BLITHERING, BUMBLING, AND RAMBLING #24
THE LONG RUN
A while back we were clearing some stuff out of the garage and I came across a big poster board that I recognized as being from Erin’s room. Growing up she had put years of memorable items on it, which included a plastic pin, which, triggered a memory of the story behind the pin on the board. It’s been a while, but as best I can remember it goes something like this….
2005- On the first day of orientation at the FBI Academy they explain the layout of the place. It’s vast. And since it’s on the grounds of a Marine base, you are surrounded by lots of woodsy green acreage where the marines train constantly. Off in the distance the sound of gunfire and helicopters is an almost daily background music.
During orientation we were told of how there were lots of trails in the surrounding woods, but, though encouraged to enjoy them, we were warned to not wander off alone because the further you go, the easier it was to get lost. A friend of mine in Rocklin, who had grown up in Virginia, had told me that back there “the woods” was different from California. Back in Virginia, the green growth was dense enough that you disappeared into it if you got too far off the path. I kept that in mind.
A Lieutenant from the Idaho State Police came to the academy and, not having heard the same advice I had, was anxious to explore the woody trails. Since there were so many foot trails around, he went out for a run one morning and decided to head down a path and see where it led. He had told his roommate at the academy that he was going out for a run. As the minutes ticked away and morning changed to afternoon, the roommate began to wonder just where, exactly, the state police guy had run off to. Cue the suspense music.
If you know the Leon Russel song, Out in the Woods, at this point it seems appropriately written for the unfolding saga. The roommate called the Idaho State troopers phone, which, unfortunately rang where it sat on his dresser in the dorms, ten feet from the roommate. Uh, problem.
The roommate started asking around, and searching for the Idaho guy in the buildings. No one had seen him since breakfast, so the roommate contacted the dorm supervisor, who organized a quick search for the guy. As more time passed, the information spread up the chain of command at the FBI academy, who, realizing that the guy was last seen heading into the woods, started thinking about a much larger search party, and maybe some helicopters from the base.
Meanwhile, out in the woods, on a long dusty trail that had several intersecting trails, the Idaho State trooper had realized that, doggone it, all the trails look alike. Having lost his sense of direction, and realizing he had to find a point of reference, he kept moving, listening for the sounds of the marine base in the distance. He didn’t hear any. Jumping potato bugs- that’s not good! He hadn’t seen a human in hours, and he was getting dehydrated in the heat, and worrying about the wildlife out there. Well, who wouldn’t?
As luck would have it, the state trooper heard the sounds of traffic in the distance, and figured he was near some kind of roadway, but he had to abandon the trail and cut through the woods to find it. Nah, not doing that. He followed the trail he was on, deeper into the woods, but closing in on the sounds of traffic. He found a gap in the trees and cars on the roadway beyond. After half a day’s wandering, he’d located humans.
He made his way out to a road and flagged down a car. A county service worker pulled over when he saw the car that stopped to helped the Idaho guy. The worker called his agency on his radio and they let the FBI Academy know where they found the guy. Sunburned, thirsty, and quite embarrassed, the Idaho guy was brought back to campus.
A few weeks later, I ran into the him in the cafeteria. A nice guy, the young Lieutenant told me the story of his adventure in the woods. In the final weeks of the Academy, a lot of the guys trade the tokens of their department like patches, hats, or department pins. I gave him a department pin from Rocklin.
At the National Academy graduation ceremony, the speaker from the FBI told the story of the lost Idaho jogger. My wife and kids were there and chuckled with the crowd. A few weeks after that, the Idaho Lieutenant sent me a letter at the PD in Rocklin. It had an Idaho State trooper pin in it.
Actually it was a potato (yes really) wearing a state trooper hat and badge. Now I was chuckling. I took it home and showed it to the family. I explained the story behind it. Erin asked if she could have it. Sure, I said. She was 11 years old at the time.
That pin stayed on her poster board for 12 years as, more than once, Erin explained the story behind it to her visiting friends. So now you know why I get kind of a strange, far away look in my eye whenever the conversation is about Erin’s poster board. And why I can’t seem to talk about Idaho without mentioning potatoes. 🥔🥔🥔🥔
COFFEE LEGEND
There is a little known fact about Ludwig Von Beethoven that he was something of a coffee fiend. A bit obsessed with it, he insisted that the perfect cup of coffee had to have 60 beans in it. No less, no more. He also meticulously counted the beans himself, and prepared his own coffee, not trusting the task to others.
Whhhaaaaat? Yes, it’s true. Beethoven was not only hooked on the stuff, he was OCD about his morning brew. Legendary composer, and pianist, he ended up deaf as a post as he aged, yet still composed amazing symphony works that remain musical icons to this day. Starting each day with a morning jolt that carried him through to masterpiece sounds that he himself could not hear. Nor the applause from his fans.
60 beans. He could count it, he could taste, and he could savor its rich flavor every day. A figure in history I wish I could go back and meet. Over coffee, of course.
THE COMEBACK
Speaking of coffee…If you’ve ever seen a “Do you remember what these 60’s/70’s items are? “ you know that as time passes you recognize less of them.
In the past couple years, some things have fallen out of mainstream popularity altogether, and have been discontinued. There is no more painful realization than the recognition of something you cherish in life, no longer being produced. Your favorite sitcom actors from way back when have disappeared, Winchell’s Donuts has moved out of Northern California, and nobody does “the bump”on the dance floor anymore.
Screaming Yellow Zonkers, that snack from the 60’s and 70’s, died a slow death in 2007. Then, made a miraculous resurrection in 2012. A glimmer of hope only, it died off again as a brief attempt that same year. But for those lucky enough to taste them one more time, it restored our faith in the junk food industry, if only momentarily. Momentarily is enough for daydreamers like me, or anyone who thinks the Detroit Lions will ever make it to the Super Bowl.
Just one thing making a comeback, that’s all I ask, a glimmer of what once was. And I got it.
The morning bun. A Starbucks staple that was my standard go-to. And, after they removed it from the menu, I persistently asked about it until they assured me, it’s not coming back, Bud, let it go. Crushed in spirit, I tried to move on. And then, when Debbie and I were on vacation in Pismo Beach, we walked into Scorpion Bay Coffee.
This was a rare find. Friendly, funky, great coffee, cheerful staff, lots of seating. Annnnnd, wait for it…….they have MORNING BUNS!! House made, heated up for you and I got the last one on the shelf that day. All the staff look like surfers, and they serve everything up with a smile. I know it’s a five hour drive, but I’m gonna go back. I loved the coffee, and hope they open a chain store in Rocklin.
Then, to double down on the one stroke of luck in finding the only coffee shop that had my craving secured, my dear wife, bless her heart, found a copy cat recipe for morning buns and surprised me on my birthday with a fresh batch. My Dad was right, she’s a keeper.
So. As you cross your fingers, and long for the return of Disco Duck, Bigfoot pizza, the AMC Pacer, or Merv Griffin reruns, have faith. It’s possible. The surfers at Scorpion Bay Coffee think so too. One of them was wearing a Detroit Lions Jersey. Faith, huh?
A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME
Have a nickname when you were a kid? A lot of us did, but the best ones were the ones which came with a good story. Like the guy who got into the most car accidents at the police department was, of course “Crash”. The people who fixed the computers were “Gizmo”, and since they were multiple they were either Gizmo I, II , III, or IV. It was easier to remember than their actual names.
When I was in High School, my friends and I used to go to the stock car races at Roseville Speedway. One of my friends had a sister who was married to one of the race drivers. A lot of the drivers had nicknames, Speedy, Clutch, Rambler, etc. Of course, it was all car-related names, you don’t expect much else down there in the pit crew. And one summer night at the races, my nickname arrived. So, you’re thinking it has something to do with cars….
Nah. We were sitting in the bleachers and the races were just starting, when a woman a few years older than my parents came in and sat down two rows ahead of us. She started to yell at the track as the races progressed. We were cheering on the guy we knew driving and after that race ended she turned around and asked us if we were family of anyone on the track. A conversation started and she kept talking the rest of the night, giving us the back story on all the races she had been to, telling us who was favored to win, and telling us who to root for.
She was reasonably pleasant when it started, but after a couple races, (and it seemed like she ordered another beer during each race)her verbal skills began to slur. She got louder, and kept turning around and telling us to shout more. She kept telling me I reminded her of her nephew, Stanley, and by the fourth race she started calling me Stanley. My friends and I agreed that it was time to change seats.
We moved a few rows back. She followed. We waited until she was distracted shouting at the race, then moved again. She followed us again. She kept yelling “Stanley, cheer for (this guy, car, whatever)” and people in the stands around us started looking at me, saying “Stanley, yell like your grandma says!” My friends were quite amused at this, and began calling me Stanley also. She finally left as the last race was starting.
On the ride home my friends told me I did look like a Stanley. (I began to wonder about my friends). When we were back in school the story circulated and my nickname stuck. On my yearbook that year they just put Stanley on the cover engraving. It wasn’t until I went away to college that I stopped hearing that name. And then……
After college I applied for several jobs in police departments. When they select you to go to the final phase you fill out a background packet, and a background investigator meets with you and goes through your packet line by line for completeness. One of the questions in the packet, is a listing of all name changes, aliases, and nicknames you have had. Hmmmmmm.
When I met with the investigator, I told him I had a nickname in high school, but I didn’t know if that should be included on the form. He said, “Go ahead and put it down”. He went on to tell me that as you go way back in a person’s history, sometimes they remember you as you, and sometimes they remember you for whatever your nickname was. He said the story behind the nickname gives some insight sometimes. “So tell me your story” he said. So I did.
He was amused. As he put it, “So a drunk stock car granny gave you a nickname in high school that stuck.” Well, uh, yeah. “No problem”, he said, “I had a nickname in high school too”. “What was it?” I asked. He grinned a bit and said “the only person who knows that is the guy who did my background”. Ahhhh. Well, ok then.