Summer School

We're barely a week into the new school year and we already have weather-related closures. Of course, Maryland doesn't get a whole lot of snow in August. But it can get a bit hot and humid. So, a few weeks ago, Baltimore County School administrators announced a new policy to address the heated classroom issue. When the heat index reaches 90 (which is almost everyday this time of year), schools without air conditioning will be closed.

They are now estimating that the kids could miss close to three weeks of school due to heat (and snow) closures. When will they make the days up? In July? If I remember correctly, July can get pretty hot too.

I'm kind of amazed that things have been allowed to get to this point. After all, it's 2016. I thought my garage was the only place in Maryland that was air conditioned. It seems that any government building, especially one filled with pampered kids, would have a climate controlled environment at this point. But apparently not...

And the risk of showing my age, I can't resisting segueing into a "back when I was a kid" story....

Yes, back when I was in school, there were hardly any schools with AC. There were only a lucky few who would temporarily escape the summer heat by sitting in a classroom in one of the annexed parts of the school building. For the rest of us, we would jostle for a coveted spot near one of the open windows. If you had a compassionate teacher, he/she might bring one of those large standing fans into the classroom. But the most interesting thing is that I don't remember anyone ever considering closing the schools due to heat. We just sat there and compliantly sweated our asses off.

I can remember entering the class room and being greeted by desktop sweat left behind by the poor bastard from the previous class. I would run down to the bathroom and grab a wet paper towel in order to prepare a more desirable work area. Looking back on it now, the classrooms should have all had those spray bottles that are used in gyms to wipe don the sweaty workout equipment.

Back back in the day, I guess the kids were more acclimated to the hot weather. Many of us grew up in homes without AC. And almost all of us played in the Baltimore heat the entire summer. Additionally, most of the automobiles were sans AC. To keep "cool", you rolled down the window. The closest thing to climate control was the interior vents which essentially blew hot air on you as you progressed down the road. If you were really lucky, you might find yourself in a vehicle with one of those little wing windows which could be adjusted to re-direct even more hot air onto your perspiring body.

Of course,  today's kids are much more fortunate. They're kept at optimum temperature all year as they sit comfortably in front the TV playing their video games. So,  I guess I can understand how a 90 degree heat index could be like a sucker punch to these unsuspecting lads......

kw

Memories of My Father

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, my Dad left the tobacco fields of North Carolina to pursue a new life in the city. Unsure of what awaited him in the future, he eventually landed in Baltimore. The young country boy was like a fish out of water but he quickly adapted to his new surroundings.

Before long , he met a young lady from Locust Point who would ultimately turn out to be his life-long soul mate.

In search of a career path, my Dad found a liking for carpentry. He landed a job with a local builder and soon discovered that he had a natural gift for the trade. He quickly progressed and before long, he could transform a pile of lumber into a work of art.

Dad started taking me along on side jobs when I was about 11-12 years old. Although I didn't inherit his natural skills, he tried his best to teach me. When I turned 16, he got me a summer job at his company. As we rode to work together, he would talk to me about the day's project like a coach preparing a player for a big game.

My father was a bit of a perfectionist when it came to his work. I can remember this one time, I was installing the base molding in a room. As I finished trimming out one of the closets, Dad came into the room to critique my work. He quickly pointed out that I had left a small gap between two pieces of molding. I tried to explain that it was inside of a closet and no one would even notice it. When that didn't work, I attempted to enlighten him to the benefits of caulk. He abruptly informed me that he wasn't going to tolerate this kind of work. He explained that there's a right way to do things and there's wrong way. He then made me rip out the molding and re-do it the right way. He drilled this mentality into me every chance that he got. At the time, I thought he was being hard and unreasonable. But years later, I realized that he was attempting to teach me a lesson in pride and accountability.

Dad also believed that a man's word was his bond. If you looked someone in the eye and told them you were going to do something, you did it. This is something he instilled in me from an early age. He also taught me that it's ok to make mistakes. Just be sure to own up and take responsibility for them.

When it came to music, my father liked the old-school country guys like Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard and the Statler Brothers. I remember introducing him to the song "Country Roads" by John Denver. He really liked the song but he had a problem with John Denver's "long hair". He explained that the song would sound so much better if the singer would get a hair cut.....If you think that's funny, you should have seen the look on his face the first time he saw one of my Ted Nugent albums.

My father really enjoyed going to flea markets and yard sales. As a kid, I would often tag along with him. I was always impressed with his ability to wheel and deal with the different vendors. I would stand quietly and watch him work his magic. He tried to teach me that everything is negotiable. Well, one day, I venture into a 7-11 to buy a Slurpee and a candy bar. The cashier rings up my items and tells me that it's gonna be $1.49. Instinctively, I rub my chin and respond, "I'll tell you what. Make it an even dollar and we've got a deal!".........Yep, I'm a chip off the ol' block.

Through recent years, my Dad spent a lot of time repairing lawn mowers. On any given day, you could find him in his back yard breathing new life into old gas-powered engines. At the first hint of spring, people would come out of the woodwork to visit Brooklyn's famous Lawnmower man. I can remember this one time I stopped by to visit my parents. My Dad wasn't home at the time. Well, there was a knock at the front door and I went to answer it.  I was greeted by two men who said that they were here to see the "lawnmower man". It reminded me of that scene where Dorothy and the gang arrive in Oz and ask to see the Wizard.

Anyway, I explained that he wasn't home. They asked if I was his son. I told them that I was. The next thing I know, these guys are shaking my hand and telling me all about the famous Lawnmower Man. It turns out that my Dad was Brooklyn's biggest celebrity since the $99 Dollar Down Man.

Last week, I stopped by my parent's house to cut the grass. The garage was loaded with about a dozen "project" lawnmowers. Making my way through the garage, I tried to start each one with no luck. I asked Marshall, a family friend who lives across the street, if he knew where my father kept his good lawnmower. He told me that my dad sold it to someone a couple of weeks ago......Really, Dad? You couldn't leave me with one working lawnmower??

So anyway, I wind up going to Sears and buying a new one. Here I was, the son of the legendary Lawnmower Man, paying the retail price for a new lawnmower. I felt like such a loser....

Like I eluded to earlier, my dad would always try to get the best possible price on anything. One of his weapons of choice in the war of frugality was the coupon. He would spend Sunday morning clipping all of the coupons out of the Sunday newspaper. It wasn't uncommon for him to stop by five different grocery stores in one day just so he could use every one of them. With a gleam in his eye, he would sometimes show me the receipts just to gloat about how much money he saved. His ultimate goal was to, one day, have a grocery store actually pay him for shopping there.

And the ironic part of of all this is that my Dad would give away half of the things that he bought. He would always start by asking something like, "Hey Ken, do you like ice cream?" I would reply, "Of course. Who doesn't like ice cream?" He would then instruct me to go to his large freezer and pick out a carton. I'm not kidding you, I would open up the freezer and it would look like the inside of a Good Humor truck. I would ask why he bought so much. And whether it was ice cream, peanuts or laundry detergent, the answer was always the same.....because it was on sale and he had a coupon.

My dad was also quite the debater. If you've ever had an argument with him, you know that you couldn't possibly win. Years ago, I remember having a disagreement about our opinions on the best Major League baseball player. We went back and forth, arguing our views. As my Dad's blood reached a boiling point, I tried to settle him down by explaining that this is just my opinion. He told me that I was entitled to my opinion. But I was still wrong.

Since we're in Baltimore, we probably have a few Ravens fans here. Well, my Dad certainly wasn't one of them. If you ever wanted to get him fired up, all you had to do was mention how awesome the Ravens were. And you never, under any circumstances, wanted to utter the words "Ray Lewis" in front of him. This would usually result in him storming into the kitchen where he'd grab his canister full of news clippings. He had collected every negative news story that's ever been printed about the Raven's linebacker. He'd hand you each clipping and say, "Here, go ahead and read this and tell me what you think."

One time, I said, "Dad, this is an opinion piece." He replied, "It doesn't matter, it's the truth! They wouldn't print it if it wasn't true!" Like I said, you're not winning any arguments with him.

Through the years, Dad spent a lot of time with his best friend, John Cook. They could often be seen running local errands together or zipping through John's back yard in a golf cart. My father would often tell me about their adventures. He really enjoyed their time together. I spoke to John last week and I could tell that he was hurting. John, you should know that you made my very father happy and he loved you like a brother.

My Dad would often make his rounds visiting the kids and grand-kids. Always unannounced, you never knew when his white pick-up truck would show up in your driveway.  He would stay for a short conversation over a Pepsi and then he would get up and head to his next destination.

I have to tell about one time where one of his impromptu visits caught me totally off guard. I was hosting a Sunday football party at my house. Someone alerted me that my Dad was there. So, I walked down the driveway to greet him. As I got closer, his smile faded and his eyes fixated on my torso. Trying to figure out what was going on, I glanced down and quickly realized that I was wearing a Ray Lewis jersey. I honestly felt like crawling under a rock. I really caught an earful from him as we walked to my house. He eventually forgave me but I knew that I would be in for a barrage of newspaper clippings the next time I stopped by his house.

All of these things will now become a precious memories. We had so many good times and shared so many laughs together. The countless stories of my Dad will keep him alive in our hearts forever.

My father was so proud of all his children and grand-children. He really cherished the time that he got to spend with all of us. And we certainly felt the same way about him. Celebrating 54 years of marriage to my mom this year, my dad stuck by her side until the very end.

Success in life is measured by how may other lives you touch along the way. Ervin Wilson was indeed a successful man.

The tremendous outpouring of love and support during the past week has been overwhelming. People have told me heartfelt stories and shared the memories that they have of my father. It's comforting to know that he had an impact on so many people. Thanks so much to everyone for helping our family through this difficult time. It is appreciated more than you will ever know....

kw

A Evening With Rik Emmett

I have been a big fan of the Canadian band, Triumph, since I was a teenager. Songs like "Magic Power", "Fight the Good Fight" and "Lay It On The Line" were inspirational tunes that had the ability to make your day just a little bit brighter.

I can remember going to a Triumph show at the old Baltimore Civic Center back in the early 80's. After the opening band (Foghat) finished their set, the crowd began to move closer to the stage. Even though I was already sitting in the second row, I figured this was an opportunity to get even closer. So, securing a spot just to the left of one of the large stage speakers, I leaned against the stage and prepared for a night of melodic tunes and blistering guitar solos.

The good news was that the show was awesome. The not-so-god news was that my ears were ringing for three days. My ear drums had taken a full frontal assault from Rik Emmett's thunderous guitar riffs. I actually began to worry that I might have suffered some irreparable hearing damage. But thankfully, the ringing eventually stopped and my hearing was saved for another day (and many more concerts).

Fast forward a few decades........

Last night, I went to see Rik Emmett last night ar Ram's Head in Annapolis. Similar to that concert in Baltimore 30+ years ago, I was again very close to the stage. However, the Ram's Head venue is more like a large living room. So a couple of small speakers was sufficient to broadcast the sound. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

Around 8 o'clock, Rik and his fellow musician, Dave, approached the small stage. They immediately kicked into the classic Triumph tune "Hold On" and then followed up with the familiar instrumental "Petite Etude". Throughout the evening, there was a trade-off of vocal songs and guitar instrumentals. There's no secret that Rik Emmett is a gifted guitarist. But I was also very impressed with his bandmate, Dave Dunlop. They traded off guitar solos much of the evening, each displaying his own special blend of talent.

We heard all of the Triumph classics as well as a cover of Joe Walsh's "Rocky Mountain Way". Perhaps the most surprising song was a quirky rendition of Monty Python's "The Galaxy Song". But as with all of the "normal" songs, they did a brilliant job and it was very entertaining.

Aside from the music, Rik is also a very funny guy. He told stories in between songs that had the Annapolis crowd rolling. Listening to his music and stories in the intimate Ram's Head venue, I felt like I was spending time with an old friend in my living room.

After the show, Rik and Dave hung around to meet people and sign CD's and other memorabilia. And unlike many other performers, they didn't gouge the fans by making them pay another $50 for the meet & greet. I was impressed to see Rik laughing and talking to each and every fan. I got the feeling that he was genuinely good guy who really did care about his fans.

All in all, it was a great night. And as a bonus, I had absolutely no ringing in my ears....

kw

The Unresters

For the past week or so, I've been out of touch with current events and the "going-ons" of the world. So, this morning I pour a cup of coffee and make my way to the living room. Rubbing my eyes to bring things into focus, I reach for the remote. I hit the power button and the TV comes to life. I'm greeted with a scene of mayhem from Milwaukee,

It didn't take me long to find out that the commotion was a so-called reaction to another police shooting Although no specifics were given other than a police officer fatally shot an armed man after a foot chase, I assumed that it was part of the "white cop shoots black guy" media narrative.

So, as I scanned the various news sources, I noticed one thing that they all had in common: Unrest. Instead of referring to the burning, looting and vandalism for what it was, they continue to water it down by calling it "unrest".

By calling the senseless violence "unrest", we are led to believe that the actions of the "unresters" are somehow acceptable and justified. Sorry folks, I have to call bullshit on this one. When people set fire to a gas station or loot a convenience store, we should be making excuses for them. We should be calling them out for the parasites that they are. They seize any opportunity to pick the low-hanging fruit of a bad situation. Realizing that the media will spin their violent behavior as oppressed and justified outrage, they are encouraged to "unrest" at will.

All of this brings the traditional protest to another level. Instead of encouraging citizens to engage with their community leaders and elected representatives, the media has fueled a movement that promotes senseless violence. Once upon a time, a looter who walked out of a liquor store with "complimentary" case of scotch might have been called a vandal or a thief. But by today's dismal standards, that person is championed as an "unrester". Instead of condemning his actions, the media invites us to somehow celebrate them.

In 2011, Time Magazine named The Protester as it's Person of the Year. Don't be surprised if Time ups the ante sometime in the near future and gives the same accolade to "The Unrester". I can see the cover now.....

An group of unresters disrupt traffic in the middle of a busy downtown street. While small fires burn around them, they advance toward a line of police who are donned in full unrest gear. In the background, you can see a few frequent shoppers leaving a 7-11 with an abundance of  cigarettes and Cheetos. Another group cheers wildly as they watch one of their "soldiers" hurl a Molotov cocktail towards a corner Walgreen's. 

The talking heads will have a slobbering love-fest over it as they hail it as provocative and absolutely breath-taking. It becomes an instant classic and is a virtual shoe-in for a Pulitzer Prize.
Unrest has become the most compelling catch-phrase since "Shit Happens".

kw

The Mysterious Beer Guzzler

Last week, I'm sitting in a Colorado brewpub watching the baseball game. The Orioles happened to be playing the Rockies back at Camden Yards. So, when I cheered for the "home team", I got some pretty strange looks.

Anyway, what really caught my attention was this old guy who strolled up to the bar and planted himself right next to me. Instead of pulling up a bar stool, he just stood there with his hands pressed up against the bar. He had long gray hair which was pulled into a ponytail. Some older guys can pull this look off. However, it only made this guy look creepy. He resembled the character on the cover of Jethro Tull's "Aqualung" album.

He seemed like he was in a hurry. He desperately tried to catch the attention of one of the barmaids. When one finally appeared, she told the man that she would be right with him. He mumbled something under his breath and then loudly exhaled. Although the guy was really starting to weird me out, I did my best to ignore him. The last thing I needed was for this guy to lure me into a bizarre conversation about what he had buried in his back yard.

The barmaid returned. Tossing a cardboard coaster towards him, she said, "Sorry for the wait, sir. What are we drinking tonight?"

The guy, demonstrating his impatience, spreads his hands and says, "Nothing. That's the problem. I need a beer!"

Assuming that the guy would be a little more specific, the barmaid follows up, "Ok, you got it. What kind of beer would you like?"

"I don't care as long as it's cold", says the guy.

The barmaid shoots me a quick glance that says "why did I come to work tonight?"

"Ok, sir", she says. "Do you want the big one?"

He looks at her like she's an idiot and slowly says, "Yes. Big is good."

So, the barmaid disappears and heads over to pour Aqualung a beer. At about the time she had the glass halfway filled, the guy looked at his watch and under his breath, mumbled, "Come on!"

He was really starting to lose his patience. I kept him in my peripheral vision just in case he decided to go postal. It sounds crazy but you can't be too careful these days. Thankfully, the barmaid returned with his large beer and placed it down on the coaster. She smiled and said, "There you go, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?"

He didn't even respond. He simply seized the heavy beer mug with his right arm and started guzzling like a college freshman. The bottom half of his face was buried in the glass as he made intermittent slurping noises. It was funny and disturbing at the same time. He manged to down about a third of the beer before he was forced to come up for air. He slammed the beer mug down on the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His breathing was louder and more rapid now. Going in for round two, he picked the mug back up and started guzzling again. He got another third down before he dropped the mug back onto the bar. The loud thud made at least five other bar patrons turn around.

Determined to finish what he started, he took a deep breath and snatched the mug for the coup de grâce. Tilting the bottom of the mug to the ceiling, he poured the remainder of the beer down his esophagus. I was half-expecting a loud celebratory burp. But keeping consistent, he slammed the mug down for the final time. Then, instead of letting out some type of rebel yell, he simply threw a ten dollar bill onto the bar and walked out as mysteriously as he came in. His work was clearly done here.

I glanced over at the barmaid who had been taking it in from across the bar. She just shook her head and rolled her eyes.....

kw

The Burrito Family

So, last Sunday I'm sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Denver. As usual, I saw people reading and listening to their I-pods while others were busy being hypnotized by their cell phones. There also happened to be an abundance of young kids scurrying about the waiting area. Flying can be stressful enough, so I sympathize with anyone who has to travel with young children. In a society where 9 out of 10 kids seems to have some type of hyperactivity disorder, trying to corral them in a busy airport can be quite challenging.

I was sitting across from a mother who had three kids in the 3-5 year old range. These kids were running all over the place, completely ignoring the mother's repetitious pleas to settle down. At some point, the kids all seemed to get hungry at the same time. As they headed back to the seating area to grab their grub, they resembled a bunch of puppies jostling for position at the food bowl. They started to pull their meals out of a large bag next to where their mother was sitting. Frantically grabbing at the contents of the bag, chunks of food rained down on the carpet below. I'm not really sure what type of food was in the bag. But judging by the big grease stain on the bottom, I'm pretty sure it wasn't loaded with fruits and vegetables..

Well anyway, the kids grab their food and then take adjacent seats directly across from me. They then proceed to devour the food like a pack of hungry wolves. Some of it winds up in their mouths but the majority of the food winds up on the floor. By the time they were done, the seating area looked like the bottom of a fast-food dumpster. I envisioned the cleaning crew walking up on this after we boarded the plane and exclaiming, "WTF!? I think we need a raise!"

Meanwhile, the mother conveniently ignored the mess as she devoured what appeared to be a large burrito. It must have tasted really good because she almost appeared to be making love to it. She carefully manipulated the cheese-filled tortilla in order to land the biggest bite possible. I desperately hoped that this woman didn't decide to sit next to me on the plane. When the after-effects of the burrito kicked in at 30,000 feet, I wanted to be on the other end of the plane. The cabin pressure would be no match to what was currently building up in this woman's digestive system.

My thoughts were quickly interrupted by a sharp, hideous twanging sound. As I turned my attention back to the kids, I saw one of them with a small nylon-stringed guitar. The greasy food must have given him a temporary burst of energy. He strummed the guitar as loud as he could. With every twang, people in the waiting area flinched as if they were hearing nails on a chalkboard. This almost classified as cruel and unusual punishment. I glanced at the mother in hopes of shooting her a "can you please do something about this" look. But her full attention was still dedicated to tearing up her burrito. My fear was that her little Elvis-wannabe would serenade us all the way to Denver.

When we finally boarded the plane, I took a seat near the front. The woman and her kids came aboard a short time later. I broke into a sweat as they came down the aisle towards me. I felt like I was pulled up the hill on a large roller-coaster. I impulsively gripped the handles of my seat and braced myself for the imminent plunge. But today would be lucky day as the burrito family strolled past me and made their way to the back of the plane.

Although I made it through this without incident, my thoughts went back to the cleaning crew. They were probably already firing up their industrial-strength vacuum cleaners. I had a feeling that they'd be calling in the janitorial SWAT team before it was all over. I silently wished them luck as the plane left the ground and carried me away from the natural disaster......

kw