What happened?
The other night, in pursuit of long-ago bus-story, I started thumbing through old columns I wrote for the Canandaigua Daily Messenger newspaper.
Following my stroke I began as an unpaid intern, and was eventually hired. I preferred that over bus-driving. Writing was what I always wanted to do. Bus-driving was originally supposed to be temporary.
One day at the Mighty Mezz — I don’t think I was employed yet — I said to no one in particular: “If I were to write anything at all for this newspaper it would be that presidents don’t seem to wear hats.”
“So write it,” an editor said, instead of shutting me down.
They published it! So began my weekly column, which ran Wednesdays on their Op-Ed page.
To be fair, there was no charge. But I guess they thought well enough of it to never change anything.
So here I was reading column after column, perhaps 40 or more. It took at least two hours = to bed at midnight.
What happened? I don’t write like that any more. I found myself editing the way I do now; reduce excess verbiage, avoid passive-voice, etc. But where was the flair I had back then?
Thinking about it — I know, I was told at the Mighty Mezz “that there thinkin’ is dangerous” — it might still exist if I had what motivated my columns.
Like if I were writing about hot-air balloon rides (“Oh, the humanity”), wrastling with the I.R.S., bus-driving, etc. the flair would resurface.
As I age I pretty much stay put. Events that prompt colorful writing don’t occur much any more. Plus many of my columns dealt with childhood events.
But I feel like my colorful writing drifted away, perhaps for lack of anything dramatic to write about.
Writing (“slinging words”) is the talent I was apparently blessed with.
RE: “slinging words.....” —“But Dr. Zink” (my 12th-grade English teacher), “all it is is slinging words.”
“Hughes, you do that way better than most.”
I thought him joking at first, but later realized my writing works pretty good. Thankfully my stroke didn’t take that away.
Following is my “Presidents don’t wear hats” column:
When is the last time you saw a president wearing a hat?
If you were born or came of age after the early ‘60s, there’s a pretty good chance you’ve never seen a president wearing a hat.
My compatriots here at editorial central batted the idea around, and we all agree Harry “The Haberdasher” Truman wore hats, and Ike wore hats and was known to wear an Ivy League cap over his balding pate when he played golf. And Lyndon Johnson may have donned a 10-gallon hat at his Texas ranch, and our more recent presidents may have allowed the occasional errant telephoto to capture them with baseball hats or caps while piloting speedboats or golf carts.
But no president since Kennedy — which includes Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush and Clinton — allowed himself to be caught doing his job wearing a hat. It’s as if somewhere behind the curtains in the Oval Office a shrouded media maven utters, “Thou shalt not wear a hat.”
What brought this on was the observation of our current president, Bill Clinton, on the TV news performing affairs of state at the new Lockerbie monument. The temperature was probably 45-50 degrees in Arlington Cemetery, and there’s Willie, sans hat, and no topcoat. Just the uniform presidential blue suit. It makes you wonder if the dude wears skivvies.
The image still exists of President Reagan in Reykjavík, sadly walking the sidewalk by the sea, downtrodden because he hadn’t been able to finesse Gorby into giving away the store. He was wearing a topcoat, but no hat. The famous shock of red-dyed hair was exposed to withstand Iceland’s icy blast.
It’s striking that since Kennedy no president has dared wear a hat... like it’s a symbol of yooth and vigah.
Well, I don’t know about you, but when the temperature drops, I put on a hat. I’ve tried to be presidential and do without, but I just get chills... and then sniffles... and eventually a cold.
Many years ago, my grandfather instructed me in this seemingly simple tenet of basic common sense.”Wear a hat,” he used to say.
I, for one, will be glad when our leaders return to sanity and wear hats. As far as I know, the president still pulls his pants on one leg at a time, so I’ll support the first candidate man — or woman — enough to wear a hat.
• 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.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired 12 years ago. Best job I ever had — I was employed there almost 10 years —worked there over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.
Following my stroke I began as an unpaid intern, and was eventually hired. I preferred that over bus-driving. Writing was what I always wanted to do. Bus-driving was originally supposed to be temporary.
One day at the Mighty Mezz — I don’t think I was employed yet — I said to no one in particular: “If I were to write anything at all for this newspaper it would be that presidents don’t seem to wear hats.”
“So write it,” an editor said, instead of shutting me down.
They published it! So began my weekly column, which ran Wednesdays on their Op-Ed page.
To be fair, there was no charge. But I guess they thought well enough of it to never change anything.
So here I was reading column after column, perhaps 40 or more. It took at least two hours = to bed at midnight.
What happened? I don’t write like that any more. I found myself editing the way I do now; reduce excess verbiage, avoid passive-voice, etc. But where was the flair I had back then?
Thinking about it — I know, I was told at the Mighty Mezz “that there thinkin’ is dangerous” — it might still exist if I had what motivated my columns.
Like if I were writing about hot-air balloon rides (“Oh, the humanity”), wrastling with the I.R.S., bus-driving, etc. the flair would resurface.
As I age I pretty much stay put. Events that prompt colorful writing don’t occur much any more. Plus many of my columns dealt with childhood events.
But I feel like my colorful writing drifted away, perhaps for lack of anything dramatic to write about.
Writing (“slinging words”) is the talent I was apparently blessed with.
RE: “slinging words.....” —“But Dr. Zink” (my 12th-grade English teacher), “all it is is slinging words.”
“Hughes, you do that way better than most.”
I thought him joking at first, but later realized my writing works pretty good. Thankfully my stroke didn’t take that away.
Following is my “Presidents don’t wear hats” column:
When is the last time you saw a president wearing a hat?
If you were born or came of age after the early ‘60s, there’s a pretty good chance you’ve never seen a president wearing a hat.
My compatriots here at editorial central batted the idea around, and we all agree Harry “The Haberdasher” Truman wore hats, and Ike wore hats and was known to wear an Ivy League cap over his balding pate when he played golf. And Lyndon Johnson may have donned a 10-gallon hat at his Texas ranch, and our more recent presidents may have allowed the occasional errant telephoto to capture them with baseball hats or caps while piloting speedboats or golf carts.
But no president since Kennedy — which includes Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush and Clinton — allowed himself to be caught doing his job wearing a hat. It’s as if somewhere behind the curtains in the Oval Office a shrouded media maven utters, “Thou shalt not wear a hat.”
What brought this on was the observation of our current president, Bill Clinton, on the TV news performing affairs of state at the new Lockerbie monument. The temperature was probably 45-50 degrees in Arlington Cemetery, and there’s Willie, sans hat, and no topcoat. Just the uniform presidential blue suit. It makes you wonder if the dude wears skivvies.
The image still exists of President Reagan in Reykjavík, sadly walking the sidewalk by the sea, downtrodden because he hadn’t been able to finesse Gorby into giving away the store. He was wearing a topcoat, but no hat. The famous shock of red-dyed hair was exposed to withstand Iceland’s icy blast.
It’s striking that since Kennedy no president has dared wear a hat... like it’s a symbol of yooth and vigah.
Well, I don’t know about you, but when the temperature drops, I put on a hat. I’ve tried to be presidential and do without, but I just get chills... and then sniffles... and eventually a cold.
Many years ago, my grandfather instructed me in this seemingly simple tenet of basic common sense.”Wear a hat,” he used to say.
I, for one, will be glad when our leaders return to sanity and wear hats. As far as I know, the president still pulls his pants on one leg at a time, so I’ll support the first candidate man — or woman — enough to wear a hat.
• 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.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired 12 years ago. Best job I ever had — I was employed there almost 10 years —worked there over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.
Labels: Geezer maunderings
posted by BobbaLew at 7:21 AM
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