Tale Of The Tape

August 27, 2008

In the 1970’s and 80’s, my brother George had a complete weight lifting gym in our basement. When I say complete, I mean all the machines and thousands of pounds of weights. There was even a name for the gym.
Geo’s Gym.

The gym was open to all of our friends who wanted to lift weights. There were approximately 20 members who frequently came over several times per week. Most were just regular lifters, but a few were serious body builders.

One of the members was Phil, a school mate and friend for many years. He wanted to be the next Mr. Universe and started his training with a vengeance. Phil was dedicated and had a complete plan mapped out. He had wall graphs charting his weight gain and also his vital body measurements. Biceps, chest, waist, legs, and about 25 other body measurements.

George took notice of this and also of the tape measure Phil used and the frequency he measured. (Once a week, every Monday) George, being the prankster, had an idea and brought me and Hoover (Geo’s Gym member) into the plan.

On Sunday, George took Phil’s measuring tape and soaked it in hot water for an hour. Then he hung it over one of the pull up bars in the ceiling and tied several weight plates to it which would stretch the tape by about a half inch.

On Monday before Phil would arrive, George placed the tape back where Phil kept it. He and Hoover would then wait for Phil to measure his progress.

Phil began with his biceps and stopped and measured it again. In fact, he measured it three times. He had lost a half inch on his biceps. He then went to each body part measurement checking each several times.

When he was finished charting all the results, George asked how he did. Phil said he couldn’t figure it out but he lost almost a half inch. George played along and asked to borrow Phil’s tape to check his own measurements. He took the tape, flexed his arms and measured his bicep. Lying, He said he gained an 1/8th of an inch from last week. Hoover also said the same.

For about a month, George repeated the routine and Phil couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. And then George changed directions. Instead of soaking the tape in hot water and hanging weights on it, George would soak the tape in cold water and then toss it in the clothes dryer for 20 minutes creating a shorter tape measure. About a half an inch. George then put the tape back and waited for Phil.

Come Monday, Phil began his measurement ritual. After the first measurement, he got all excited as he noticed a big jump in his bicep. When he was finished he told George that he had a break through in his training and that the results were significant. George continued this sequence for about a month.

George kept this up for more than six months, changing the tape making it shorter or longer on a whim all awhile Phil was oblivious to what was really happening.

Alas, all good gags come to an end. One Monday, Phil brought a new measuring tape and tossed out the old one. After he completed his measurements, Phil knew something was wrong. His chart zigzagged up and down each month and now his measurements were again completely different from last weeks. George decided to inform Phil what was happening and that he was being pranked.

George, Hoover, and myself were laughing hysterically as George explained how he would stretch the tape one week and shorten it the next and how Phil would get mad when the measurements were short and excited when they would get big. Phil took the news pretty good. Of course he had to. George was a beast and it was his gym.

Good times, good times.

R.I.P. Big G.

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The School Yard

July 12, 2008

Over the past several years, I received numerous requests to post photo’s of where I grew up. The pictures below are from my old neighborhood, the school yard, the birth of the Dare Devil’s Club, many a fires, explosions, and other riotously funny antics. I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s and the lay of the land has changed over the past 40 years, but the key elements are still there. Enjoy the pictures. Make sure to click the thumb nail for a much larger picture.



The school yard. This is the drive way that led to the school. Plenty of black top for skate boards, bike riding, baskekball, tennis.



The hill. Way back when, the hill and the rest of the grass area was jungle like. Weeds and tree’s 8-10 feet high with brush enough to hide. We had at least several forts at any given time. A perfect setting for kick the can, capture the flag, and cowboys and indians.



The school yard. As you can see, the school yard was huge. It housed 5 full sized baseball fields, a football field, play area, and plenty of just open space to run and play. It was also advantageous when running from the police. We knew the cops wouldn’t chase us for long. All we had to do was run into the field and keep going. The cops would stop. We never got caught.



The field right after it was cut by the tractor. If you pile the dead dry grass into a huge pile, and light it on fire, airplanes can see it from the air. Not that I know this as first hand knowledge.



This used to be the black top walkway that went to the fence and the playground. I used to ride my mini-bike like a bat out of hell down this path and into the playground to let it wind out on a long straight away. I can still feel the wind in my hair. (Which wasn’t gray at that time contrary to popular belief)



This three sided enclosed porch was the place we we used to climb onto the roof. It was one of the easier access points to the roof. Once on the roof, there wasn’t much to really do but to climb higher onto the gym roof. But it was there, so we did it.



One of the ditches behind the school. We used to climb down the three ditches and then light Sound Colorful Birds and wait for them to fly. (Sound Colorful Birds were small projectile firework items. Proper use is to lay item upright on ground, light fuse and get away. The Bird would then zoom at a high rate of speed creating a whirring sound. But, if you would light one and toss it into the air, you would have no idea where it would go.) They hurt when they hit you and there was no escape.



The second ditch. This one had a window and a gas or water pipe running through it. The pipe made this ditch the easiest to climb in and out of.



The third ditch. This ditch had a side wall and window ledge that we used to climb in and out of. It’s no wonder that we never broke a single pane of glass while climbing in or out.



These steps lead to the basement of the school. we used to ride our bikes down them to see if we could hang on. Sometimes we didn’t.



The back of the school showing the porch, the three ditches, and the basement steps.



Right up against the fence was where the Dare Devils apple tree stood. To be a member, you had to climb to the first branch, which was about 10 feet in the air, and jump. It was simple. Jump and you were in. Break a leg and you became the leader for the month.



The playground. These rides are more than 50 years old. Two slides, two jungle gyms, swings, chin up polls, funnel ball, merry go round, and climbing bars. We used to wax the sliding boards and watch unsuspecting kids smack their heads unprepared at the speed of the waxed up slide. You would actually hear the sound (Zing!) as the kids went down the slide.



Home Plate. There were 5 baseball fields complete with dirt infields and lined bases and several were always in use. I’m talking lined fields, clay infields, back stops, and a couple fields had home run fences. This beat up buried home plate is all that’s left.



Long range view of the playground. At any given summer day, there would be at least 10-15 kids doing something at the playground. usually we were up to no good, but we were there. Nowadays, the playground is almost always empty.



The jungle gym. I had a dream once that the devil was chasing me around the jungle gym. He never caught me thank God.



My best friend Mark’s old house. It’s the one with the American flag painted on the garage.



Another view of the garage. Rocketeers forever Mark.



Meadowbrook Avenue entrance. There were several entrances to the school. This one was from the back and not visible from the main highway, Market street. So of course it was the most used entrance when we were up to no good.



Full view of the back of the school. This is the view from Meadowbrook street. The back of the school. Out of sight from the neighbors and Market street.



Raised blocks we used to climb on and try to knock the other kids off. We had some strong hands back in those days. We could hang on for a long time.



The school side view from a distance. Market street, the main road is in the distance. When I was a young lad, the grass area was covered with a thick brush of weeds, tree’s, and jungle like greenery. Perfect for hiding.



The backside of the school. one complete lap was 3 tenths of a mile. We used to race our bikes around three times, or one mile. Sometimes we would have 30-40 bikes in the race. A lot of accidents on the corners, but that’s racing. Admit it, you only watch NASCAR to see the crashes.



The many hiding places for bike ditch. The school provided many nooks and crannies, (Just like an English muffin) to hide in. There were plenty around the school.



Another view of the school yard. Again, all the grass land was covered in weeds back in the day. A jungle in our own back yard.



The race track. We used this strech of black top for bike racing. We would start at the top and pedal our bikes for all we we worth. We had speedometers on our bikes back then, and we exceeded 40 miles per hour. That was cooking.



Kindergarten class. This was my Kindergarten class. Mrs. Fisher was my teacher. The next year I was shipped off to Catholic school for eight years of mean old nuns hurling erasers at my head. Catholic education my ass!



The flag pole. I can still hear the sound the rope made as it swung in the way hitting against the side of the pole. Just last week they replaced the flag pole that was standing for over 50 years.



The grate. This was another ditch in the front of the school that had a covering. A loose flimsy covering. When you walked on it, it would creak and shake and shimmy. We used the grate as a test to show allegiance to the Dare Devil’s club. Sort of like walking the plank to swear your loyalty. No one fell in, but it did cave in once when we tossed a building block in the center.



Side view of the school. This is the ledge we used to walk from one end to the next just to see if we could. Sometimes we made it, sometimes not. It would take an hour or two to complete the task.



Another view of the window ledge we walked as kids. In walking the ledge, we tried to knock each other off. It took a long time, but hell, we were kids, and we had nothing but time in the summer.



Basketball courts. There used to be two back boards and a lined court. There was almost always a game going on at one of the courts. Now, not even a back board remains.



The view to the street. Back in the day, the entire area was covered with heavy brush, almost jungle like where forts and numerous hiding places were made.



The black top. This is where we played kick ball and a form of soccer. This was also the site of many a bot made bike ramps and broken bones.



This is the school drive entrance. When we were little kids, when it rained really hard, the street would flood from water running down the drive. The water was running so fast, we were able to surf. We got our winter sleds, the round metal spinning plate ones, and used them as surf boards. We would start at the black sewer and surf as far as we could down the drive. Being from Ohio, none of us were very good at surfing so we rarely made it to the bottom but it was fun as hell.


This post dedicated to my best friend, Hippy Mark. Rocketeers for life my friend.

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Today We Celebrate Our Independence

July 4, 2008

As the twilight of Independence Day rapidly approaches, it is our solemn duty and privilege to pay homage to all men and women who have given their lives paying the ultimate sacrifice defending our country and our freedom.

Tonight as we celebrate the Fourth of July remember the words so elegantly penned by Francis Scott Key during the defense of Fort Henry September 20th, 1814 .

“And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.”

Before you begin to illuminate the skies this evening by launching volley after volley of pyrotechnic patriotism, pause a moment and reflect on the sacrifices incurred by our forefathers 228 years ago. Gaze upon the heavens in wonder as fireworks brilliantly and brashly shout out loud and clear that we the people stand united as a nation declaring in unison that America is the best damn nation the world has known.

Hug you wife, husband, son, and daughter. Yell out a hearty hello to your neighbors that have come forth from their homes this evening to watch the fireworks shows and to celebrate as an entire nation.

“O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.”

God Bless America .

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Thirty Years Ago Today

June 4, 2008

1978 graduation photo
Click Photo For Larger Image

School’s out for summer
School’s out forever
School’s been blown to pieces

Yes, tis me, (Center) the curator of the Grassy Knoll Institute, circa June 4th, 1978, high school graduation. I know you can dig the round over sized hippie shaded glasses. And I even got my hair cut for graduation day. Yes, I had long hair in high school. Alas, it was also that same year my hair started to turn gray.

To my left is one of my good friends Jim, (in the mustache) who moved to Kokomo, Indiana shortly after this day. By chance, we connected via the Internet, and it was good talking to one of my old friends that I haven’t seen or spoken to for almost 30 years.

I’ll leave you with an Alice Cooper tune that I blared on the last day of school over and over and over again on my 8-Track tape player in my car. Good times, good times.

Well we got no choice,
All the girls and boys,
Makin’ all that noise,
Cause they found new toys.

Well we can’t salute ya,
Can’t find a flag,
If that don’t suit ya,
That’s a drag.

School’s out for summer,
School’s out forever,
School’s been blown to pieces.

No more pencils,
No more books
No more teacher’s dirty looks

Well we got no class
And we got no principals
And we got no innocence
We can’t even think of a word that rhymes

School’s out for summer
School’s out forever
School’s been blown to pieces
No more pencils
nNo more books
No more teacher’s dirty looks

Out for summer
Out till fall
We might not come back at all
School’s out forever
School’s out for summer
School’s out with fever
School’s out completely

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LURKING, GREAT IN 78, ON THE GRASSY KNOLL


The Post After 999

April 17, 2008

(Would You Mind Telling Me who’s Brain I Did Put In)

According to the new WordPress dashboard, (Which everyone loves so much) I noticed I have 999 posts here at the Grassy Knoll Institute. When I press the publish button, this post will be #1000. Yea baby yea!

I have not really thought about what I should post about for this milestone high water mark entry. Perhaps I should plead for world peace, for lower oil prices, for Simon Cowell of American Idol fame to wear a goddamn bra, to throwing the tea back into the harbor, or for politicians that do not lie, or dealing with an honest used car salesman, (One in the same perhaps) or finding empirical proof that aliens really do exist, and God for that matter, (That’s for you Cyn) or how many licks it does take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop.

My son, Lead Scientist of the Grassy Knoll Institute suggested I post about the times I almost burned down our secret headquarters, or electrocuted myself, not once, but thrice while doing some wiring work, or blowing up the bee hive buried in the ground in our back yard, or my balancing act on the ladder, (Or lack of balance) or what it really took to be a member of the Daredevils club, or my real theory pertaining to ABC’s Lost.

My wife Patty, the bank, brains, and beauty behind the blog, suggested dinner at her favorite restaurant without me taking my damn camera and photographing the meal I order.

Instead, I think I will simply say thank you to everyone that reads my quirky little blog. And to everyone who comments. And to those that have me linked and blogrolled on their own respective blogs and websites. And to General George S. Patton, for his genius in warfare and being a ruthless but fair bastard.

And for the others, I guess there is no pleasing you then.

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LURKING, 1000 TIMES OVER, ON THE GRASSY KNOLL