My piece of the Rock

A long time ago (1999) my Mom sent me an email about a little policy they had taken out on me when I was born. The policy was paid up in 1968, and she had the policy number but no other information. They would not release the information to her because when I reached adulthood I became the owner.

She had a toll-free number to call, specifically for old policies.

I called the number. They asked for my name and SSN and found my policy within 30 seconds! I was impressed.  I still wonder about the SSN – unlike today, when I was born, children did not have to have Social Security Numbers. You got your Social Security card the first time you got a job, which in my case was when I was sixteen. So how did they get my SSN?

At any rate, they sent me a statement, which I can’t find, about the policy.  In 1999, it was worth around $2500. 

Later they sent me a document indicating that Prudential was going to demutualize, and as a very very tiny ‘owner’ of the mutual company, I was entitled to some stock. Okay by me. So I got some stock in Prudential, 35 shares I believe, just for making a phone call.

I was quite surprised to get a 1099 from Prudential after a while. I couldn’t imagine why they had done that, until I realized that the 1099 was attached to a check. The stock paid a dividend. I had never owned a stock that paid a dividend and I didn’t recognize it.  After a while, I got a letter from Prudential offering to buy back my stock, or for me to round it up so that it would no longer be an odd lot. I could buy shares to make my holding 100 shares, with no brokerage commission.  So I did that.  I’ve been getting dividend checks ever since.

I wondered what the policy was worth the other day, so I tried to navigate the Prudential.com website to find out. I was completely unable to create a user ID, so I called the help number.  A man who sounded Irish helped me, and he said that the type of policy I had was not supported on-line, but he gave me a number to call for information, and transferred me.  The number was the same number my mother had sent me in 1999.

This time, I sat on hold for 20 minutes before giving up.  I wasn't so impressed.

I’ll have to try some day other than Monday.

Sad how things go

We used to vacation nearly every year in Maui. One of our favorite places to eat was a small Italian restaurant in a strip shopping mall, a very unappealing (no view of the water) location, but wonderful food. I'm not sure how we found it - probably a recommendation from a guide book.  It's long since gone.

One evening we were having dinner, when this enormous red extended cab pickup truck pulled up.  Everyone in the restaurant was buzzing around excited.  The truck belonged to Randy Travis, the country singer who is in the news these days, not for any good reason.  He had, at that time, a home on Maui somewhere.

Randy and his group were seated at an inside table; we were dining alfresco.

After Randy got there, nobody working in the restaurant paid any attention to us. We were finished, but nobody offered us coffee or dessert, or cleared the table, or refilled the water glasses, or brought us a check. I was just sort of sitting there, when I realized Randy Travis was looking at us. He said something to the owner, and we were promptly taken care of. Obviously, he noticed that we were being ignored on account of all the fuss over him and got it taken care of.

So, I didn't meet him or shake his hand or anything, but he took care of us in a small way. Sad how things go.

Vermont - days 2 through 8

Day 2

We had breakfast at Henry House Sunday and Monday. Nancy fixes a hot breakfast only on the weekends, so we had French toast on Sunday. On Monday we had a choice of bagels, English muffins, fruit, cereal, etc., and she brought us some cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven.

The French toast was really good. Better than Trader Joe’s frozen.  

We visited a couple of sites in the Bennington area.  The first was the Bennington Battle Monument, a tower reminiscent of the Washington Monument, but shorter. For a fee, you can take an elevator to a viewing station a couple of hundred feet up, and have a view of three states (VT, MA, NY). The monument memorializes a Revolutionary War battle where militia mainly from New Hampshire, but also from Massachusetts and Vermont defeated two detachments of Burgoyne’s (British) army. The battle was actually in New York, about ten miles away, but the British target was a store of weapons and food at the monument’s location. It’s pretty cool for history buffs.  

View from 200' up

View of most of the monument (305' tall)

The second site was the Bennington Museum, a small but eclectic collection of historical artifacts, one old car, a lot of Rockwell Kent paintings, and a whole wing dedicated to the work of Grandma Moses (no photography allowed there).

Toy train

Surgical Instruments (!)

The Wasp - made in Vermont

Rockwell Kent painting

Rockwell Kent Painting

The afternoon we spent wandering around Bennington, just gawking at how green everything is. We even went to the Covered Bridge Museum, and saw a video describing the terrible flooding in 1927 that wiped out so many covered bridges.  The video is out of date, because it doesn’t mention anything about Hurricane Irene in 2011 and all the damage it caused.

Pangaea

North Fork of Long Island Wine

I was concerned, as always, about finding a place for dinner where Jody could have something vegetarian, and I had noticed a place the night before when we were looking for Kevin’s, and checked it out on the web. The place is called Pangaea, and it’s in North Bennington. It has a restaurant (closed Sunday) and a lounge (open every day). We reserved a table and ended up having a wonderful meal in an outdoor setting. This place is really good. The menu had items marked with a little carrot, which were vegetarian, and items marked with a little tomato to indicate they could be made vegetarian on request. They even had some wine from the north fork of Long Island, where I spent a lot of my summers growing up. It was quite good. 

Incredible ravioli

I had a ravioli stuffed with boar and brie and served with a balsamic reduction. It was incredible. Our waitress told us the staff drooled every time they put it on the menu.

Day 3

The next stop for us was Stowe, and we had a pretty long drive to get there. Google maps wanted us to head over to I-89, but we decided to stay on VT 100, which skirts along the edge of part of the Green Mountain National Forest. There was very little traffic on this road, and it is incredibly scenic. We did see some very sad remnants of the destruction caused by Hurricane Irene, which sat over Vermont in 2011 as a tropical storm and dumped prodigious amounts of rain, causing some serious flash flooding.

VT 100 took us to Waterbury, where we stopped for lunch. The meal itself was unremarkable, but what was interesting is that nearly all the customers were speaking French. We saw a number of cars with Quebec license plates parked nearby.  After lunch we went to Montpelier, where I showed my wife where I stayed when working there, and where the company is located. The company has a building which is really too large for Vermont.

We also visited the Vermont State House, and just wandered in at the right time to take a tour of the building. 

Vermont State House

Constitution chair

The tour was very interesting, and the building is extremely well taken care of.  It is pretty tiny for a state capitol but it has a lot of interesting artwork and in the governor’s office there’s a chair called the Constitution Chair, named not after the U.S. Constitution, but the USS Constitution, or Old Ironsides, where the wood for the chair originated. 

Haddock

We had dinner that night at a place in the Stowe resort called Crop Bistro. It had started to rain just as we left, and was pouring when we got there. The Bistro was just okay – I had a haddock dish which was kind of strange – baked fish on top of some soupy vegetables. The restaurant itself had no tablecloths but steel-top tables and lots and lots of echoing noise.  

Day 4

The next day it was still a little rainy in the morning, but cooler. We decided to see if we could find a boat ride on Lake Champlain. And I showed my wife how easy it is to completely miss the Burlington Airport, which is as poorly signed as anything in the world. We had no problem finding the boat ride, and a helpful lady in the parking lot suggested we go see the aquarium while we were waiting. The aquarium, called ECHO Lake Aquarium andScience Center, was inundated with young folk, summer campers, and the exhibits seemed mostly of interest to that age group.

Unsinkable

We took the noon cruise on the Spirit of Ethan Allen, which included lunch. The lunch and the cruise were both pretty good. There’s a narration that tells you what you are looking at, and the ride was very smooth. There is a lot of history on that lake, and it’s fun to hear about how the British fired cannon balls at a rock, in the fog, thinking it was an American ship. It’s hard to sink an island. 

That evening we had dinner at Hen of the Wood, a small restaurant but one of the harder to book dining spots in Vermont. This place is hard to find, tucked away on a cross street to Vermont 100 just north of I-89, in a building with no indication as to what it is. Our table was in a very dark room.  The service was very good, and the waiter was quick to make recommendations. 

Hen of the Wood - cheese plate

We split a cheese plate for an appetizer.

Hen of the Wood - short ribs

I had one of the nightly specials, short ribs.  

while Jody had a goat cheese gnocchi dish.

Goat cheese gnocchi - Hen of the Wood

We split a bottle of Vermont red – it was drinkable, but it was a bit harsh.  

Yes that really is Vermont wine

All in all it was an excellent evening. After we were finished, we poked our heads out to see the spectacular outdoor seating they have.  

Back yard of Hen of the Wood

Day 5

From Stowe we headed north and east, to Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. We were visiting an old family friend, Paul Gruhler, an artist whose works have been shown all around the world. Paul has a house in Craftsbury Common, although it might actually be in East Craftsbury, on an unpaved road surrounded by mostly nothing but green. Paul was not confident that we could find his house, so he met us in Craftsbury at the general store. 

Craftsbury General Store & Post Office

Paul gave us a quick tour of Craftsbury Common (the actual town) and then brought us to his house, which looks small from the road but is actually quite large, and well decorated with his own and others’ art works. Later, Paul fixed us dinner as his lady friend came over to visit. That night I had my first good night of sleep in Vermont.

Sweater in July!

Paul's house

Paul and Jody at Craftsbury Common

Day 6

The day was dull and raining. Paul fixed breakfast, which we ate on a protected porch. Vermonters go outside in the summer, no matter what! Later we decided on taking an excursion to Canada – Paul had a good lunch place scoped out. So we drove about 40 minutes or so and crossed into Canada. We had our passports, and had to check in with the Canadian border people. Lunch was at a place called Le Tomifobia – I am not making up the name. I tried to research the name – there is a town by the same name – but did not come up with anything.  At any rate, the people working there speak French and a little English, and we enjoyed crepes similar to what we get in France, except, this being North America, just a little bigger. 

Garden at Le Tomifobia

Salmon crepe

The restaurant is in a town called Beebe Plain, which extends both sides of the international border. One interesting thing was a gas station on the U.S. side, with six or eight pumps, all being used by cars from Quebec. Evidently, fuel is 30% more expensive on the Canadian side of the border. The restrictions on border crossings since September 11 have had a devastating economic effect on this area. People used to be able to move easily across the border for shopping or dining, but now access is restricted to controlled entry points, and delays are common.

That evening we attended a concert at the Historic Hardwick Town House, of chamber music, played with marvelous talent and enthusiasm by some well-traveled performers. Prior to the concert, we had dinner in a wildly eclectic restaurant in Hardwick called Claire’s, and after dinner we poked around in a railroad museum while waiting for the concert.  But the surprise of the evening was when my old friend from college, Jack Sumberg, appeared. I had not seen him since maybe 1970 or so. He looked old, but recognizable. So we took some time to try to catch up – as if it were possible to catch up 42 years – but it was enjoyable. I had spoken to Jack a couple of times, but it was only coincidence that led me to mention his name to Paul, only to find out he lived nearby.  

First time since 1970?

Day 7

After blueberry pancakes (with a little cayenne pepper) at Chez Paul, we reluctantly left the Northeast Kingdom on our way to Woodstock, VT, although we didn’t ever really get that far. 

Blueberry pancakes at Chez Paul

Our first visit was to the L.L.Bean store in West Lebanon, N.H. We knew the exit from the interstate, but finding the store was a chore, and when we got there it was really just a tiny subset of what you find in Freeport.  In fact, I called it ‘L’ instead of L.L. Bean. From there we went to the Quechee Gorge, a canyon cut away by glacial activity many years ago.  The Ottauquechee River runs through it today. The gorge, and the waterfall from the dam at the top of the gorge, are very impressive, and the park alongside is beautiful. We spent an hour or two wandering up and down, and taking photos.  I understand there are occasions where someone slips and falls into the gorge or into the stream, and I was concerned about a family whose dog was getting close to the main current, but the dog clambered out with no problem.

Lowest part of the Gorge

Some white water

Jody with the dam in the background

We ate lunch in a place called the Quechee Diner, and the less said about it the better. We also visited the Cabot store next to the diner, where they had some tasty Cabot cheese samples available. We learned that Cabot cheese is sold in Trader Joe and in the Walmart stores that carry food.

By this time we were getting used to finding things without signs or good directions, and we managed to find our next B&B, called Apple Hill Inn. This place was definitely a step up in class (and in price) from our prior B&B’s, in a large house with elegant interior spaces. We had a king size bed, and a huge room, with everything new and immaculate. There was sufficient cross-ventilation, which was important because the thermometer had been creeping up again.  

Apple Hill host

Apple Hill Inn

Day 8

The owner of Apple Hill Inn fixed us a very nice breakfast of pancakes with pears and almonds. Breakfast was not until 8:30 AM, which is kind of late, but there was coffee available from 7 AM. We had a flight out of Bradley International at 6 PM, so we had plenty of time – it was about a 140 mile drive – two hours in Texas, somewhat more in New England. We stopped a couple of times.  The first stop was at the Vermont Country Store in Rockingham, VT.  This store has lots of older stuff that you don’t see in the stores any more, such as Tab (diet soda)., and lots of knick knacks and other treasures  from the area. They were giving away a lot of munchies of different kinds, which is always welcome.  I would say the Vermont Country Store is worth one (01) visit.  

But the real, unspoken, purpose of our trip was to come home with two delicacies that are widely available in the Northeast but not available anywhere else.  These are Thomas’ Toast ‘r Cakes and Sandwich Size Thomas’ English Muffins. So as we traveled south on I-91 we were trying to figure out where there would be a town big enough for a supermarket. Our efforts were hampered by an absolutely torrential downpour that made I-91 nearly impassable. The last time I drove that road, the same thing happened, so I’m not planning to go there again, ever.

We found a promising exit somewhere north of Springfield, and after some driving around we found a Stop & Shop.  We went to the bread section, and took all their Toast ‘r Cakes, and all the sandwich size muffins except an ‘Everything’. We left them with nothing but Everything.

After that we had a relatively uneventful drive to the airport, and after security we stopped in the Black Bear Saloon in the airport, where, sort of a final farewell, they screwed up Jody’s order, giving her chicken in her quesadilla instead of cheese. Fortunately, we had plenty of time.

It continued to rain off and on through our departure.  We got home to 100 degrees at DFW airport, and we sure haven’t seen any rain since! 

We had a good time in Vermont. It's beyond green, and it could hardly be more different from Texas. There is so little traffic, and everything is slower paced and people take more time with you. It was very entertaining.  I don't know if we'll ever go back, but if we do, we won't commit to so much driving and try to focus on one area. 

Vermont - day 1

We took a trip to Vermont for our 30^th anniversary. Five years ago we spent the week of our anniversary in San Francisco, which was a very attractive place for people who live in Texas to go in July; this year we were hoping for similar results in Vermont.

Day 1

Initially I had hoped we could fly into Burlington using miles I had earned on USAirways in 2011, but it turned out that, between lack of availability of the lowest mileage level, and insufficient miles in my account, we could not do that. I burned my USAirways miles on another trip, and instead we used American miles to get at least as far as New England. Our choices were Boston or Bradley International, usually called ‘Hartford’ even though it is halfway between Hartford and Springfield, Massachusetts. Boston is a little closer to Vermont, but just getting out of Boston is not an easy task. Getting out of Bradley is nothing.  So, we flew to BDL, using miles, on American, and in first class. 

Warm nuts in first class

We carried on our bags, hoping to make a quick getaway from the airport, because we had a long drive ahead of us.

Our flight was uneventful, but landed a little bit late. Our rental car was a Chevy Cruze, a model I was completely unfamiliar with, but it had cruise control (essential for long drives) and it had an XM radio, which was not essential but was more than welcome.

Our first destination was in North Bennington, VT. This is a part of the state where I had never been. Our route took us up I-91, almost to the Massachusetts/Vermont border, where we took smaller roads over towards Bennington. Some of the smaller roads were just a touch too small and too winding, and so we didn’t make particularly good time. The scenery is fabulous, and everything is unbelievably green. I had printed directions from Google maps, but things sort of broke down when we got to Bennington, and we could not find the street where we were supposed to turn.

A side note – Vermonters are not very good at signs. In fact, they are terrible at signs, and are kind of proud of it. For a state that depends heavily on tourism for revenue, they are somewhat ambivalent about it. They’d really rather not depend on tourism and they often don’t go the extra mile to make it easy on visitors. On a person-to-person basis, Vermonters are very friendly and accommodating. But try to find Burlington airport some time. You would think a state’s largest airport would be easy to find. You’d be wrong.

We ended up having to use our iPhone map application to find our first B&B, and fortunately Bennington is a part of Vermont where there is pretty good cellphone service. Some areas have poor or no service, and you can’t use your iPhone map application if it can’t download the map from the Internet.

The first B&B was Henry House, an extraordinary place to stay. It was built in 1769, which in some countries is not a long time ago, but it is in our country. 

Henry House, and our Chevy

David and Nancy Lively only recently took it over, and they are doing a good job with it. Our room was on the second floor, and was quite large, with good cross-ventilation, important because it was rather warm. We had a private bath, but it was not ensuite but across the hall. Nobody else was around so there was no privacy issue. Access to our room was by a stairwell that looked like a submarine conning tower or something, and I did hit my head fairly hard one time.  

Awkward stairwell at Henry House

One of our goals for the trip was to see a covered bridge – we could see one out our window!

Veal with too much pasta

We got in pretty late – 7:30 or so, and asked our hostess for advice as to where to get dinner without having to drive too far. She suggested Kevin’s Sports Bar and Restaurant, a short distance away.  That is, a short distance if you make no wrong turns. We found it, and it was crazy busy but they had a table for two. This restaurant features quantity over quality – but it was okay. And in a true rarity, when Jody asked for the tortellini dish without the chicken it was supposed to come with, they took something off the price.  That’s a first.

Too much tortellini

The Thief

(Inspired by a Facebook discussion about losing things)

I usually wear contact lenses, but I have a very good, very expensive pair of glasses, with Armani frames, and progressive lenses.  They cost maybe $600, but I have had them for ten years. I have one and only one place where I put the glasses when I am not wearing them - in my briefcase.

I was watching something on television and decided to use my glasses. I can see well enough without correction to watch TV, but for some reason one night I wanted my glasses.  I went to the one and only place where I keep them, and they weren't there. I was confused. I started looking for my glasses, but, as I say, there really was only one place for them to be and I really didn't know where to begin.

I searched everywhere that I could think of. No glasses.  Then I identified a suspect:

Mr. Innocent

This cat had stolen dozens of small items - cat toys, my wife's hair thingies, refrigerator magnets, and so forth. Usually they end up under the refrigerator, but sometimes they go into another dimension of space and time (cats are known for living in another dimension). So, we figured, Smilo had grabbed my glasses.  Now the search was renewed, focusing on 'under' various things. Under the bed, under the sofa, under the refrigerator, anyplace a cat might have smacked something.  No luck.

I had another pair of glasses, but they were a really old prescription. I was in the habit of putting my lenses in mid-morning, because right after I put them in, my vision in the dark is a little blurry, and it makes it hard to deal with headlights of cars and such. So, I had been using my glasses to drive to work in the morning, and this old backup pair worked okay for looking out the window, but not so well for looking at the dashboard. I struggled for several weeks, thinking I might have to go to the eye doctor, but also thinking - damn it! - those glasses are in the house somewhere.

After a few weeks, in the middle of our home office, on the floor right out in the open where they couldn't possibly have been missed, sat my glasses case, with the glasses inside. The case had been mutilated horribly - teeth and claw marks everywhere. A hockey puck would have had an easier life.

Smilo is a Maine Coon. He was tiny when we got him, although the animal shelter said he was a year or two old.

Smilo at the shelter

Maine Coons can become quite large, and this guy is no exception. The most recent time we took him to the vet, he weighed in at 21 pounds, and he's long. He can reach up on a desk and steal a pair of glasses out of a briefcase, easily. He also opens doors, as long as they have a latch style handle and not a doorknob.  He has not figured out deadbolts.

Smilo got his name partially from his prior name, at the shelter, which was Milo, and partially for a little smirk that he wears when things are going his way, such as when he's stolen something important.  

Smilo smiling

I now have a different kind of briefcase, with a pocket that snaps shut and requires quite a bit of force (and an opposable thumb) to open.  I replaced my eyeglass case, and my glasses are now secure.

Smoking causes more than cancer

My wife and I took our first trip to Ireland in September of 2000. Ireland did not ban smoking in the workplace until March of 2004, which had an impact on me, to be discussed later. We had a very rushed itinerary, not knowing any better, and spent much too much of the time driving. Driving in Ireland is not exactly relaxing!  Especially your first time. They drive on the left, and the roads are much narrower than in the States. This has improved since 2000 in the more built-up parts of Ireland, but not everywhere.

We spent a few days in Dublin, visiting museums, historic sites, and the Guinness plant. We stayed at the Arlington Hotel, really a pretty nice hotel with king sized beds and an awful breakfast. The hotel has a huge bar, perhaps the biggest in Ireland, and it was so large and open that smoke wasn't much of a problem for us.  And so we had our first Guinness there, making the usual stupid American mistake of failing to understand the Guinness ritual.

We rented a car in Dublin, and picked it up at a hotel. I don't know if you can do this any more - the company, called County Car Rental, now does not make cars available in the center of town. So, our first experience driving in Ireland was on O'Connell Street of all places, in the midst of heavy noontime traffic. We had to navigate to the road along the Liffey that leads out of town. The turn was counter-intuitive, but my wife helped me through it. Our first night was to be in a B&B outside Longford, which we chose for no particular reason except that my mother's grandparents came from that area. It was not far from Dublin but given that it was my first experience driving on the wrong side, I was glad not to be driving for very long.

We managed to find the B&B, and rested up for a while.

That afternoon, we went into a little tiny pub in Newtownforbes, and got our first exposure to full-on smokatarians. It absolutely reeked of smoke and we literally bounced out. There's no telling how long that pub had been there, but the interior definitely had not been cleaned in decades.

I made a point of having my wife take a turn at the wheel.

Driving on the left is something that I never quite get comfortable with, and consequently I find driving in Ireland to be much more fatiguing than driving at home, even on country roads with more sheep than cars in your way. It has gotten easier over the years, but it still takes more concentration.






Our week was fairly rushed. The last stop we had was in a town in southwest Ireland called Kenmare, a beautiful little town full of nice restaurants and cute little shops.



Unfortunately, our B&B was not within walking distance of Kenmare, it was nearly in the next county, at the end of a no-lane road where, of course, we encountered an oncoming vehicle. On our last night in Kenmare, we drove into town a little early for dinner. We found a place to park, and were just wandering around, killing time. Now, in 2012, or any time after March 2004, we would have been sitting on a stool in a pub drinking the black stuff. But we could not tolerate the smoke.




There is an old stone circle in Kenmare, thousands of years old, so we wandered back there to kill some time. I took a few photos, and it started to rain.


Moments later, I was walking down a moderate slope, putting my camera away to keep it out of the rain. My left foot slipped out from under me, and all of my weight came down on my right leg, which did not slip, but flexed past the point where it could flex, and I went down with a loud crack. I knew it was something bad, but not what it was. I could not get up.  I was not in pain; I do not have a high tolerance for pain - it just didn't hurt at all. I asked Jody to go get some help - we were alone in this stone circle and no one was around.

So she did, and while she was off accosting some unsuspecting Irishmen, I crawled over to some shelter, and pulled myself to my feet.  But I could not walk, only stand. Eventually they helped me into a car, and took me to the home/office of the local physician, who, as luck would have it, was on vacation. A substitute doctor was there, and he examined me in a cursory fashion, but he could not diagnose the injury.  He just said to keep it elevated and put ice on it. Where do you get ice?  In a pub!

We managed to get back to our B&B, and if I had something to lean on, I could walk, so I could do the stairs and hobble around our room. We spent a restless night - we never did get dinner - and the next day we had to go back to Dublin anyway to go home, so we did that. It's a considerable distance from Kenmare to Dublin, and in 2000 all the motorways that cross the country had not yet been completed, and we had to slog through every little town all the way. Of course, Jody had to drive the whole distance.

We stayed at an airport hotel, which was also the drop-off point for the rental. Our car was green down the passenger side, because we always dragged along the left side, trying to duck away from the oncoming traffic, and we were brushing against the shrubbery. But it was otherwise undamaged.  As it happened, or hotel room was set up for a disabled guest.  The next day we got the van to the terminal, and I had a hell of a time getting to our gate, but with Jody's help managed it. We had to have a wheelchair meet us in London, and I had to have a ride to the gate for the American flight back to DFW. Once on the plane, I was fine, in that I could hold on to a seat if necessary while walking (I hate when people do that to me, but I had no other option).  We'd requested a wheelchair on arrival at DFW, but none arrived. Our lead flight attendant got on the phone and got us some assistance, and she waited with us until it came. I didn't know then, but know now, the lady was not being paid by the airline any more once the door opened. She was a lifesaver.

We learned, after some difficulty finding an orthopedist, that I had completely torn my quadriceps tendon, without which you can't walk, at least not forward. Evidently you can walk backwards, but I didn't try it. The strangest thing is that there was just a little discomfort, but never any pain. The doctor was alarmed in that, in his opinion, this injury was a medical emergency and should have been treated within 48 hours. But the nearest hospital to Kenmare would have been back in Killarney, and our insurance would not have been good there, and so the best option was to limp on home.

But none of this would have happened, except for the smoke in the pubs.

First Experience with a Union

This was during the summer of 1966.  I graduated from Xavier High School which was located on 16th Street in Manhattan. I had commuted to high school from our apartment in Jackson Heights. My summer job was in the central lost and found office of American Airlines, at LaGuardia Airport, in one of those classic old hangars that had been built a very long time ago.  This was a 10 or 15 minute walk from where we lived.

Not long after I started working there, we moved to Stuyvesant Town in Manhattan. Stuyvesant Town is a large apartment complex, developed originally by Metropolitan Life Insurance Company. It was on the East Side, bordered on the south by 14th Street and on the North by 20th Street. On the west the border was at First Avenue, and on the east, Avenue C. So, it was a 15 minute walk to the high school I had just graduated from, after commuting there for four years from Queens.  Now I was doing virtually the same commute, but in the other direction.

My job was in the lost and found office for baggage. The airline routed any lost baggage to our office, if the local station couldn't return it to its owner within x number of days. We would try to figure out where it should go. Sometimes this was easy, in that the bag had a tag on it with a name and address. But in those days, passengers were not required to put name tags on their bags, so sometimes, maybe most of the time, all you had was the bag itself and whatever was inside.

We had a set of keys from each manufacturer and could, usually, open any bag with a key without damaging it. I learned, for example, that one key from Samsonite or American Tourister could open just about any other bag from Samsonite or American Tourister!  Sometimes the lost bag would be a duffel bag or sea bag from a soldier or sailor home on leave. They would just leave the duffel bag at the airport intentionally, figuring they could pick it up again on the way back. It didn't work out that way.

I worked directly for a woman named Trudy, whose last name I remember but won't report, and she was, I would guess, around 30.  She was very attractive, but since I was 17, she was completely out of my league. Basically, she was the expert on how to work with these bags, document their contents, try to figure out who the owner was, and put together a teletype message to send to a central exchange among all the airlines where a computer would try to match lost bags with claims. If we could positively ID the owner, which happened probably less than half the time, we would get help from one of the claims specialists in the other office, who would try to contact the owner by phone and arrange for return of the item.

The bags were often very heavy. In those days, few if any bags were lightweight material like they are now, and there was no particular weight limit that I recall. My job was to lift the bags on the table. And really, that's all it was.  But Trudy didn't like sitting down all day, so she had me sit behind the desk and take notes, while she lifted the bags, popped them open, and sifted through the contents. She was particularly fond of Asian porn in the duffel bags/sea bags, and made a point of hustling out to show it to one of the other ladies who worked there whenever she found some. No, she never showed it to me.

One day Trudy injured herself hauling one of those heavy bags that I had been hired to haul.

This got me a lecture from one of the (female) managers there. I was supposed to be doing the heavy lifting, not Trudy. The fact that Trudy didn't want me doing it didn't enter into the discussion at all.

So we had an uneasy truce. While Trudy's back was bothering her, I did the heavy lifting.

The bags came to us via a dumbwaiter from somewhere in the bowels of the building.  A fairly old guy used to bring the bags up, and put them on a cart. He would roll the cart to our office, and slowly unload them, one bag at a time, and I would pick them up and stick them in our shelves somewhere to be inventoried later. After I got chewed out for not helping Trudy, I felt like this old guy (he was probably in his late 50's or early 60's, but decrepit) should get some help too, so I started helping him unload the stuff.  He thanked me and I thought I had done okay.

The next day I was called into the director's office (his name was Alec Mercer), along with his right hand man (his name was Amos Kreiss). I had been the subject of an official union grievance. I was taking work away from the Transport Workers Union (TWU), the same union that represented the people who had put the New York subways out of operation while I was making the commute I talked about earlier, to high school. Why did I do that, I was asked.  I explained that I was just being polite. The guy was struggling with the weight of these bags, and it was taking him forever, and I had just gotten chewed out for not helping Trudy, so I helped him out.

The director explained that I couldn't touch the bag while it was on the cart. I could only touch it after it was off the cart and the guy had let go of it. Those were the rules. And so I learned.