.
-My third problem is poor emotional control, manifested in an increased tendency to cry — or laugh.
I have that fairly under control.
So 19 years later I’m told my recovery was miraculous. —I ride motorcycle, which I was told I’d never do. But no one tells me that! I was ornery.
(I think ”orneriness” is key to successfully recovering from a stroke, depending on how much damage it did. What’s happening is rewiring one’s brain so that previously unused brain-tissue can do what the killed part did.)
Linebacker Tedy Bruschi (“BREW-skee”) of the New England Patriots, who had a stroke similar to mine, recovered and went back to playing professional football.
October 26th is significant for other reasons:
—1) My sister’s birthday is today, October 27th. She was slightly younger than me; born in 1945 instead of 1944.
She died last December of pancreatic cancer. She never made 67.
—2) My wife has since died of lymphomic cancer. That was last April 17th, a little over six months ago. (She was 68 at that time, like I am now.)
—3) A friend lost her husband to melanoma October 26th of last year. He was the best friend she ever had, like me and my wife.
Another friend suggests my life is defined by my wife dying; we were married 44 years.
I think not. I’m devastated and heartbroken, but I’ve always thought my life was defined by my stroke. I still have tiny consequences. My speech is slightly compromised, my balance is slightly degraded, and I tend to cry more than the average person.
The heart-flaw that caused my stroke was repaired years ago; open-heart surgery. The surgeon owned a Ferrari.

• “The Bus-Barns” are at 1372 East Main St. in Rochester, large sheds for storing buses inside. An operations-administration building was attached. We bus-drivers always said we were working out of “the Barns.”
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually 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 east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)

Reality-checks

I am obviously still living in the real world, but since my wife died things are so messed up I have to keep reminding myself.
I have two indicators thereof:
—One is the dog’s chicken.
Every night I cut up a pre-cooked chicken-thigh to put on the dog’s supper.
I do this on an old Melmac© plate, which I give to the dog after I’m done.
The dog looks forward to that plate.
I call this “the daily reality-check.”
I only started giving her that plate a couple months ago; that is, the custom doesn’t go back before my wife died.
—Second is our stand-by generator’s self-test.

Photo by BobbaLew.

The stand-by generator.

We installed a Generac© stand-by electric generator for in case the electricity fails, which it does fairly often out here in the country.
A car-accident may take out a power-pole, or a lightning-strike might disable a power transformer.
Sometimes ice brings down power-lines, in which case that stand-by might be on for hours.
The stand-by is automatic. It kicks on when the electricity fails.
I don’t have it pushing everything, only the furnace and tankless water-heater (both of which need electricity), the freezer and refrigerator, this computer, and the garage-door opener.
The garage door is so big and heavy it takes two to open it manually.
The stand-by is also pushing lights.
30 seconds pass before it kicks on, so you’re in darkness for 30 seconds.
The stand-by runs on natural-gas. For Armageddon to occur, that gas has to stop.
The stand-by self-tests once a week.
It apparently has an internal clock, so when 6:50 p.m. comes around on Tuesdays it self-tests, firing up.
It’s a large V-twin commercial engine (one liter displacement). It starts on a car-battery.
I keep forgetting it self-tests. Yesterday was Tuesday, and I was in my bathroom at 6:50 p.m.
That bathroom is right over that stand-by (which is outside).
All-of-a-sudden it was cranking and firing up.
It reduced me to tears. “You are indeed in the real world, dude,” I said to myself.

Another reality-check:
The other day (probably Sunday, October 21st) I was walking my dog to the park up the street for her afternoon walk.
Suddenly an old convertible cruised past, top up. Probably a late-‘40s Oldsmobile.
It wasn’t a Chevy; I recognize Chevy taillights from that era.
The taillights were round, so I surmised Pontiac.

1947 Pontiac convertible.

But it couldn’t be a Pontiac; it lacked the Silver-Streak on the hood and trunklid.
It passed me from behind, so I never saw the front. I’d know an Olds grille from that time.
Reality-check!
How often do I see a car like that?
Mostly what I see are no older than early ‘90s.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• RE: “Out here in the country......” — I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, 20-25 miles southeast of Rochester.
• A “tankless water-heater” is a small water-heater that heats water as it passes through. I doesn’t heat a tank of water which eventually cools — and also runs out during showers.

New mailbox-post

The new mailbox-post. (Old mailbox and broken post in foreground.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

My mailbox-post, and mailbox, are hereby replaced.
A couple weeks ago somebody, probably the guy who mows my neighbor’s lawn across the street, backed into my mailbox-post and broke it below ground-level.
My guess it was him because he would try to fix it; he’s like that, a nice guy. He returned later to repair it.
He surrounded the broken post with steel angle-iron, so it would stand up although it was still broken.
That wasn’t the first time that post was broken. A town snowplow hit it a couple years ago, and broke the horizontal arm the mailbox sits on.
The town came out and repaired it, probably at the behest of my neighbor across-the-street. I’d had the mailbox sitting on a snowbank.
They reassembled the arm to my mailbox-post with screwed-in wooden splices.
It seemed okay I (we) used it that way for years.
The actual mailbox is huge.
I did that big because occasionally we’d get large packages.
I don’t want large packages left out unattended in the rain.
That post was almost as old as the house, probably 20 years old. (The house is 22 years old.)
The actual mailbox was number-five or so. A snowplow might hit the mailbox and render it unusable.
The mailbox was screwed at its base into a piece of 2-by-12 planking on the horizontal arm.
Every mailbox I’ve had seemed to have the same base-holes. A replacement mailbox screwed into the same screw-holes.
This time the mailbox outlasted the post.
It had been slightly damaged by a car sliding on ice; it didn’t wanna stay shut.
But it had a clamp closing-tab I could adjust to make it stay shut.
But this time it was the post that was rendered unusable.
I thought the mailbox was repaired — it was standing — but I discovered the post was broken when I caught the mailbox with my lawnmower and toppled it.
An old friend, who daycares my dog, agreed to help me replace the post.
He’s younger, and I’m old (68); we used to work side-by-side at the Messenger Newspaper, and now he helps me since my wife died. (I’m sort of a wreck.)
I purchased a new post.
I disassembled what I could, but left enough in place so the Post-Office could deliver that morning’s mail.
Mail received, that guy arrived about 2:30, and we began taking everything apart.
The 2-by-12 plank I had the mailbox screwed to broke as we removed it from the arm. So we’d have to replace it or splice it together.
The 2-by-12 had been narrowed about a quarter-inch to fit the mailbox, so new construction would similarly have to be trimmed.
We butted two 2-by-6s together to be the width of that 2-by-12, and then made splices for the 2-by-6s to sit on.
We also ripped about a half-inch off one 2-by-6.
The splices would be nailed to the horizontal arm of the new mailbox-post, then the 2-by-6s nailed to the splices into the arm.
The post was longer than my original, so the post-hole needed to be deeper.
My friend had brought his post-hole digger.
We deepened the hole about a foot, and then six more inches because the mailbox was still too high.
Sunk into place, the new post was floppy, so we aligned it with hammered-in stakes.
“Still got a mailbox?” my friend’s wife asked at her pet-grooming shop as I picked up my dog this afternoon (Tuesday, October 23rd, 2012) after the YMCA. (They had day-cared the dog.)
“We’ll see,” I said. “Looked substantial to me last night; I even took a photograph!” (Above.)

• RE: “I (we)......” —My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• The “Messenger” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired almost seven years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as an post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“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 work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. To do so I have to daycare my dog.

Joyous pleasure

Photo by BobbaLew.

Toto.

A couple days ago (probably last Tuesday, October 16, 2012) I had the extreme pleasure of fiddling Toto the first time since my wife died.
“Toto” is the lo-flo toilet we had our plumber install to replace our original toilet which was semi-clogged with urine-salts.
It’s actually a Toto toilet, so I call it “Toto;” same as Dorothy’s dog in “Wizard of Oz.”
I make allowances for Toto. Being a lo-flo toilet, it doesn’t like to compute. Number-two is a double-flush; first the bombs, then the toilet-paper. And it can’t handle more than three wads of toilet-paper.
I have to ration the toilet-paper.
Anyone reading this here blog knows I’ve blogged Toto before. It’s clogged a few times, but never permanently. I could usually unplug it with a bucket of water, although sometimes I’d need the plunger. With that bucket of water it’s no longer lo-flo; neither is double-flushing.
Since my wife died, I’ve tried to be careful with it — similar to my being careful with everything else.
Double-flushing, and even triple-flushing, when required.
But it was slowing. Not clogged yet, but hesitant to compute.
I got a bucket of water. It was still hesitant to compute.
Engage heavy weaponry; the plunger.
I plunged, which seemed to make a difference.
Now Toto was computing.
Back to the Toto of old.
How much longer can I do this?
I’m 68, but haven’t had to call the plumber yet.
Lo-flo my foot! Not when I have to use to much water to make it work.
I had to fiddle Toto again this morning (Saturday, October 20th).
My doggie daycare guy commented he once worked for Roto-Router, and they celebrated when lo-flo passed.
Tons of business, unplugging lo-flo toilets.
“We gotta save water,” they were told.
“Here? We got a big lake (Lake Ontario) just to the north. This ain’t Wyoming.”
He added that a black-market arose in pre lo-flo toilets.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. —When I do, I daycare my dog. (“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 east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)

Rat-race

Gathering of Iggles. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

The other day (Wednesday, October 17, 2012, six-month anniversary of my wife’s death) turned into one of those incredible rat-races where I drive all over the area performing errands.
I covered at least 80 miles, probably more. —I don’t keep track.
-First: was to nearby Canandaigua to leave my dog with doggie-daycare; a trip of 14 miles.
I daycare my dog while working out at the Canandaigua YMCA, but this wasn’t to work out.
It was to attend a Transit retirees meeting mentioned later.
-Second: Was all the way into Rochester (NY) to attend a meeting of the dreaded “Alumni,” retirees of Regional Transit Service, a trip of about 20 miles. —It even included the New York state Thruway; 20 cents toll.
-Third: Since the trip took way less time than expected, I decided to hit a Goodyear tire store, where I’d planned to visit after the Alumni-meeting.
Could they spin-balance the wheels/tires while I waited? The tires are Goodyear, eligible for lifetime spin-balance and rotation.
I’d had them spun-balanced by my car-dealer, but they hammered slightly at 50 mph plus.
I was hoping Goodyear could do a better job.
They scheduled me at 11 a.m., which turned my attendance at the Alumni-meeting into a surgical-strike. That began at 10 a.m.
-Fourth: Since I was still early, I decided to deposit a letter in the auto drop-box outside the Post-Office in my old neighborhood in Rochester.
We used to live on the east side of Rochester, and the Transit-retirees meeting was out in the suburbs east of Rochester.
A detour of perhaps three-five miles.
-Fifth: Was the Alumni meeting itself.
The so-called “Alumni” are the union retirees of Regional Transit Service in Rochester.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS — “Transit”), a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs.
While a bus-driver there I belonged to the Rochester Division of the Amalgamated Transit Union (ATU), Local 282. ATU is nationwide.
The Alumni was a reaction to the fact Transit upper-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 (disability retirement); and the “Alumni” didn’t exist then.
The Alumni is a special club — you have to join.
It’s an Amalgamated Transit Union functionary. It isn’t just a social club.
It has bylaws, officers, and an Executive Board.
In many ways it’s just like our union-local, except it entertains issues of interest to retirees; like Medicare, healthcare, and diabetes and Alzheimer’s.
“Dreaded” because all my siblings are flagrantly anti-union, like the proper way for hourlies to parry the massive management juggernaut is one employee at a time; in which case that single employee gets trampled because he’s not presenting a united front with power equal to management.
The proletariate’s attempt to exact a living wage from bloated management fat-cats is what’s wrong with this country.
The meeting was at a restaurant, the idea being to eat a breakfast before the meeting.
I ordered only two pancakes, probably the smallest order.
Everyone else was ordering something with eggs, bacon/sausage or ham, toast, and hash-browns.
I can’t eat that much.
Breakfast consumed by 10:35 or so, the meeting began.
But quickly it was 10:45 and I had to leave.
The meeting had hardly begun, but there was no scheduled speaker — there usually is.
My doggie-daycare guy thought we’d swap war-stories, but that’s not what happens.
“The Alumni” is an organization of Transit-retirees affiliated with the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union (ATU). Its intent is to consider official business of Transit-retirees, like healthcare and dental care. —Not just swap war-stories.
-Sixth: Back to Goodyear, about four miles, a trip of perhaps six-seven minutes.
Wait 35-40 minutes in the lobby while they do the spin-balance.
-Seventh: Off to Lori’s Natural Foods, about 10 miles away, to purchase a case of organic grape-juice.
I’d rather get that, since I can buy by the case, although it’s probably overpriced. Lori’s is.
-Eighth: Drive down to MarketPlace supermarket in Honeoye Falls (“HONE-eee-oye;” as in “boy”). about 15 miles south, to purchase groceries I can only buy at MarketPlace.
-Ninth: Back east to Canandaigua to pick up my dog, perhaps 18-19 miles.
But Canandaigua also has a Mazda-dealer, and I need to look at the new CX-5 sport-utility to see if it’s dog-friendly.
I currently have two cars, a 2003 Honda CR-V sport-utility, and a 2005 all-wheel-drive Toyota Sienna van.
Having two cars since my wife died seems silly, and only my van is dog-friendly.
My dog is fairly large, two-and-a-half to three feet tall.
I need a roof high enough so the dog can stand, and preferably on a flat floor.
I also need to fill the gap behind the front seats, the “dog-swallowing gap.”
My CR-V fills that gap, but the rear seats fold forward and block the door-opening.
The rear seats in my van also fold forward, but the van is big enough they don’t block the entrance.
I don’t need something as large as a van.
Plus a sport-utility is the ultimate train-chaser.
I’m a railfan and have been since age-2 (I’m 68).
A sport-utility’s all-wheel-drive can negotiate difficult roads (like dirt). It’s not a jeep, but I’m not that adventurous.
Two years ago I negotiated a dirt-track my guide’s car wouldn’t have done. Although it might have, but it probably would have bottomed on the crown. It was a farm-tractor trail.
I was gonna delay looking at the CX-5, but -a) since I was in Canandaigua, and -b) my dog was in doggie-daycare, I thought I’d look.
The salesman was helpful; he wasn’t put off by my need for a dog-friendly car — as many are.
But why is it every car-salesman personally owns and operates the car I’m looking at?
Is the CX-5 interesting? Sort of; more interesting than the new CR-V.
Its floor folds flat — the new CR-V doesn’t — and the rear seatbacks flopped forward cover the dog-swallowing gap.
The CX-5 is not that attractive, but my 2003 CR-V wasn’t either. —Yet I like it. It’s a pleasant ride, and an incredible train-chaser. The only problem is it isn’t dog-friendly.
-Tenth: Mazda finished, it was back to doggie-daycare to finally pick up my dog.
She was at doggie-daycare almost five hours.
While I zig-zagged all over the planet.
That’s about an hour longer than when I work out at the YMCA.
-Eleventh: Home via the gas-station. The CR-V needed gas. —About a half-mile detour.
Total time doing errands, about six hours. Maybe a hundred miles.
—Was it worth it for Goodyear to spin-balance my wheels/tires?
YES. Back to long over-the-road trips. (I avoided a long road-trip to Altoona, PA because of that slight hammering.)

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually 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 east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• Honeoye Falls is a small village about five miles west of where I live. It’s south of Rochester on Honeoye Creek. A dam was put in long ago to power a mill. The creek originally went over a waterfall in the village.

Beg-a-thon

One of the things I do to counteract the dreaded silence of this house is play the radio.
What I do is play WXXI, the public-radio classical music-station out of Rochester (NY) we used to listen to.
I’m a classical-music junkie, and have been ever since high-school. It started with Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.
Bach, Beethoven, Brahms. Copeland, Stravinsky, Gershwin, Ravel. Even Mozart and Chopin (“show-pan”) not too long ago. —But especially Bach.
As a public-radio station, WXXI is publicly supported. You can listen free, but the station encourages its listeners to support it by giving to it. I send them $500 per year.
As such I’m “a member” of WXXI.
I think two times a year WXXI does a fund-drive to generate memberships, or encourage more giving by current members.
To me these fund-drives are unbearable. I have to turn the radio off. The silence is more bearable than the constant hawking.
The hawking is not constant. It alternates with classical music. But instead of announcing what’s played, we get pleading solicitations between the music.
It’s not too bad, but I shut it off.
There are other things I don’t like about WXXI — they’re minor.
Opera, for example.
Every Saturday afternoon they air opera live (or a recording of a live opera performance).
Well okay, fatties bellowing every word of a play, as if people normally sang conversation at the top of their lungs.
Opera is more unbearable than a fund-drive. I never listen.
Pity my poor dog alone in my house on a Saturday afternoon. I turn the radio on to keep her company. Wagner’s (“VAG-ner;” as in “ah”) Ride of the Valkyries at full shriek, or some stringy-haired blonde singing every word of tortured dialog, or wailing loudly as Don Juan stabs her. Why do operas tilt toward murder?
So for a week I must endure silence in this house.
WXXI’s Fall fund-drive is on, a beg-a-thon.

• RE: “Dreaded silence of this house.....” —My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)

“Friends of L. Hughes”

Yesterday (Sunday, October 14th, 2012) was an ad hoc gathering of old friends of Linda Hughes.
This was because my beloved wife, Linda Hughes, died of cancer almost six months ago (April 17th).
There was no funeral or memorial service. Her remains were cremated and dispersed on our property under her father’s sugar-maple.
The gathering was organized by an old coworker who now lives in Rhode Island.
Most of those invited were old coworkers, but there were others.
Linda worked at Lawyer’s Co-op in Rochester 33 years. She had different positions, finally as a computer programmer.
A girl originally from the Bronx, who now lives outside Rochester (NY), came. That girl was one of Linda’s college-mates.
The Postmaster-lady, where Linda worked part-time after retirement, also came.
That Postmaster-lady came with another who walked with the other two on the Postmaster’s lunch-hour, including my wife.
My brother-from-Boston and his wife came, plus my niece from near Rochester and her husband, plus their teenaged daughter, and my sister-in-law, my niece’s mother, who lives with them all, and isn’t married.
There were dogs there too: my dog and another of a coworker. We had to keep them apart, since my dog can be nasty. —She was nasty one time at this shindig.
The gathering was held in a large county-park in a reserved lodge.
But it was so warm we set up outside, although under a roof. I don’t think I ever went inside the lodge.
Some brought dishes-to-pass, but pizza and wings were ordered.
I took the dog for a long walk.
The lodge overlooked a very large pond, and I started out around it.
I made it about a third of the way, almost two miles, but then lost the path.
My dog, a hunter, had a wonderful time, but returned filthy.
She lunged into the pond a number of times, thoroughly checked out a chipmunk-hole, and almost snagged a snake.
There was mud everywhere, and she returned caked in it. I had to dunk her feet when we got home.
After our walk, I met an old coworker of my own whose only connection to Linda was that I’d pass out excess vegetables from our garden.
That job was a newspaper in nearby Canandaigua, and even though my wife wasn’t an employee, that newspaper benefitted from her input.
We were a team, so my input to that newspaper involved her.
I remember one night we did the entire newspaper web-site, the earliest version thereof. We wrote the code and everything. Not just me, the two of us. She wasn’t an employee, but that web-site was both of us.
The gathering started at noon, and my brother and I still had not left my house by 12:30.
The Bronx-lady called and wondered where I was; that people weren’t eating until I showed. —She was hungry.
We were about to leave, so I said 15-20 minutes, and people should start eating without me.
My brother would follow me so he could drive back to Boston from the park.
As I approached the park-entrance I noticed a hand-painted arrow-sign that said “Friends of L. Hughes.”
I had to choke back a tear. I miss that lady dearly.
Farther in I saw a similar sign indicating a right-turn toward the lodge.
Someone had made signs, and I was heartbroken.
Only about 15/20 were there; half coworkers, half others. My niece arrived later, adding four to the others. Add my brother and his wife makes six, the Postmaster and her friend add two more. Add the college-mate, and we’re up to nine others.
Add the coworker of mine and her husband makes two more, but they didn’t stay long.
The other half was old Lawyer’s Co-op coworkers. At least seven or eight, although some were husbands/wives/significant others/children.
I saw the lady that made the signs but never said hello.
I probably was the first to leave beside my own coworker(s).
As I left, my brother and niece were still there. I hear another Lawyer’s couple arrived after I left.
Things went fairly well for me.
The organizer from Rhode Island came to talk with me, but I couldn’t look at her.
I do okay if I’m not alone, but otherwise I’m distraught and heartbroken.
Talking about my condition makes me clam up.

• “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 east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)

The starfish is found

Anyone who follows this here blog regularly, if there are any at all, knows my dog vaporized one of her toys the other day, the vaunted starfish.
She apparently carried it into the woods on my property, abandoned it, and I couldn’t see it to retrieve it.
It stayed out two nights, and it rained.
BlogSpot tells me I have four followers. I only know of one, “Camera-Banger,” who comments occasionally.
I’ve received other comments, usually business solicitations or invitations to meet desperate hotties.
If I mention HD-radio in a blog, I get blustering from an anti HD-radio dude.
I took the dog for a walk the other day (Thursday, October 11, 2012) on my property, and she grabbed her starfish before we went out.
Well okay, I never get to play with her any more.
She dropped the starfish after about 50 yards, and I retrieved it.
She later started jumping at me as I was carrying it around, so I tossed the starfish for her.
She carried it around a while, shaking it to kill it, but then there was the dog with no starfish.
I retraced steps hoping to find it, but no starfish.
Gone forever, I concluded.
I looked for it again during our final walk in the dusk, but no starfish.
Oh well, one of many toys, but left to molder abandoned in the woods.
Yesterday morning, two days after losing the starfish, we set out on another walk around my property.
I rounded a corner and there was the starfish.
She had apparently picked it up out of the woods, returned to a path, and dropped it.
She wanted me to toss it again, but I refused.
I wasn’t losin’ that starfish again.

• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)
• “BlogSpot” is this blog site.
• “HD-radio” is a special set-up that in my case delivers extraordinary radio-sound. (It was developed to counter satellite-radio, I think. [Cue noisy blustering here.])
• RE: “I never get to play with (my dog) any more.....” —Because my beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. I miss her dearly. Because of that, I never have time to play with my dog.

Four things

—1)
No nap.
I worked out at the Canandaigua YMCA yesterday (Thursday, October 11th, 2012).
When I do I’m so blasted I have to take a nap.
When my wife was alive these naps usually took one to two hours. Now I can only stand 10-15 minutes. I become aware of my grief.
When I got home my cleaning-lady was leaving, so she stopped so I could pay her. —She cleaned while I was at the YMCA; I trust her.
My electrician called and wondered if he could come to complete my troubleshooting jobs.
I said of course, knowing how hard it was to connect with him.
Every time he calls me he has to apologize for not showing up, not calling me, etc.
But by now my nap was looking tentative. It was almost 4:30.
The electrician arrived and began working outside. I would walk my dog, but it was no longer to a park up the street. It had to be around my property, so I could let the electrician inside my house.
My nap had become impossible.

—2)
Electrician follies.
The electrician was working slowly; I had two fixits inside my house.
It was fast approaching 6 p.m., and I had to feed my dog, plus prepare my own supper.
One inside project completed, the electrician had to go to the hardware before it closed.
By the time he returned (about 50 minutes later) it was past 7 o’clock, and I had already taken my dog for a second walk.
I was working around the electrician to prepare and consume my own supper.
I made cocoa, after it looked like I couldn’t.
The electrician finished about 8 p.m., and it was dark outside.
He disappeared into the gloom to his truck to prepare his bill.
He was gone about 8:20; I had cut him a check.
I suppose what I’m saying here is if this had all happened two months ago it would have freaked me out.
I remember all too well a guy cleaning out my basement at that time.
It freaked me out, and I got extremely depressed.
It was fast approaching suppertime, and it was raining.
Madness like this piles up and I freak. I suppose it’s a grief side-effect.
But my reactions are no longer extreme, which means I didn’t freak over the electrician follies.

—3)
Feelin’ good.
After the electrician left, I felt very normal.
Like perhaps I was finally out of the woods.
Grief side-effects had previously been dominant. But they no longer appeared to be.
Okay, I’m feeling pretty good right now, but what about tomorrow morning?
I’ve been through this before. Feel normal at bedtime, but depressed the next day getting up.
True-to-form, I felt awful the next morning (this morning).

—4)
Starfish.
Somewhere in the vast property sits one of the dog’s toys, the starfish, abandoned by the dog, and not found by me.
I took the dog out yesterday afternoon for her first walk, and she grabbed her starfish.
Well okay, I never get to play with her any more, so let her take out her starfish.
She usually abandons it, after which I carry it around and back inside.
After a distance she noticed I was carrying her starfish, so I tossed it for her.
She grabbed it, and carried it around some.
Then I saw the dog without the starfish.
I traipsed back to find the starfish, but didn’t find it.
I gave up; maybe I could find it on our second walk an hour or so later.
But I never found it.
It stayed out all night, and it rained.
That starfish may be gone forever.
She’s taken it off in the woods somewhere, and my finding it will be by chance.
So much for being considerate of my dog, when it seems I no longer can be.

• “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 east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit.
• RE: “When my wife was alive......” — My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)

The End

So concludes my experience with Grief-Share.
Last night (Wednesday, October 10, 2012) was my final session.
I started attending the Grief-Share in July because my beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17 of this year, which left me devastated and heartbroken.
I started at the suggestion of a dear friend who daycares my dog.
I’m still devastated and heartbroken, although perhaps not as much as when I first attended.
A grief-share is not a grief-cure. If there’s any “healing,” it’s from sharing grief with others in similar circumstances.
People who have lost spouses, children, valued parents.
I attended all but two sessions, and couldn’t then because I had other commitments.
The Grief-Share was every Wednesday, and on Wednesdays in late September I was driving long distances to -1) northern DE, and -2) Altoona, PA.
Northern DE was my 50th high-school reunion (I graduated in 1962), and Altoona was a train-chase (I’m a railfan, and have been since age-2 [I’m 68]).
I was a little leery of this Grief-Share because it’s church-sponsored, but it was closest.
It’s only 20-25 minutes away. Others were 45-55 minutes away. 25 minutes going, and then 25 minutes returning, is almost an hour transit-time.
If the grief-share is two hours or slightly more, I’m leaving the dog in my house maybe three hours.
Two 45-minute trips plus two or more hours for the grief-share approaches four hours, too long to leave the dog in the house.
55 minutes (one way) or more, a trip to Rochester, is impossible.
So I worried about church-affiliation.
Plus this church is arm-wavers.
But they’re not obnoxious about it. They’re not ramming their religion down my throat, or telling me I’m reprehensible.
If they had, I doubt I would have done as much as I did.
So now what? I’ve been offered various options that seem more religiously-based than Grief-Share.
I’ll probably pass.
I seem to be recovering without heeding the alter-call.
Most in my grief-share claim they couldn’t get by without religion.
Yet I have a friend who lost her husband, and she’s not a zealot.
In fact like me I don’t think she shows religious proclivities at all.
I honestly don’t think religion is a cure for grief.
The cure for grief is time getting used to my loss.

• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” 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, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)
• The Grief-Share was in nearby 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.)
• “Alter-call” equals get religion, accept Christ as your savior. One accepts Christ by agreeing to the alter-call (invitation to accept Christ; a call to the church’s alter). Fervent believers in religion are “zealots.”

Regrets

Now that my wife has died, I find myself doing things she would have preferred, like:
—1) Getting to bed at a decent hour.
Before she died, getting to bed was scattershot; sometimes by 10, often much later, sometimes after midnight.
I now try to conclude things before 10 p.m.
10 p.m. has become a line in the sand.
Some things don’t get done before then.
Mañana.
Which is what used to happen, but often bedtime would be delayed.
—2) Hot meals.
Now that I prepare my own supper I find I’m eating meals that were just cooked, that is, hot.
Before my wife died, suppertime was scattershot. My wife bewailed she was cooking meals that might not get eaten for an hour or so, and thereby go cold.
She got so she’d eat before me, so her supper was hot.
Now I’m eating supper as soon as I finish it, which means it’s still hot.
—3)
Probably my greatest regret is I never convinced my wife I had recovered so well from my stroke.
I was in the habit of depending on her — it was the roles we were playing.
No great tragedies yet; I haven’t run out of anything.
I forgot to purchase cole-slaw once, but that’s the only failure.
I make it a point to make sure all the stuff I need for showers is in place before I turn on the shower.
I have two showers; I have to move stuff to the shower I’m using. I no longer have a wife to cover for me.
This covers a lot of things.
My brain is working all the time to get things done as needed.
If I drop things, there’s no longer a wife to complain to about how clumsy I am.
Just pick the damn thing up!
Spill water or juice, and mop it up!
Same with milk — and I try to avoid making messes like that.
I can.
My wife used to worry whether I could get by if she were gone.
So far so good. —And I’m approaching six months.
This doesn’t mean I’m not devastated. I am, and I’m heartbroken.
I also find I’m doing things my wife wouldn’t do, her being a order-out-of-chaos freak.
—A) My wife used to rinse out plastic-jugs I might later use, with soapy hot-water; for example, milk-jugs.
I don’t have time for dish-soap. What I do is rinse ‘em out with plain hot water.
That seems to be good enough. If it weren’t, I’d get sick, which I haven’t.
—B) I also find myself mowing the immediate backyard with my big zero-turn mower, 48-inch cut.
My wife mowed it with our small trimming-mower, 20-inch cut. She concluded the zero-turn was too injurious, since it was heavy and left divots in the grass where it spun.
The zero-turn takes perhaps 15 minutes, the trimming mower over an hour.
The zero-turn is not that injurious. I can’t spare 45 minutes.
When I couldn’t get the zero-turn in there — a heavy doghouse was in the way —I used the trimming-mower.
But that doghouse is gone; no longer in the way.
—C) Sheets and towels.
My wife used to launder the sheets and towels every week.
I don’t think they matter that much, so I don’t.
Both may go two weeks or more unlaundered. I’m still alive! And my abode is not a disgrace.
I try to avoid letting the sheets go too long, and the towels depend on that they were used for.
If I was wiping raw chicken-juice onto a towel, I figure it needs to be washed soon.
I have a cleaning-lady, and I haven’t heard complaints yet about how messy my house is.
If anything, I’ve seen much worse. I’ve had friends here I hafta clean up after.
My obsession with cleanliness is heritage from my wife.
I find myself cleaning up dog-hair and leaves from the floor.
And pointing out dusting that needs to be done.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• My “zero-turn” lawnmower is my 48-inch riding-mower; “zero-turn” because it’s a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm, because they cut mowing time in half compared to a lawn-tractor, which has to be set up for each mowing-pass.

Q-tips

The other day (probably Friday, September 28th, at the Wegmans in Williamsport, PA, on the way back from a train-chase in Altoona, PA, I purchased a 500-count box of generic Q-tips.
I use two to four Q-tips per week, so that box might last maybe three years.
I use the Q-tips to clean out my ear-canals after showers.
I sometimes find other uses for Q-tips, like cleaning carburetor parts when I rebuilt carbs. But mostly I use them for cleaning my ear-canals.
I remember the consternation I caused years ago at my post-stroke inpatient rehab hospital. I had just taken my first shower since my stroke, and I sent my accompanying nurses into a tizzy. I wanted to do my ears with Q-tips.
They had never heard of such a thing, so I was being difficult.
Yes, but being ornery like that was partly why I recovered so well from my stroke.
Every time I purchase a 500-count box of Q-tips I wonder if I’ll use ‘em all.
I’m fast approaching the end of the 500-count box I purchased last time, so I’ll probably use them all.
I remember wondering if I would when I purchased them.
Sadly, it was my wife who didn’t make it.
This was a surprise. We always thought my wife would outlast me. That I would die first, not right away, but eventually.
My wife came from sturdy stock. Many of her female relatives lasted well into their 90s. My wife would make 100.
My wife’s mother is 96, and will make 100 herself. She’s still in independent-living, although macular-degeneration may end that.
But she’s ornery. She wants to continue living independently.
But my wife got cancer, which ended her expectation to outlive me.
So here I sit. Will I outlive my 500-count box of Q-tips?
Probably. I’m only 68. I figure I have a while to go yet.
Unless some dreaded disease like cancer waylays me.
There also is the broken-heart factor — I’m distraught. But I doubt that will kill me.

• “Wegmans” is a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester (NY) I often buy groceries at. They have a store in Williamsport, PA.
• RE: “Train-chase.....” — I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two (I’m 68). — “Train-chase” is to chase trains so to photograph. I go with a fellow railfan (from Altoona) who monitors a railroad-radio scanner and knows where every train is and if we can beat it to a prime photo-location. We see a lot of trains; once we saw 30 over nine hours.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.

Silence

A Toyota Prius.

The other day (probably Monday, October 1, 2012) about 6 p.m., a gentleman rang my doorbell.
In my driveway was a Toyota Prius with his wife inside along with a small stray dog they had picked up on the street.
He wondered if I recognized the dog.
I looked at the dog, sitting forlornly in the front seat. I didn’t recognize it.
“Is it chipped?” I asked. “Anything on its collar?”
“Nothing on its collar,” the guy said. “And the vet said it’s not chipped. All there is is that Invisible-Fence thing on its collar.”
“It only hurts for a little while,” I commented.
“My cellphone number is embroidered on her collar,” I said, pointing to my dog. “Saved her butt twice.”
“Would that everyone did that,” the wife said.
The Toyota Prius is the hybrid, I think both gas or electric.
The guy got in the Prius and turned around in my driveway.
Total silence! Nothing but slight tire-noise. No engine-noise. The car silently advanced 15 feet and then turned around in my driveway.
“Its motivation must be electric,” I thought to myself. “The only noise is tire-noise.”
I noticed this before, one day at the Canandaigua YMCA.
A member came out, got in her Prius, and unparked.
Total silence!
Her car was maneuvering without a sound.
Back-and-forth she went, and then she stole silently from the parking-lot.
The average non-hybrid car is not like this. Its idling engine revs slightly up-and-down. In slow maneuvers you always get an auditory indication.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually 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.)

Monthly Calendar-Report for October 2012

26T eastbound over Conemaugh Viaduct. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

—The October 2012 entry of my own calendar is Train 26T eastbound on Track One over Conemaugh (“Kone-uh-MAW;” as in “awe”) Viaduct.
We are atop a promontory overlooking the viaduct, which is stone-arch.
Conemaugh Viaduct is part of the western slope ascending Allegheny summit. The railroad follows the Conemaugh River.
We had to make a long hike to get to this location.
Conemaugh Viaduct is west of South Fork.
The hike is over an old interurban grade now the Flood Trail, which parallels the railroad. (The Johnstown Flood started when a dam broke above South Fork, and then cascaded down the river valley.)
The hike was over a mile. A number of trains passed.
After a while we diverged off the trail to attain the overlook.
Conemaugh Viaduct bridges the Little Conemaugh river twice at the feet of a river horseshoe.
The stone-arch viaduct is obscured by undergrowth growing at bottom-right.
Faudi, etc. have occasionally cut back that undergrowth, but only a railfan would do that.
The railroad doesn’t. It isn’t out to give railfans pleasing photographs.
Norfolk Southern, attractive as it is at Allegheny Crossing, is not out to please railfans.
Which is what’s happening at Horseshoe Curve, the grandaddy of all railfan pilgrimage-spots, by far the BEST railfan spot I’ve ever been to.
I’ve been there hundreds of times; it’s only five hours from home.
Horseshoe Curve is part of the Pennsylvania Railroad’s east-slope ascent of the Allegheny mountains.
In the early 1800s the Alleghenies had been a barrier to west-east commerce, but the Pennsylvania Railroad and its Horseshoe Curve breached that.
By looping the railroad around a mountain valley, the grade over the Allegheny front was made manageable, only 1.8 percent on average. That’s 1.8 feet up per 100 feet forward. Steep enough to often require helper locomotives, but not impossible, like 4 percent.
The grade was also continuous, no switchbacks, a through railroad.
Switchbacks are cumbersome and slow. The train pulls forward into a switchback tail, a trainman gets off and throws a switch, and the train reverses up to the next switchback tail.
A trainman then throws another switch, and the train pulls forward out of the switchback tail.
Switchbacks usually come in twos, so the train ends up going forward after negotiating the switchbacks.
Switchbacks avoid heavy earthwork to climb a hill, but are slow to operate.
Horseshoe Curve involved two gigantic fills, a challenge to earth-moving at that time.
The fills were hand-constructed, using tailings blasted off a nearby rock-face that had to be reduced.
The fills cross two small valleys that feed a much larger valley.
Doing this made crossing the Alleghenies possible.
Pennsy’s line superseded an earlier state effort that used inclined-planes, and stationary steam-engines, to winch trains up the inclined-planes, to surmount the Alleghenies.
The inclined-plane railroad was part of a combined system including canals. It was the state of PA’s competition for NY’s Erie Canal.
But the Pennsylvania Railroad was so successful it put that state effort out-of-business, including a later state upgrade that ended the inclined-planes.
Transferring from canal to railroad was cumbersome and slow, compared to a through railroad; Pennsy.
Then too Pennsy was private enterprise, not state sponsored.
Pennsy used to consider Horseshoe Curve a tourist attraction. They used to announce the Curve to passengers on trains: “world-famous Horse Shoe Curve.” (Pennsy spelled it as two words.)
They considered it a triumph of engineering. It breached the Alleghenies!
There’s even a viewing-area in the apex of the Curve, and a paved road leads to it. The Curve has become a National Historic Site, complete with welcome-center and museum.
But Norfolk Southern, who replaced Pennsy after buying part of Conrail in 1999, doesn’t care. All they want to do is operate trains. If shrubbery grows in and blocks the view no matter.
If volunteers want to cut down the shrubbery, they get turned away. Norfolk Southern is afraid it would disturb the fills.
And so the railroad disappears at Horseshoe Curve; it sure isn’t what it was years ago — when you could see all the way around “the Mighty Curve.”
Same thing here; Conemaugh Viaduct disappears behind the shrubbery.
This picture is 2010.
I haven’t been back since.
Conemaugh Viaduct blows about an hour or more, and I’m sure by now the view in this picture is probably obscured.
Blow an hour and I miss three trains or more. If the view is obstructed, it ain’t worth it!




At “the Mighty Curve.” (Photo by Don Woods.)

—The October 2012 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is not that good a photograph, but it’s at Horseshoe Curve.
SD-40E #6305 overpowers the photograph.
#6305 is one of a series of EMD (General Motors Electromotive Division) SD50s rebuilt to replace the SD40-2s used so many years as helpers over the Allegheny mountains.
The SD50s were downrated from 3,500 horsepower to 3,000.
Quite often a train is heavy enough to need helpers over the Allegheny mountains.
The railroad was engineered that way: easy approaches to Allegheny ridge, and then up over The Hill. That’s John Edgar Thomson, chief-engineer of the original Pennsylvania Railroad, who laid out Horseshoe Curve to manage crossing the Alleghenies with operable gradients.
Thompson had experience laying out railroads in the southeast, like Georgia Railroad. Easy gradients up to the mountain challenges, then helper-locomotives over the hills.
The westbound grade averages 1.8 percent (1.8 feet up per 100 feet forward).
That’s steep enough (though not impossibly steep) to stall a heavy westbound train.
Eastbound on the western side of the Alleghenies (the West Slope) is not as steep, although it steepens toward the top.
Sometimes helpers get added in Cresson (“KRESS-in”) just before the grade steepens. Sometimes the helpers run all the way from Pittsburgh or Johnstown.
The eastbound grade from Pittsburgh is easier, but continuous.
Fabulous as it is, Horseshoe Curve is not very photogenic.

Photo by BobbaLew.

At “the Mighty Curve.”

I’ve taken hundreds of photos there, but only the one at left worked, and that train is downhill.
Uphill is the thrill; “assaulting the heavens,” locomotives at full power.
No camera can do the Curve justice; you have to see it yourself.
Use a wide-angle view, and you don’t see what the eye sees as it pans the Curve.
I’ll never forget the first time I visited, 1968 or 1969.
I was lost; I didn’t know where I was.
Yet here we were smack in the middle of it; the high railroad embankments looped around us high above.
The railroad was pinned to the mountainsides.
“This is it!” I screamed; “‘the Mighty Curve!’”
It was still four tracks back then, and not the Historic-Site it is now.
No museum, no cable-car to the viewing-area. —Up the steps instead.
#7048 is a retired EMD GP9, used to replace Pennsy K4 Pacific #1361, the original display locomotive at Horseshoe Curve, placed there about 1957.
1361 was built in nearby Altoona.

Photo by BobbaLew.

1361.

1361 was removed for restoration and operation. It’s currently apart for repair, and may never be reassembled — it’s currently out-of-service.
Despite the facts -1) the shrubbery is obscuring the view, -2) the display engine is no longer a K4 Pacific steamer, and -3) you can’t easily get where this calendar-picture was taken — the viewing-area is fenced — “the Mighty Curve” is worth visiting. You’re trackside in the Curve’s apex. The trains are right in your face!




”Fifi.” (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The October 2012 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is the only B-29 SuperFortress still flying: “Fifi.”
I’ll let my WWII warbirds site weigh in:
The B-29’s predecessors, the XB-15 and the B-17 "Flying Fortress" were, in a sense, the failed products of United States Army Air Corps (USAAC) mid-1930s “Project A,” which was intended to give the U.S. a heavy bomber capable of flying 5,000 miles.
Ironically, the B-29’s origins lay in both the strengths and weaknesses of those predecessors, especially the B-17, which demonstrated impressive strength, firepower, speed, bomb load, range and altitude capability -- all of which were still inadequate for that original 1930s design request.
Based on Charles Lindbergh’s assessment of the potency of the Luftwaffe, American strategists in 1939 acknowledged that the United States would have to fight Nazi Germany from American soil should Germany invade England, which then seemed highly probable.
As a consequence, the USAAC initiated a request for proposals pertaining to a new very-heavy, very-long-range bomber to replace the B-17. Four prospective manufacturers, Boeing, Consolidated-Vultee (later Convair), Douglas and Lockheed were given individual experimental aircraft numbers (XB-29, XB-30, XB-31 and XB-32).
Of the four, only Boeing (XB-29) and Consolidated (XB-32) developed flying prototypes, and Boeing emerged the clear winner of the pair, even though its entry flew after the first XB-32 had flown.
From the beginning, the B-29 was a fountain of firsts, anticipating the methodologies and successes of the later NASA Lunar and Space Shuttle programs.
Before the first prototype had been constructed, manufacturing facilities had already been established, a risky process that had not been the norm in the aircraft industry.
And that bomber, the heaviest production aircraft built up to that time, would be the first to have pressurized crew compartments, centralized and computerized fire control, the capacity to carry up to a 20,000 pound bomb load, or the ability to fly 5,830 miles, with a top airspeed of 365 miles per hour.
Paradoxically, although the B-29 was designed to be a high-altitude weapons platform, its greatest WW II successes were accomplished at low-altitude in the fire-bombing of Japan.
Low-flying B-29s laid waste to most militarily important cities in Japan except Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Niigata and Kokura, which had been declared -- for reasons unclear to the active bomb groups -- off-limits to their bombing.
Only one B-29 remains airworthy, this one, “Fifi.”
I listened to a participant in the “Fifi” effort.
“Fifi” is the name of the wife of the major financier.
The participant also allowed that the original engines of the B-29 were replaced with more recent power-plants.
They were no longer able to get parts.
The engine-mounts had to be modified to work with the B-29.
From what I ever heard the B-29 was a bear to fly.
It only flew because it had a lot of engine — it’s engines made it fly.
The engines are four 2,200-horsepower Wright R-3350-23-23A/41 Cyclone double-row (9 cylinders each row, 18-cylinders total) turbocharged radial piston engines.
The participant, once an airline-pilot, and now a pilot for “Fifi,” mentioned that he had to have strength to fly “Fifi,” since the controls were all still cable, rather than hydraulic like modern aircraft.
I think I saw “Fifi” once down in Fort Lauderdale, FL.
At that time I had no idea “Fifi” was the only airworthy B-29.
At least there’s one B-29 still flying. “Fifi” is Commemorative Air Force, and tours with The Ghost Squadron.



1970 AAR ‘Cuda. (Peter Harholdt©.)

—This isn’t that good a picture.
I only do it because it reminds me of a recent Volkswagen ad, pictured below.
The October 2012 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is a 1970 AAR Plymouth Barracuda pony-car, Plymouth’s competition for the Boss-302 Ford Mustang.
The AAR ‘Cuda allowed Plymouth to race in the Sports Car Club of America’s (SCCA) Trans-Am series, premier during the ‘70s.
It’s a shame the AAR ‘Cuda was tricked up in appearance; the louvered rear-window cover, the raised hood, the body-side graphics.
The AAR ‘Cuda was a really good car, a bit porcine, but not a heavy boat-anchor of an engine to throw off the balance.
The AAR ‘Cuda has the 340 cubic-inch V8 engine, not the heavy Hemi (“hem-EEE;” not “he-me”).
Put in a Hemi and give up corner performance. The car will plow with so much weight over the front-end.
About all the Hemi was good for in a Barracuda, and there were such animals, was straight-line performance, the drag-strip or street-racing between traffic-lights.
Toss a curvy rural byway at it, and a BMW 2002 might beat it.
A BMW 2002 might beat an AAR ‘Cuda too, but a Barracuda without the Hemi on a curvy rural byway had a better chance.

Photo by BobbaLew.

This car has been slightly pranged. The plastic bodywork is cracked behind the right headlight.

I’ve seen similar cars that “fake fast;” like at left.
Youngsters add plastic body-cladding, giant wings, perhaps custom wheels.
Another giveaway is a loud exhaust system with a gigantic chromed outlet.
You can hear them coming, wings and body-cladding akimbo.
Stuff that doesn’t really improve the car’s performance much.
I remember putting a plastic J.C. Whitney air-dam on my Ford E250 van in hopes of making it aerodynamically slicker.
Still 10 miles-per-gallon. (It was a 460! 8.5 on Pikes Peak.)
The AAR ‘Cuda was a really great car.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Yates still has this car (the picture is recent).

Brock Yates of Car & Driver magazine had it right; although his car is a Dodge Challenger, the Dodge version of the Plymouth Barracuda.
His car was improved for performance by Cotton Owens of NASCAR fame.
It didn’t have all the trash, yet could have run with an AAR ‘Cuda.






Sharks. (Photo by Fred Kern.)

— The October 2012 entry of my AII-Pennsy color calendar is a brace of Baldwin Sharks — called that because they supposedly looked like sharks.
If I am correct, they were styled by Raymond Loewy, in attempt to get away from Baldwin’s “baby-face” look.
Baldwin Locomotive Works had been a primary manufacturer of railroad steam-locomotives.
When railroads started converting to diesel-locomotives, Baldwin tried to convert to manufacturing diesel-locomotives.
Their first locomotives were cab-units, much like EMD’s (General Motors Electromotive Division) E and F units.

A New York Central BabyFace.

In fact, they looked like E and F units; their engineer area looking much like EMD.
Except the area was smaller, so was called “baby-face.”
Pennsy was a prime Baldwin customer. Baldwin was in southeastern PA, located on a Pennsy line.
This was true even in Philadelphia, and later when Baldwin moved out of Philadelphia to Eddystone.
Pennsy developed its own locomotive designs, but often had Baldwin build in quantity. This was true of the K4 Pacific (4-6-2) and the I1sa Decapod (2-10-0).
Pennsy was one of the steam holdouts. They didn’t start dieselizing until later.
And EMD, the preferred builder, couldn’t build the quantity Pennsy needed.
Pennsy had to buy from anybody and everybody, often less reliable than EMD.
Baldwin diesels were terrible. They were unreliable, and would give up at the slightest hint of trouble.
Crippling on a railroad is nothing like crippling on a highway, where ongoing traffic can drive around the cripple.
Both the cripple and anything following share the same track. So a cripple plugs the railroad.
The only way to unplug is to send out rescue units.
Until the cripple is moved, the railroad can’t move anything.
Baldwin diesels had a nasty habit of crippling, plugging the railroad.
But Pennsy had to buy Baldwin diesel-locomotives. Baldwin was a preferred vendor, but most importantly, Pennsy could not get the huge quantity of diesels it needed from EMD, whose diesels were much more reliable.
Loewy developed a relationship with staid Pennsy as their industrial designer. It was Loewy that restyled the GG1-electric (“Jee-Jee-ONE;” I only say that because a friend was mispronouncing it “Jee-Jee-Eye”) and made it as gorgeous as it was triumphant.
And he didn’t do much to the GG1.
Loewy went on to style the T1 steam-locomotive (4-4-4-4; but a duplex — that is, the eight drivers and four cylinders were on a single frame, not articulated). He applied shark-nose styling, a chamfered smokebox with the headlight atop an overhanging prow.
Such styling could be applied to Baldwin diesels, what we have here, the “shark.”
Its nose is chamfered, with the headlight atop an overhanging prow.
Unreliable as it is, a shark is assayed as gorgeous.
Yet the crew of this train probably has its fingers crossed, hoping the diesels don’t break down and cripple.
In which case they get called in before management and accused of incompetence.
We’re on the storied Middle Division at Perdix, PA. The date is October 20, 1957.
(The Middle Division is between Harrisburg and Altoona; the original Pennsy mainline. —Pennsy from Pittsburgh east was a main conduit of freight. Just a single route, but eventually four tracks or more.)
Pennsy wasn’t the only railroad with sharks.

Photo by Doug Wingfield©.

A B&O shark

An Alco salesman’s dream. (Photo by Gene Collora©.)

—The October 2012 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is a photograph of all Alco locomotives at an engine-terminal in Phillipsburg, NJ in 1960; two RS-11s (#s 8631 and 8634), a steam-generator equipped RS-1 (#8857), and an S-2 switcher (#5689).
“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.
If I am correct, the RS-11 was third in a series of road-switchers introduced in 1941 as the RS-1.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Tioga Central’s RS-1 (ex Washington Terminal).

An EMD cab-unit (a restored Great Northern F7).

The road-switcher concept was very attractive to railroads, a diesel-locomotive that could be very easily operated in either direction.
EMD’s early diesels were cab-units (as at left), hard to back up due to poor visibility from the cab.
The road-switcher narrowed the motor-enclosure with walkways outside the engine-hood, like a switcher, allowing ease of vision.
Yet a small hood was ahead of the engine-cab to protect the crew.
Although at first many railroads operated their road-switchers long-hood forward.
Short-hood forward after the manufacturers started cutting down the short hood to permit vision over that hood.

An EMD GP30 (note shortened front hood in front of cab).

The road-switcher concept flowered.
Even EMD got into the road-switcher concept with its GP7, essentially an F7 cab-unit as a road-switcher.
EMD placed a lotta GP series (“Geeps”). Cab-units went out of manufacture. The road-switcher became preeminent.
Alco did fairly well for a while. Their locomotives were fairly reliable.
Alcos were also less fuel-hungry than EMD. But they were all turbocharged (exhaust-gasses used to spin a supercharger), a gizmo that could fail. Early EMDs weren’t turbocharged.
If an Alco was gushing black smoke, which occurred fairly often, that indicated a turbocharger problem, like the turbo was not spinning up as fast as the fuel input.
Or suppose the turbo never got to full revs. Yet fuel-input was as if the turbo was a full revs. Continuous black smoke. Turbos weren’t as reliable then as they are now.
Pennsy had a lotta Alcos.
But of course Pennsy had a lotta non-EMD diesels.
But their Alcos weren’t side-lined as quickly as Baldwins, for example.
In fact, Pennsy continued to buy Alcos when newer models were debuted, for example, the Century-series.

Photo by BobbaLew.

This Century-630 is actually Penn-Central, used uphill as a pusher on Pennsy’s Horseshoe Curve. (Six axles, 3,000 horsepower.)

Now railroads are using General-Electric diesels, and EMD no longer hogs the market.
And of course Pennsy no longer exists.
One wonders if they’d pig out on the new General Electric Dash-9s, or the new GE “Evo” units.
They probably would, but both GE and EMD.




Beetle-Bomb.........


—The October 2012 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is unfortunately the worst-looking car Ford Motor Company ever brought to market, the post-war Fords (this is a ’46).

A 1941 Ford.

A ’39 Ford five-window coupe (one of the best-looking cars ever).

“Shoebox.”

Photo by BobbaLew.

A flat-head Ford V8 (hot-rodded).

A 1949 Mercury (slightly customized).

The body-style debuted as the 1941 Ford, pre-war (at left).
(Pre-war became post-war for all the auto-manufacturers due to non-production and non-development during WWII.)
“Unfortunate” because the BeetleBomb (fat-fendered) Fords followed one of the best-looking cars ever marketed, the ’39 and ’40 Ford coupes (also at left).
They had the good lines and proportions the BeetleBomb Fords lacked.
Then too the BeetleBomb Fords were antediluvian.
Scuttlebutt was Ford Motor Company was doomed by its adherence to antique design principles.
Henry Ford II (Old Henry’s grandson, “the Deuce;” Old Henry [Ford] being the founder of Ford Motor Company) prompted the development of the Shoebox Ford of 1949, the Ford that saved the company.
“Shoebox” because of its squarishness.
The Shoebox was a modern car, that is, more modern than the BeetleBomb and its ilk.
Although the Shoebox was saddled with an antique engine.
The engine was still the old Flat-head V8, first marketed in 1932. By then the competition was bringing out overhead-valve V8s, but Ford couldn’t afford to develop such an engine.
At least not yet. The overhead-valve Y-block debuted in the 1954 model-year.
Although the 1954 car was essentially the Shoebox rebodied (rebodied for 1952).
Ford was barely keeping up with General Motors.
And Chrysler, the number-three automaker, was making great strides.
As I understand it, the ’49 Mercury was originally the ’49 Ford, yet the Deuce rushed through a modern car.
And the ’49 Mercury used a lot of the Shoebox’s engineering.
If that original Ford had been brought to market with the same antediluvian engineering in the BeetleBomb, Ford would probably have failed.
This calendar-car suffers from being a two-door sedan (“tudor”).
Even the ’39 and ’40 Ford Tudors were as plain.
But the BeetleBomb coupes were also plain.

The hotrod 1948 Ford in the movie “Grease.”

I was appalled when the “Grease” movie centered on a BeetleBomb convertible.