April 23, 2008 by dave.

I’ve heard lots
of stories of the old style southern justice, but, here is one in
which I was actually involved. It’s sort of fun and may actually
represent exactly what is implied.

Some years ago,
I was the company representative that interfaced with a multitude of
safety related bodies—UL, CSA, OSHA, etc. Usually a representative
would come from one of these bodies to inspect a new product or one
of our production facilities, go over our documentation and etc.

On one memorable
occasion, two gentlemen in proper, for the time, gray flannel suits
arrived—one from Long Island and one from upstate New York. They
completed their necessary inspections and found that they had some
free time. They decided that they’d like to get away from the
Metroplex and see some real “down home” Texas life.

Therefore, we
headed for a nice little cafe I knew of which featured down home
cookin’. The cafe was located across the street from the courthouse
in a small county seat. We settled in for a some biscuits and gravy
along with CF (Chicken Fried Steak) and other goodies.

In the next
booth several good old boys were discussing items of great
importance—such as the value of certain knife. They were
apparently having a good time and greatly amusing my New York
visitors when along came a deputy, in full uniform including a Texas
Ranger style hat, from the courthouse across the street.

While I must
paraphrase what the deputy actually said, it went something like
this, “I need a quick jury”. The reaction from the “boys”
was negative. So, the deputy further offered, “It won’t take
long—all you have to do is listen for a few minutes and give a
guilty verdict”. The reaction was still negative.

By now, the eyes
on my New York visitors had grown very large with the whites showing
dramatically!

The deputy upped
the ante further, “Come on, it’ll be over in 15 minutes and then
we’ll go have a poker game”. That did it. They shuffled out
heading for the courthouse.

There was a lot
of silence from my visitors and I suspect that they were trying to
fit that experience into their own frame of reference. I sometimes
imagine that they were considering that the sheriff type featured in
movies like “Cannonball Run” just might have been closer to the
truth than they had ever imagined.

I have also
often wondered how often that story was told around the office water
cooler or copier when they got back.

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April 17, 2008 by dave.

Because I have a good relationship with our next-door neighbors, I have the privilege of walking, jogging or running with their dog, Wylie. We’ve become rather good buddies. In fact should he see or hear us in our backyard, he comes to the fence to see what is going on.

I must admit that I often spoil Wylie by feeding him through the fence. He really enjoys the food and the attention. I really enjoy that fact that he forces me to exercise …

We have quite a symbiotic relationship.
Long live Wylie (and, of course, longer live me).

 

 

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April 13, 2008 by dave.

I was pedaling
furiously, putting all the muscle into the drive that a 12 year old
could muster, heading for the precipice. I was covering the ground
of the newly laid playground asphalt as smoothly and rapidly as
possible. I was breathing heavily, not only because of the exertion,
but also because of my excitement—I was going to fly!

I aimed for a
few feet to the right of the stairs and knowing that no one was
around to laugh if I failed, propelled myself over the edge.

Hardly a moment
later, I found myself lying on the lower playground near the drinking
fountain. My bike was a few feet away, one trouser leg was torn at
the knee cap and my knee lacerated. Musing on this singular
experience, I limped away, my thoughts scurrying to find a plausible
explanation to tell my mother.

* * * *

Did I go on to
become a pilot? No, I became a physicist so that I would understand
why I didn’t fly—I just fell—without style.

Sequel

Some months
later, the front fork of that bicycle broke, sending me into the
gravel along side the road right in front of the state prison. I was
quite a ways from home with a two piece non-rideable bicycle.

So much for
flying!

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