Is it any wonder I don’t watch TV?

The other day (Tuesday, November 26th, 2013), at the Canandaigua YMCA, I was unable to use the bathroom I usually use before working-out.
So I went down to the new Mens locker-room — I use the old Boys locker-room (converted to a Mens locker-room), since it’s nearer the Exercise-Gym. The YMCA now has two locker-rooms per sex.
As I walked into the locker-room some shrill lady was on the small wall-mounted TV screeching “all men are bums equating emotion with sex.”
Nothing like a sweeping generalization!
Um, I humblee disagree.
Admitted, I’ve met a few men obsessed with sex.
But after 69 years on this planet I’ve concluded they are a tiny minority.
Hardly any man I’ve met meets this lady’s noisy assertion.
Thinking about the men I know right now, I wouldn’t call any of them sex-fiends.
Not a one of them fits this lady’s claim.
I found myself thinking it’s too bad this lady never encountered a good one.
Maybe she’s dealt with Rush Limbaugh and his 89 bazilyun cases of Viagra©.
Maybe Rick Wakeman should have named his album “Six Wives of Rush Limbaugh.”
More-than-likely how could anyone stand her? I know I couldn’t.
“Oh for Heaven sake!” I muttered as I walked under the TV.
“Will someone please smack that lady and tell her to siddown,” I thought. “Chain her to a chair; put a gag on her.” —I covered my ears.
Is this what TV has come to?
Shrieking sycophants trumpeting off-the-wall blustering?
The Internet is far more interesting than droll Dr. Phil, Montel gesticulating, or Oprah.
I bet Fred Friendly would watch the Internet.

• 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, southeast of Rochester.)

Well, of course!

A couple weekends ago we changed back to Standard-Time.
I won’t bore with sanctimonious complaining about changing “God’s time.”
Um, the four time-zones, across this great nation, are railroad time.
The railroads were sick of parrying God’s time, that is, time set by sundial.
Sundial time has a nasty habit of being what time it is in that exact location.
Noon in Philadelphia might be 12:30 in New York City, and in Boston it might be 1:20 p.m.
How could the railroads efficiently schedule trains if it was noon in Philadelphia, and 12:10 in Trenton, NJ?
I set back my clocks that are important: my DVR, my programmable thermostat, and my alarm clock-radio.
I have another alarm-clock that resets itself per the satellite. —And of course this ‘pyooter and my cellphone reset automatically.
I set about resetting my kitchen-clocks the next day; my microwave, the stove, and a wall-clock.
I reset my watch per this computer, which is getting satellite time. (Actually it’s getting the NIST time, which the satellite goes by.)
I had one clock left, the one in my car. That went unchanged for weeks. It’s a digital readout, so all I had to do was subtract an hour in my head.
I decided to reset my car-clock.
“Simple,” I thought. I perused the manual: “push clock button.”
Same as previous cars.
I reset my watch, inserted my car-key, and turned on the ignition.
I fingered the clock-button.
Nothing!
Now what? What’s the trick?
I was in the passenger-seat, so I needed to get out to release the parking-brake. That brake being set prompts a car-computer function. I figured that computer-function might make it impossible to set the car-clock.
That wasn’t enough. My car also needed gas, which triggers another computer-function.
I gave up and went to bed. I figured I’d try the next day after buying gas.
Having bought gas, all possible ‘pyooter-functions were voided, but the clock-button still wasn’t doing anything.
Back to the car-dealer to be told I’m stupid, and technically-challenged.
“Sure, I can reset your clock,” a salesman said. “There’s nothing to it!”
He got in, started my car, and pushed the clock-button.
Again, nothing.
But then he turned on the radio and reset my clock.
“Hello,” I shouted. “Do you mean to tell me I hafta have the radio on to reset my clock?
The manual doesn’t say that.”
“Well, of course!” said the guy, a mocking liberal, who daycares my dog while I work-out at the Canandaigua YMCA.
I guess the perception is the average ‘Mer-kin will have the radio permanently on in his car, listening to country-music (“Twang!”), or rap (“BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM....”) or talk-radio (“yadda yadda yadda; all Liberals should be lined up and shot!”).
Well, I don’t. I never have my radio on; it’s a distraction.
I guess I’m still driving transit bus.

• “‘Pyooter” is computer.
• 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, southeast of Rochester.)
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.

I can be as much an ass-hole as you!

A few months ago I asked a trainer at the Canandaigua YMCA if he could suggest anything for an old geezer (me) trying to stay in shape.
He stiffed me.
“I’m with a client,” he snapped.
“Sorry I asked,” I thought, so I continued working out myself.
I later asked good old Michelle, another YMCA training-coach, who supervises the Exercise-Gym in mornings.
I know Michelle. I used to call her “Amazon-Lady” because she’s muscle-bound and keeps to herself. She seemed kind of sullen.
I don’t call her “Amazon-Lady” any more. She’s really nice.
She couldn’t suggest anything, so I continued doing what I’ve been doing, which to her was good.
About a week ago I went into the stretching-area of the Exercise-Gym to do my stretches.
That trainer-guy was in there with a client, and had large rubber-band training-aids with him. They were about eight feet long.
I looked around, and there was no place to put my stretching mat.
I grabbed the training-aids to move them.
“You can’t have that!” the trainer snapped. “Only YMCA trainers can touch them.”
I backed off, circled around, and got a stretching mat.
“Okay, where do I put this?” I shouted at the trainer.
“Sorry dude,” I thought to myself. “I drove city bus so have plenty of experience with ass-holes. I can be as much an ass-hole as you!”
“Put it anywhere you want,” he said, cowed.
“I was gonna put it there,” I snapped, pointing at the training-aids.
He moved the training-aids.
“Yeah, guess what, dude,” I thought. “Ya stiffed me again. Ya got my Irish up.”
Since my wife died, I’ve become more tolerant of people.
They mean well, but they put their foot in their mouth.
I think the dude recognized he had crossed me up, but he wouldn’t apologize.
I considered saying something to him, but didn’t.
Why bother, when all I may encounter is him being more of an ass-hole?
After all, he got my Irish up.

• 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, southeast of Rochester.)
• RE: “old geezer.....” —I’m 69.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.

Hoda

Hoda and Kathie Lee.

Is she kidding?
Is that her real name?
“Regis and Kathie Lee” sounds plausible, but “Hoda and Kathie Lee” doesn’t.
I guess that’s her real name. But it sounds like she spoke “who-dat” into her iPhone’s voice-recognition, and it came up with “Hooda.”
“Hooda,” she thought. “I like that; that’s who I am.”
She’s the child of Egyptian parents; born in Oklahoma, but lived a short time in Egypt.
The voice-recognition on my iPhone has come up with strange stuff.
“Siri” is pretty good, but Ford’s “Sync” on my car is awful.
“Please say a command.” I do, and it calls someone other than I commanded.
I don’t do GPS on Sync; it’s “turn left in 100 feet” — voice-direction, not a screen.
As I’ve said hundreds of times: “The GPS is in my head.”
About all I’m doing with Sync is Bluetoothing my cellphone. And all I do is answer it.
Would that it could make calls as well as Siri, but it can’t.
Sync is Microsoft, so Bill and his gang should get cracking.
Sync is not a selling-point I would endorse.
My car, which I purchased used, also has “Sirius” satellite-radio, and they keep begging me to sign up.
PASS! I never play radio while driving anyway; it’s a distraction. I’m concentrating hard; still driving transit-bus.
So why should I fork over almost five bucks a month for something I’ll never use?
I get Hoda and Kathie Lee while I work out at the Canandaigua YMCA.
The Exercise-Gym has giant wall-mounted flat-screen TVs, supposedly to distract from working-out.
There are Kathie Lee and Hoda screeching at each other.
So this is what TV has come to?
No wonder I don’t watch it! The Internet and this computer are far more interesting.
The fact the lady is named “Hooda” seems appropriate.
I know it’s her real name, and legitimate. But I can’t get past how silly it sounds as “Hooda and Kathie Lee.”
I’ve successfully used Sync to call my brother’s cellphone. But that’s all I’ve had success with. —I asked it to call my cleaning-lady, and it called my mower-man, or my hairdresser who retired some time ago, so his shop-phone no longer exists.

• “Siri” is the iPhone voice-recognition personal assistant. It works pretty good; although you can baffle it. “Siri” is the female voice that interacts with you.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.
• 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, southeast of Rochester.)

“Do you remember where you were when President Kennedy was assassinated?”

It seems to be the question everyone is asking.
Well of course I do.
I had just finished a class at my college, my sophomore year at Houghton (“HO-tin;” not “how” or “who”)
Probably in WC-5 — who knows if it still exists — in the basement of Wesley Chapel.
We headed for a back entrance under the pipe-organ, and as we ascended the short stairwell up to the outdoors, the news was madly ricocheting around campus.
It was dreary, and President Kennedy had been assassinated.
What a downer that was!
It was as if optimism had been snuffed, replaced by the stodgy conservatism of the ‘50s.
Being stridently REPUBLICAN, and anti-Catholic, it was almost as if our college celebrated his death. They didn’t know how to react.
Like he had it coming.
But we students were devastated. Our bright future had been skonked.
A bunch of my fellow-students decided to drive to Washington. I wasn’t among them.
They wanted to witness the funeral-parade for real.
Our college was anti-television. About the only way to witness history was -a) secret televisions owned by professors, or -b) drive to Washington.
My rooming-house, non-professor, had a television. I watched Oswald get shot.
So now 50 years have passed.
We warred in Vietnam and lost. It was a war Kennedy promulgated.
There also was a nuclear standoff with Russia Kennedy instigated, and we also set foot on the Moon, a Kennedy goal.
But his assassination seemed like a return to boring conformity.

• “Houghton” is Houghton College in western New York, from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it, although I graduated a Ne’er-do-Well, without their blessing. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college.

Computer miniaturization, etc.

A couple months ago my niece’s daughter Christina, about 18, who enthusiastically drives a Samsung Galaxy and an iPad, noticed me fingering a text into my iPhone.
“Why doncha speak it?” she said. “Use your voice-recognition.”
I said what I always say to such naysayers.
“Because you can be damn sure any sentence I generate is gonna have a period at the end of it.
And not only that, the words ‘to’ and ‘for’ are gonna be spelled out. They ain’t gonna be the numbers ‘2’ and ‘4.’”
My hairdresser, even more a techie than me, who got me into Smartphones in the first place, which I don’t regret, protests.
“Punctuation and grammar are Old School. Ya don’t need ‘em to communicate. People understand a text.”
“Sure,” I said; “if all you’re doing is Facebook ruminatin‘ — like ‘I just got up,’ or ‘I’m sitting on the toilet.’”
I doubt Kierkegaard could philosophize via text.
Which gets into the miniaturization problem.
Folded closed this Apple MacBook Pro laptop is about five-eighths of an inch thick.
My first Apple computer was a beige G-3 desktop. It was about nine inches high, and that’s without its screen.
It occupied a space about 14 by 18 inches on my desk, and the keyboard was in front of it.
Apple number-two was a G-4 tower about 20 inches tall.
My screen and keyboard were front-and-center; the tower was off to the side. —People were putting their towers on the floor, but not me; too dusty.
This laptop is Apple number-three. It has a 17-inch folding flat-screen display. It also has an integral keyboard and swipe-pad that serves as a mouse.
But I don’t use them, except out-of-town.
I USB-ed the keyboard from my tower into this laptop as a peripheral. Included is a real computer-mouse.
My laptop’s keyboard and swipe-pad are inefficient.
They can be used, and are outta-town when I don’t drag along my peripherals.
But using them takes time; longer than my peripherals.
Which gets into the major iPhone problem.
How can I use its virtual-keyboard when the keys are so small?
I certainly couldn’t Photoshop or do a blog on my iPhone.
My iPhone gets e-mail, and I can respond.
But often I don’t.
If it’s more than 10 words it ain’t worth the bother.
I wait until I get home to this laptop.
And often the fonts are so tiny I can’t read the e-mails on my Smartphone. War and Peace compressed on the head of a pin.
“So expand the e-mail,” I’m told. “Ya can, ya know......”
In which case I hafta scroll back-and-forth across the e-mail. What a pain! Read the e-mail on your laptop.
Responding on my iPhone takes three times as long as this laptop. I hafta edit all my mistypes caused by that virtual-keyboard, plus change its word-suggestions to what I intended.
A friend I graduated college with — his wife just got an iPad.
My friend is even more of a techno-geek than me, and is trying to figure out how to drive that iPad.
“No iPads for this kid,” I told him. “I’m drivin’ Photoshop, and for that I need a real computer.”
“You are so right!” he responded.
“There is NO WAY you could do complex computer-functions on an iPad. Well, probably you could, but it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.”
Nor can I do complex ‘pyooter-functions without my real computer-mouse.
Well, I can; but it’s irksome.
What an engineering triumph it is that all this technology was compressed into my tiny iPhone. That my iPhone has more computer-power than what got us to the Moon.
But the miniaturizers forgot we users are still big. We don’t have fingers the size of matchsticks.
You can be damn sure this blog wasn’t entered on my iPhone.

• “‘Pyooter” is computer.

The prettiest car of all time is........

A Jaguar XK-E roadster (the coupe looks almost as good). (Photo by BobbaLew.)

How can anyone resist a lede like that?
Just like the time at the Mighty Mezz when I said “the greatest rock-n-roll song of all time is....” and the entire newsroom went suddenly silent. You could hear a pin drop.
The greatest rock-n-roll song of all time is not “I can’t get no satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones. It’s “Louie-lew-EYE” by the Kingsmen, a cover.
As soon as I said that everyone rose to their feet, and a torrent of noisy cat-calls and put-downs began, and questioning my intelligence and knowledge of the topic.
Most were suggesting songs from the ‘80s and ‘90s. Poor babies! They weren’t even thought of in the ‘50s when rock-n-roll began.
The prettiest car of all time is of course the Jaguar XK-E.
I used to say the prettiest car of all time was the 1953 Studebaker Starliner hardtop.


A ’53 Starliner coupe (the hardtop looks prettier). (Photo by BobbaLew.)

My macho brother-in-Boston loudly declared “Are you crazy?”
Well, he had a point, but I usually take his blustering with a grain of salt.
A guy I worked with at the Mighty Mezz, a car-guy like me, took issue with the Studebaker.
“The prettiest car of all time is the Jaguar XK-E,” he said.
I thought about it, and I agree.
But compare the Studebaker to everything else marketed at that time. GM’s products were bloated turkeys, as were the Chrysler products.
Ford’s offerings looked better, but they weren’t Studebaker. Even mighty Packard was a BeetleBomb.
The Starliner was a showcar, a one-off brought into production. It was styled by Raymond Loewy, perhaps the best industrial-designer in the world at that time.
The Starliner has no borrowed styling cues.
It stands alone, and is striking.
No wrap-around windshield, no faux fenders or faux running-boards. It still looks pretty good. To me, it’s better than Loewy’s Avanti.
But the Starliner has problems. I saw one at a car-show in Watkins Glen (the one pictured).
It’s big, and very definitely a 1953 car. It reminded me of a ’53 Chevy, perhaps the worst turkey ever.
It also lacks a good motor. It needs a SmallBlock Chevy. If yer gonna swap the motor, ya might as well put that SmallBlock in a ’41 Willys three-window coupe, one of the best hotrods of all time.
The Stud is nice, but it’s big and blowzy.
It looks 1953.
The XK-E, by comparison, is tiny. It’s also much more sophisticated; it has independent rear-suspension and disc brakes.
Another example of getting it right. Loewy got it right with the Starliner, but it ain’t the Jag.
The XK-E has problems too.
Its inline-six motor was flaky.
How many of those motors were swapped out for something better?
I remember Car and Driver magazine installing a Pontiac overhead-cam inline six.
But the prettiest car of all time is indeed the XK-E Jag.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over seven years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a 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.)

Milner’s car?

Is this Milner’s car (a ’53 Chrysler wagon)?

John Milner’s ’32 Deuce five-window from “American Graffiti.”

Not John Milner’s gorgeous yellow hotrod that graced “American Graffiti.”
His name was “Mr. Milner,” a mega-rich Dupont vice-president that lived in an estate in Chadds Ford, PA.
The reason I knew him was his son Eric, my age, was in my Sunday-School class.
The December 2013 issue of my Hemmings Classic Car magazine has coverage of Chrysler’s stationwagons, 1949 through ’59.
Before SUVs and minivans, the vehicle-of-choice for the American family was the stationwagon.
With its extended roof you could have inside storage, or even an extra seat.
Prior to 1949, stationwagons were more utility-vehicles with a wooden body built by a separate coach-builder. They weren’t by the car-manufacturer.
The name came from such vehicles assigned to pick up passengers and their luggage at a railroad station.
But in 1949 Plymouth debuted an all-steel stationwagon called the “Suburban.”
Chevrolet also had an all-steel Suburban, but it was based on their truck-chassis. Plymouth’s stationwagon was a car.
Soon all the car-manufacturers were offering all-metal stationwagons, although they often had appliques and trim to make them look like wood; for example Ford’s “Country-Squire.”

A ’57 Ford Country-Squire. (Photo by R.C. Claborne©.)

The magazine had pictures of Chrysler stationwagons, and there was Mr. Milner’s car (not really). His car was a grand Chrysler stationwagon in dark olive-green.
Milner worked for Dupont in Wilmington, DE, Dupont-land. He had about seven cars.
One was a glitzy Mercedes-Benz, one a Jeep, another a Cadillac. He also had a Mercury Comet. His commuter-vehicle-of-choice was that Comet.
But his favorite car was his Chrysler stationwagon.
I had thought the car was a 1951, but the grill doesn’t look right.
So I considered 1952, but that still has the flat two-piece split windshield.
So his car may have been 1953, which has the one-piece curved windshield.

Me at age-15 in 1959 with my first assigned horse, “Barney,” a nag. (Photo probably by J.D. Jenkins.)

During the summers of 1959, 1960, and 1961 I worked at a boys-camp in northeastern MD. I worked as a stablehand. I wasn’t very good riding horse at first, but I got better.
What I really did was riding instruction and supervision of camper riding. I also mucked stalls, and fed the horses.
Our horses were rented nags. Only nags were placid enough for our campers. If a horse proved spunky, it wasn’t a camper horse. It got assigned to stable-staff.

“Rebel” ridden by “Waco.” Waco was a non-smoking Marlboro-man wannabee, a student at Baylor University in Waco, TX. Waco was fired for tossing a knife at a camper, at which time I was assigned “Rebel.” (Photo by J.D. Jenkins.)

My first horse in 1959 was a nag, but in 1960 I was assigned to “Rebel,” an old Tennessee Walking-Horse, big and somewhat challenging. He was dramatic to look at, lanky and tall.
But I got so I could ride him, and he was the neatest horse I ever rode.
Very classy. He’d pick up his hooves as he walked or trotted, a Tennessee Walking-Horse.
He also threw his head a lot. I wanted to buy him, but where to keep him? Dreamin’, as usual.
Rarely did our camp ever own its horses, but for 1961 we did. We had bought the horses from a supplier who would buy them back when camp ended.
But Mr. Milner intervened.
He was mad because the local horsey-set wouldn’t let him join.
So he offered to winter the camp’s horses.
Since I lived nearby, I would advise. (I lived in northern DE at that time.)
It seemed okay to me.


Milner’s barn. (The horse is “Red,” the one I rode, my camp-horse, a mare. She was ornery and difficult, a frequent runaway.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

He had a nice stone barn with interior stalls.
His estate was also a hobby-farm.
So we planned to go get the horses.
I would meet up with Mr. Milner, drive up to Chadd’s Ford, stay overnight, and get a large stake-truck he had.
I took the bus into Wilmington, and met Mr. Milner at his rented garage. He’d commuted in his Mercedes that day.
We would drive down to camp in his Chrysler stationwagon, followed by the stake-truck.
Milner’s hobby-farm also had farmhands. They would accompany us.
Camp was totally unlike what I knew. It was slanted Fall light, and cool.
The horses were outside quietly grazing their pasture.
Loading was a challenge; a stake-truck isn’t a horse-trailer.
The horses had to climb up onto the stake-body, about three-and-a-half feet off the ground.
We had taken along a four-by-eight sheet of one-inch-thick plywood to use as a ramp, but it promptly shattered.
The truck also broke a rear spring. Eight horses are a lotta weight.
But we got them on, and drove back to Chadd’s Ford, even with the broken spring.
Milner and the horses never worked out. For one thing our horses were western, neck-reiners. The horsey-set was English, bit-reiners. They poo-pooed western riding.
Our tack was also western. All the camp’s saddles and bridals were transferred to Milner’s place in that stationwagon. —I remember touching them all stone-cold in a storage-room in that barn; totally unlike at camp.
The fact Milner had no English tack got the horsey-set nattering.
Beyond that, I insisted on no halters when the horses were grazing. A horse could become entangled in its halter.
So here was a horse out in the field grazing. If he saw you coming with a bridal, or even a halter, he’d split.
For the Milners, horseback-riding was out! —About all he could do was graze ‘em.
And Milner never got the horses into his barn. He built a large open shed downwind from the frigid breezes.
The horses wintered outside, no blankets, stomping around in frozen urine and horse-pucky.
About all that happened was I took a date up there twice and we rode two horses, me bareback.
Meanwhile, Milner was stuck with the horses. I disappeared about Christmas-time.
He never did it again.
But on-the-other-hand I remember his grand Chrysler stationwagon.
Milner loved that car. It projected his self-image of a swashbuckling Teddy Roosevelt wannabee.
But the camp’s horses suffered. Stomping around in the freezing cold in frozen muck to me was horse-abuse.
They were never shod either.

• “J.D. Jenkins” was stable-director at my camp in 1959 and 1960.
• You can always tell what a horse is thinking by its ears. “Rebel” is listening to its rider; “Barney” is paying no attention to me, more to J.D.

Monthly Calendar-Report for November 2013

Train 21J, having passed Altoona’s Amtrak station, continues west toward The Hill as Track Two becomes Track Three. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

—The November 2013 entry of my own calendar is not that dramatic. It’s train 21J westbound onto Track Three toward The Hill.
It’s passing Altoona’s Amtrak station, and shows how Norfolk Southern reconfigured the tracks through Altoona.
Altoona was the base of the grade over Allegheny summit. A torrent of freight passed through Altoona with the Pennsylvania Railroad, and still does with Norfolk Southern.
Pennsylvania Railroad no longer exists. It’s owned and operated by Norfolk Southern, a 1982 merger of Norfolk & Western and Southern Railway.
Helper-locomotives have to be added to get trains over the Alleghenies (“The Hill”).


A coal-extra approaches 17th St. overpass on the old alignment. (Note signal-bridge.) (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

An earlier photo shows how the tracks were.
That earlier picture was the May, 2013 entry in my own calendar.
Both the calendar-picture and my earlier picture were taken from the 17th St. overpass in Altoona.
Two tracks come into Altoona from the east, Tracks One (eastbound) and Two (westbound).
Just west of Altoona-station a third track gets added — Track Three — to get trains over The Hill.
With the old configuration that third track began with a switch.
Trains were usually assaulting The Hill on Track Three, and a switch has to be maintained.
With the new configuration that switch was removed, and Track Two becomes Track Three.
A crossover was added on the other side of the overpass to get trains over to Two if they were using Two to climb The Hill. —Track Two is signaled both ways — the others aren’t.
Alto Tower is on the other side of the overpass, and has been closed.
Alto had a massive signal-bridge (visible below), and that too has been removed.
Tracks south (railroad west) of the 17th St. overpass were also reconfigured.


The old configuration, when Alto Tower was open and had the signal-bridge. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)


Looking west on the new alignment with a new signal-bridge. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

Entering Altoona from the east, the railroad divides into express and drag tracks — two into four.
That coal-train in my earlier picture is westbound on the drag tracks.
It will need to be crossed over to assault The Hill, probably onto Three.
Alignment through Altoona also needed (needs) helper-pockets. Westbound trains often need additional locomotives — helpers — to get over The Hill.
The helpers were added in Altoona, and have been since the railroad opened (1854).
Helpers also get taken off of eastbounds, although this can be done on-the-fly, with an application called “Helper-link.” Helpers helped climb the western slope of The Hill, and helped hold back the train descending into Altoona.
Alto Tower used to do all this. Now a dispatcher in Pittsburgh does it.
Altoona is a bottleneck. Trains stop to add helpers.
Alto Tower was good at it, but they were old hands.
Pittsburgh still has to get the hang of it; trains often stack up and run late.
Altoona still has a dispatcher, although he’s in Pittsburgh.
Alto Tower will supposedly be removed to become part of Railroaders Memorial Museum, which honors the long heritage of railroading in Altoona. Altoona was Pennsy’s main shop facility. Pennsy locomotives were developed/tested and built there.



A westbound stacker descends, while an eastbound ore-train gets helped up The Hill. (Photo by Sam Wheland.)

—The November, 2013 entry in my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is a westbound stacker on Track Four descending The Hill, while a heavy eastbound ore-train climbs on Track One.
The eastbound ore-train is being pushed by an SD40-E helper-set.
I know exactly where this photograph was taken, since I’ve taken pictures there myself.


Same location, but no sun. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

It’s off the State Route 53 overpass just north of Cresson (”KRESS-in”), PA.
It was the April, 2013 picture in my own calendar.
Underneath are five tracks: Tracks Four and Three (at left) are on the original Pennsylvania Railroad alignment, then Tracks Two and One plus Main-Eight are on the old “New Portage Railroad” alignment next to the original Pennsy.
Main-Eight is used for storage.
“New Portage Railroad” was constructed by the State to correct the original Portage Railroad with its inclined-planes.
The Portage Railroads were part of Pennsylvania’s “Public Works System” of canals, etc. The Portage Railroads were how the Public Works System got over Allegheny Ridge.
It couldn’t be canaled.
The Public Works were a response to the phenomenally successful Erie Canal.
The Pennsylvania Railroad, a private endeavor unlike the Public Works System, was so successful it put the State system out of business. A through railroad made far more sense than a combined system of canals and railroads.
By the time Pennsy was built railroad technology had superseded canals.
Pennsy got the Public Works System when it was sold for a song, but incorporated the New Portage alignment. That was because New Portage had a tunnel under the mountaintop, a tunnel that could be added to the original tunnel Pennsy already had.
But New Portage Tunnel is slightly higher than Pennsy’s tunnel.
The New Portage alignment was higher on the western slope of The Hill, but on the eastern side Pennsy had to ramp up to it: “The Slide,” a fairly steep 2.28 percent. —That’s 2.28 feet up for every 100 feet forward.
(It used to be 2.36 percent, but was reduced when Conrail lowered the tunnel-floor to clear double-stacks. [Conrail operated the line before Norfolk Southern.])
Eastbounds usually take the New Portage alignment (Two or One), although they can take Track Three on the original Pennsy alignment.
Westbounds take Track Three or Four. Three is signaled both ways.
I’ve seen pictures galore at this location. The railroad is busy enough to often see two trains at once. One time I missed three trains at once by about 15 seconds.
But two trains at once is not that often. Photographer Wheeland snagged a downhill train as an uphill train almost passed out of sight.
It’s also fall colors, appropriate to a November calendar picture.



Kewel! (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

(What a joy it is to finally attain November and not have to look at that silly ‘53 Chevy custom.)

—The November 2013 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar solves one of the major problems of a 1934 Ford — to me.
I’ve never liked the front-end of a 1934 Ford.
The rest of the car looks fine.

The best there is.

Stock ‘34 Ford three-window coupe.

The front of the calendar-car. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

Yet the radiator-shell of a ‘32 Ford is gorgeous.
The calendar-car has a different front-end. It’s a modification hot-rodders often did to improve aerodynamics for lake-racing.
Lake racing was flat-out speed trials on the huge dried lake beds up in the desert in southern California.
Rogers dry lake is now part of Edwards Air Force Base.
The vast hard-packed lake can be was used as a runway.
The Shuttle has landed there.
The calendar-car’s top is also chopped; it’s a great-looking hotrod.
About the only thing I find questionable about this car is its paint-job.
I find that red segment questionable, like it’s not needed.
Or maybe it is; at least it’s not dayglo flames.
The car has a 350 Chevy and automatic transmission.
The motor is souped up with triple carburetors.
Would I be interested in this car?
Yes, which is saying a lot for me to like a ‘34 Ford.
But I need four-on-the-floor, not an automatic.


The way it was years ago in Gallitzin, PA. (Photo by Bill Price.)

—(“guh-LIT-zin;” as in “get”)
The November 2013 entry of my All-Pennsy color calendar is Pennsy GP9s toward the summit of the grade in Gallitzin.
The Geeps are on Track One, the old “New Portage” alignment.
As mentioned above, New Portage was the State’s attempt to correct the original Portage railroad with its inclined-planes.
Pennsy put the state system out-of-business, got it for peanuts, then incorporated it because it had a tunnel atop the mountain.
The train is headed for that tunnel. Track One goes through New Portage tunnel.
The GP9 is EMD’s (General Motors Electromotive Division) second iteration of the Geep road-switcher. First was the GP7.
Pennsy had GP7s, but was slow to dieselize; it was trying to stay with steam.
By the time it decided to dieselize, their demand was so great EMD couldn’t supply it. Pennsy had to dieselize with anybody and everybody, including unreliable suppliers.
Geeps were reliable.
That truss highway overpass has since been replaced. Gallitzin is an old coal-town draped from mountaintop down the western slope.
It looks half-dead and not very organized.
Two street overpasses cross the tracks. One is Jackson St. and crosses the old Pennsy alignment. The second is the one pictured (Main St.), which crossed the New Portage alignment, which is a couple blocks south of the original Pennsy alignment.
Both were once trusses like what’s pictured, and both have been replaced.
Both may not have been high enough to clear doublestacks.
Railroading hasn’t changed much in Gallitzin, summit of the Alleghenies.
The locomotives are now Norfolk Southern, that bridge was replaced, but the tracks are still in the same locations.
And those Geeps are probably hammering. The train is uphill toward the summit. The Geeps are almost at the top, but their train is still on the grade.


#7048 is at left. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

One GP9 is displayed at Horseshoe Curve. That’s 7048.
Horseshoe Curve is my favorite railfan spot. It’s uphill — trains are hammering — and the viewing-area is smack in the apex.
The railroad was looped around a valley to ease the grade. It was a trick used long ago when the railroad was built to make crossing the Alleghenies possible.
It’s still in use.



A burn-out king! (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

—The November 2013 entry in my Motorbooks Musclecar calendar is something I always poo-poo.
It’s a 1969 396 El Camino.
El Caminos were notorious for not hooking up; that is, stuff your foot into that 396, and smoke the rear tires.
The car is rear-wheel-drive, but its heavy motor is in front.
And the 396 is a high-performance motor.
The El Camino is a stationwagon shorn of its roof.
There’s not much weight on the drive-tires.

A ‘59 Chevrolet El Camino.

A ‘57 Ford Ranchero.

It’s not really a truck; ya don’t carry manure with it, or tow a boat.
Former President Clinton had one in his past, and someone declared “anyone that owns a vehicle that can’t make up its mind what it is, shouldn’t be president.”
It’s more a profiler; Chevrolet’s response to the Ford Ranchero.
The first El Camino was 1959; the first Ranchero was 1957.
By the mid ‘60s Ford and Chevrolet downsized to smaller cars. The first car-pickups were full-size cars.
Ford downsized to the Torino, and eventually the Falcon.
I don’t think Chevrolet ever El Camino-ed its Nova. It never even stationwagon-ed the Nova.
A souped-up El Camino occasionally passes my house, about ‘72 or ‘73.
I think it’s a SmallBlock, but it’s heavily modified.
I can hear it coming; the induction-noise is deafening.
My neighbor’s young sons got the driver to stop, and suggested a burn-out.
The driver complied, and left two angry stripes.
Tire-smoke filled the air. Per usual, the drive-tires didn’t hook up.
Everyone cheered, including me, but all it was was sterm und drang.
The motor is awesome, but about all it can do in an El Camino is generate tire-smoke and noise.
So the calendar-car is pretty to look at, but I don’t think it could win a street-race.



Top of the hill. (Joe Suo collection.)

The November 2013 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is a train at the top of Keating Summit.
Keating Summit was the main impediment to trains on the line to Buffalo in northwestern PA.
Keating Summit is the top of the Alleghenies toward the north. The railroad climbs a 2.21 percent grade, and then descends a 1.68 percent grade.
Horseshoe Curve and the eastern slope of the Alleghenies on the PRR mainline is only 1.75-1.8 percent — 1.8 feet up for every 100 feet forward.
More-than-likely the line to Buffalo is a merged line, although Pennsy may have built it.
The train pictured had help climbing the 2.21 percent grade, and is now beginning its descent.
What tells me that it may be a merged line is that semaphore signal; although it may be leftover from earlier times. Pennsy used semaphores before its target-signals.
Semaphores were quite common in the late 1800s.
The locomotives are EMD F7s, EMD’s fourth iteration of the “F” cab-freight diesel-electric.
First were the FTs, introduced in 1939.
At that time Pennsy was still trying to stay steam.
I don’t think they had FTs.
There was an F2, but Pennsy never bought any. —The F2 was essentially the FT rebodied; an upgraded generator was not available yet. Still 1,350 horsepower, like the FT.
Pennsy’s first F-units were the F3, the F-unit uprated to 1,500 horsepower. (Few F2s were built.)
Then there was the F7, still 1,500 horsepower, but more modern.
I have photographs galore of F7s, including FP7s, four feet longer for dual-service (including passenger).

B&O F7s on the Royal Blue line, about 1959. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

Reading FP7s, about 1960. (I think these locomotives still exist.) (Photo by Bobbalew.)

F7s were coming into heavy use while I was a teenager, dominating locomotive usage.
We’d hear faraway F7s on Baltimore & Ohio’s Royal Blue line in northern Delaware (where I lived at that time).
They would chant, as F7s did.
F7s more-or-less established the market for diesel-electric traction, so-called “trolley-motors” due to their rotating power-trucks with electric traction-motors.
Just like a trolley-car, except the electric current for those traction-motors was generated by a diesel-engine on the locomotive, not delivered by wire or third-rail from a distant generator.
Diesel-electric traction was called “electrification without wires.”
Electric traction is much better than steam.
With steam, power transmission is only two thrusts per wheel-revolution; actually four for the entire axle — that’s two thrusts per side, evenly timed. (Unless the steam-locomotive has more than two drive-cylinders, and there were such.)
The power-stroke is short enough and powerful enough to break traction — spin the drive-wheels, especially if the railhead is wet.
A steam-locomotive has to get really going fast to smooth out the power-thrusts.
I’ve ridden behind a steam-locomotive, and could feel it pull the train side-to-side.
Electric traction is constant — the drive-torque is constant. Electric traction-motors can generate much more useable force at slow speed than can a steamer — without slipping the drive-wheels.
Pennsy had quite a few F7s, but also many other brands. When Pennsy finally decided the dieselize, there was no way EMD could supply all the locomotives Pennsy needed.
But F-units were best. EMD became the premier supplier. And when EMD finally marketed a road-switcher — the GP7, Alco was first with the RS-1 — EMD became prime.
It remained there for a while, but General-Electric entered the market with its “Universal-series” (railfans call ‘em U-boats, since they go by the letter “U”).
The train is passing Keating Tower atop the grade.
I don’t know if this line still exists, although I think it does as a shortline.
It doesn’t have enough online or through traffic to attract the big railroads, although it may be Norfolk Southern or CSX.
It was Pennsy’s way to Buffalo. Keating summit is out in the middle of nowhere.



What a turkey! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

(It was a pleasure to see I only have one calendar left so this calendar-report won’t be that late.)

—The November 2013 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a gigantic flip-flop.
It goes from an incredible photograph of the second-best airplane ever, the P-51 Mustang, to what has the be the dumbest looking airplane ever, a Polikarpov I-16.
(To me, the best-ever looking airplane is the Lockheed Constellation in TWA paint.)
I’m not familiar with the Polikarpov I-16, probably because it’s a Russian airplane, and I come from an era when Russia was our mortal enemy.
Yet during WWII Russia was one of the Allies, opposing Nazi Germany. In fact, had it not been for the Russians, the Nazis may have prevailed.
Russia forced the Nazis to fight a second front.
Not only did they have to fight England and us in western Europe, they also had to fight the Russians in eastern Europe.
The airplanes used in western Europe I know, the P-38, P-39, P-40, P-51, the Hawker Hurricane, and the Spitfire.
But there were Russian planes fighting too, like this Polikarpov I-16 (the “Ishak”). The Polikarpov I-16 lacked the beauty and grace of the Mustang and Spitfire.
In fact, even the Navy’s radial-engined fighter-planes, like the Corsair and the Grumman ‘Cats, look much better.
The Polikarpov I-16 is incredibly ugly.
I’ll let my WWII warbirds weigh in:
“The first low-wing monoplane fighter with retractable landing gear to enter service, the Polikarpov I-16 was obsolete even before the Second World War began, yet plodded along as the Soviet Union’s first line fighter until 1943 when the Red Air Force finally introduced top-notch aircraft to slug it out with the Luftwaffe for the remainder of the war.
Of advanced design for its time, the I-16 was, none-the-less, an illustration of poor timing, being the fastest of its type when first introduced, highly maneuverable, with excellent climbing speed and roll rate, yet soon outclassed by a newer craft developed by Germany and Japan.
While the aircraft performed well against German combat aircraft during the Spanish Civil War (1936 to 1939), and against the Japanese Air Force in Manchuria starting in 1937, by the time Germany invaded the Soviet Union in 1941, the aircraft was outclassed by new generations of enemy fighters.
Yet, as the most numerous of the Soviet fighters available at that time, it bore the brunt of the battle for several years.
On the plus side, its simple, rugged construction, all-wood monocoque fuselage and metal wings made the I-16 easy to maintain under frontline conditions, and enabled it to absorb heavy punishment while staying in the fight. In fact, the plane itself was sturdy enough to be used as a ram to destroy enemy aircraft in midair when ammunition ran out in a dogfight.
On the negative side, it had poor longitudinal stability, a tendency to stall in a glide, and was exceedingly temperamental, requiring highly skilled airmanship to perform well and not kill the pilot before the enemy had a shot at him.”
So not only was the Ishak ugly, but it was also out-of-date.

A Yakovlev Yak-3. (Photo by Graham Orphan.)

A Yakovlev Yak-9.

Not many Ishaks are left. Most are in New Zealand, one was imported to this country, and may be the calendar-picture.