What Would Jimmy Do?

In a recent update to this blog, I mentioned the barber pole — when I was young essentially every barber shop had one. I learned at a very early age that the barber pole had more to do with the medical profession than the hair cutting business. The origin of the red and white barber pole is associated with the service of bloodletting — representing bloody bandages wrapped around a pole.

Barber-surgeons were medical practitioners that provided a wide range of services during the medieval and early modern periods of history. Traditionally, they learned their trade via apprenticeships and many had no formal education and were often illiterate. Barber-surgeons provided a variety of medical services for their communities — they also had relatively cheap prices, adding to their popularity.

So what could a barber-surgeon do for you? These guys tasks ranged from the mundane — like picking lice from a person’s head, trimming or shaving beards and cutting hair — to the more complicated — such as extracting teeth, performing minor surgical procedures and bloodletting.

The original barber’s pole has a brass ball at its top, representing the vessel in which leeches were kept, or the basin that received the patient’s blood. The pole itself represents the rod which the patient held tightly during the bloodletting procedure to show the barber the location of the veins. The red and white stripes represent the bloodied and clean bandages used during the procedure. Afterwards, the bandages were washed and hung to dry on the rod outside the shop. The wind would twist the bandages together, forming the familiar spiral pattern we see on the barber poles today.

Spinning barber poles are meant to rotate in a direction that makes the red (blood) appear as if it were flowing downwards, as it does in the body.

Call it progress, or whatever, barber poles have pretty much gone the way of the wooden Indian. They tend to be more decorative that useful/informative today. Well, that’s not quite totally true — in the best American tradition, barber poles have become political. In some states (Michigan is one example) legislators have proposed that barber poles should only be permitted outside barbershops, and not traditional “beauty salons.” There have been several legal battles between barbers and cosmetologists — each claiming the right to use the barber pole symbol to indicate to customer that their businesses offer hair cutting services. The barbers’ argument is that they are entitled to exclusive rights to use the barber pole because of the tradition tied to the craft. Cosmetologists argue that they are equally capable of cutting men’s hair. It’s interesting to note that some state laws prohibit cosmetologists from using razors….

But politics aside, the barber pole has found it’s way into our lives and culture. In some parts of Asia, the barber pole is used as a symbol for a brothel. In fact, in South Korea, barber poles are used for both (real) barbershops and brothels. (Brothels disguised as barber shops usually have two poles next to each other, usually spinning in opposite directions.)

Pilots, especially test pilots, use the term barber pole to refer to flying an aircraft at the maximum safe velocity — probably because the airspeed indicator of aircraft that can fly at higher altitudes looks like a red/white striped needle resembling a barber pole. Pilots have a phrase — “on the barber pole” means they are flying the aircraft as fast as safety permits given the current conditions.

When I was young, we got peppermint sticks that were long and round – bigger than a cigar. We often referred to those as barber pole candy.

Anyhow, barber pole or not, and whether you refer to the person as a barber or not, it’s someone you visit on a fairly regular basis. And, if you think about it, maybe that’s not so bad — a barber is the only person whose conversation you can follow, even if he talks over your head…..

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Avast me hearties! Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Hopefully you all remembered this special day and are dressed in your finest swashbuckling attire. On this raucous day you’ll find the streets filled with landlubbers yelling salty sea dog phrases in each other’s faces.

Me wench Claire and myself will be doing our usual celebrating — it’ll probably take several days to recover.

I read an article a few days ago, questioning the need for Talk Like A Pirate Day… I don’t even know how such a question came up, but the answer is of course we do. If you stop and think about all the “holidays” we observe, Talk Like A Pirate Day makes more sense than most. I have to admit that this is mostly a “guy” thing, but I think me beauty Claire enjoys it. Wenchs, too, can “talk like a pirate.”

I really like to say phrases like Ahoy Matey and Arrggghhh — but the truth is that these phrases and terms like Shiver Me Timbers were actually created by Robert Louis Stevenson in his novel “Treasure Island.”

But I don’t care — nobody knows for sure that real pirated didn’t talk that way. Maybe the real pirates didn’t lead the glamorous life we imagine, but that’s the past — going forward, my idea of pirates is exactly what I want it to be.

And tonight me wench Claire and I will knock on all the doors in the neighborhood again and yell, “arrr, scurvy dog, I be needin to swill a pint or two of grog.” And as always we’ll be throwing out the blige rat and ye scurvy dog insults — all in all, another great day. Now I must find me pirate hat — fair winds, me hearties!!!
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I got a haircut yesterday – in a place that bore no resemblance to the barber shops that were everywhere  when I was younger. Barber shops were places were guys hung out, talked about sports, politics and “manly” things — and often they got their hair cut there, too. Oh yea, and those places always had a barber pole.

When we first moved to Shepherdstown, there was a barber shop on main street that was also a cigar/tobacco shop. They had a beautiful carved wooden Indian by the door. The shop has since closed, giving way to the more “modern” way to cut hair — and of course the use of tobacco had decreased dramatically.

Well, this mental trip down memory lane got me to wondering — what logic decided that a wooden Indian stand out side a tobacco store? Turns out there are a couple of explanations — one more well known than the other.

When Europeans arrived in this country, it was the Native Americans that introduced them to tobacco, so the Indians, like it or not, became the “spokespeople” for the tobacco industry, I guess kind of like the little green lizard represents car insurance. Anyhow, because of this association and the fact that many of the immigrating masses were highly illiterate, a picture of an Indian was used to tell people where they could buy tobacco.

The wooden Indian carvings first appeared in Europe when tobacco was gaining popularity there and the early tobacco sellers used these carvings to peddle their wares. One problem when this trend started, was that the carvers in Europe had never seen a Native American and their creations were created to be more fanciful, fictional characters. But by the time the wooden Indian made its way to America, it began to to take on a more genuine, authentic appearance.

The first wooden Indians were both male and female. The female wooden Indian was initially used four times more often than the male. Female wooden Indians were sometimes carved with a papoose and donned with a headdress of tobacco leaves instead of feathers — males were usually dressed in the traditional warbonnets of the Plains Indians.

The height of the wooden Indian fad occurred in the 1800s when a carved statue stood outside nearly every tobacco shop. Today, the clientele are more literate, lessening the need for a visual advertisement, and sidewalk obstruction laws and vandalism has almost completely wiped out the wooden cigar store Indian, although some tobacco shops still have them inside as a decoration — and possibly as a reminder of the history of the tobacco industry. Another reason for their disappearance, of course, is the sensitivity of the subject….

The second, lesser known and accepted reason for the cigar store Indian can be blamed on the Navy. Early Navy ships, like galleons, all had their bows adorned with figureheads. The figureheads were massive wooden sculptures and they were a beautiful art form. When the Navy started building ironclad warships, the figureheads became a thing of the past. That put the ship carvers out of business — after scouting around to find an appropriate place to apply their talents, they arrived at two likely areas of business. One was making carousel figures, like the horses and animals on the ride. The second “industry” the ship carvers created was that of the cigar store Indian. Most of the ship carvers began to die off by the early 1900s and so did the popularity of carousels — and — cigar store Indians.

I’m not sure how much attention you’ve given cigar store Indians, but if you’re fairly observant, you’ve probably noticed that almost all the carvings are holding a cup or container that holds seven cigars. I don’t know why the number is always seven, but I do know that the number seven has a lot of significance to American Indians. The number seven is very sacred in Native American spirituality and many significant elements are numbered in sevens including seven feathers, seven fires, seven shells, seven gifts and seven sources of spiritual teachings….

When I was in high school, I remember a Hank Williams song about wooden Indians. He originally wrote the song as a serious story about two Native Americans, but was convinced to re-write it as a novelty tune. It was called “Kaw-liga” and tells the story of a wooden Indian in a cigar store who fell in love with a female wooden Indian in an antique store, but never expressed his affection. Some of the lyrics went like this…

He always wore his Sunday feathers and held a tomahawk
The maiden wore her beads and braids and hoped some day he’d talk
Kaw-liga, too stubborn to ever show a sign,
Because his heart was made of knotty pine….

Maybe its a good thing, maybe its a bad thing, but they don’t write songs like that anymore….

I imagine if you lined up all the wooden Indians from the first in the 1600s to the present in chronological order, they’d tell their own unique story of the history of America.
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For the past few years, one of the things I’ve tried to do to keep active is play golf. Weather (and other activity) permitting, I try to play every week. Recently, I had occasion to buy a bag of golf tees. There were about a hundred of these things in a plastic bag labeled wooden golf tees. I got to wondering why they were called “tees.” They don’t look like a “T.” I know they “tee” a football up for the kickoff and the contraption they use to sit the ball on doesn’t look like a “T” and it doesn’t look like a golf tee. When our kids were young, they played T-ball. The ball was set on something that looked like a long pipe and they tried to hit the ball with a bat. That pipe looking thing didn’t look like a “T” or a golf tee or a football tee… seemed like this was just begging for some extensive research.

Apparently the word tee is derived from the Gaelic word “tigh” meaning house and is related to the game of curling — it refers to the “house” in curling (the colored circles.) In early golf, one hit the first shot toward the next hole from within a “circle” of one club length around the hole just played. In the 19th century, Tom Morris created a separate area to hit the first shot for the next hole and it was referred to as a teeing area.

The original “tees” that golfers used to raise the golf ball off the turf were made of piles of sand. On each tearing area there were boxes filled with sand for that purpose. Some golf courses still have these boxes, but today they are filled with fertilized soil for filling in divots in the tee box.

Well, you might imagine that the little piles of sand were messy, so naturally ingenious golfers came up with alternatives. They tried things much like a football tee — a slab resting on the ground with vertical rubber prongs or a hollow tube to hold the ball in place. The first known tee to penetrate the ground was the “Perfectum” tee, patented in 1892. The first commercial golf tee (the one we know today) was called the Reddy Tee and wan invented in 1921.

A standard golf tee is 2.125 inches long, but both longer and shorter tees are permitted. According to the PGA, for a tee to be legal, it must not be longer than 4 inches and it must not be designed or manufactured in such a way that it could indicate the line of play or influence the movement of the ball.

My extensive research didn’t turn up much in the way of an interesting story, but it is what it is. The origin of some words is just boring — in fact, a lot of people think golf is boring. But, I bet there’s some interesting history behind some terms used in golf — stay tuned….
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Seems like the last couple of weeks, I’ve had occasion to do a fair amount of “texting.” I’ve also noticed that Claire seems to be texting more. Both faithful readers know that I’ve touched on this subject before and explained that “texting” isn’t new — it just goes by another name. If you dig back in the archives of this (or the previous) blog you’ll notice some entries discussing “Q” or “Z” signals. Those were used long before there was any such thing as the Internet or smart phones by the military and professional communicators.

But anyhow, back to texting — it started out as something only kids did, but now we are seeing senior citizens texting each other. I’m not opposed to texting, in fact I kind of prefer it — sometimes. But the problem is that it’s rapidly becoming the primary means of communication with some people, especially the younger generation.

So where does texting actually stand with me? I’m neutral, except of course, I have an opinion. The facts are (as I see them) that texting can be deadly. Texting is (probably) killing the English language. Texting is impersonal. Texting is a very useful form of communication — but, it’s not the only, or should it be the primary, method of communication. Texting is one of a number of ways now available to discourage face-to-face interaction. Just check out groups of teens (and pre-teens) at the mall. They’re not talking to each other, they’re texting. Texting has led people to shorten or abbreviate their words and thoughts so when it comes time to express themselves in a face-to-face situation, they don’t know what to say because they’re so used to staring at that little screen and using acronyms, they don’t know to speak those thoughts.

To be perfectly honest, a lot of texts make us sound a lot dumber than we are. What with all the abbreviations, we lose the ability to form and phrase coherent sentences in real life. When you talk to someone in person, your conversation is made up of many things including non-verbal cues, including posture, facial expressions, body position, eye contact, gestures, etc. When you communicate via text, these cues don’t exist.

I’ve heard that often times, guys are now asking girls out via text messaging — are you kidding me? Asking girls out? I’m guessing that sometimes (or maybe even often) it works. Just seems to me that some things are better done without the benefit of a cell phone. But that seems to be the way things are going. It’s probably fun to watch old people like me text. Usually takes about 20 minutes for a single text. And of course our texting acronyms turn out to be different — BFF to young people means best friend forever; to old people, it might mean best friend fell. TGIF usually means thank goodness it’s four (early bird specials, you know.) As age creeps up, we have to invent the appropriate abbreviations, like: HERN 8D — hearing aid, B4IMGON — before I’m gone, GR8 LWIO — great, Lawrence Welk is on. And then there’s BTW — before the war, ATD — at the doctors, FWIW — forgot where I was, IMHO — is my hearing aid on and WIWA — when I was your age.

So texting or talking, there is and always has been a generation gap and the generations will never fully understand each other. But that’s ok — I’m good with texting, but don’t get me started on Social Media….
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We spent last weekend visiting in Cleveland. There was a wedding shower for Chassie (and Dave) on Saturday at the Stone Mad Pub — a pretty cool place, I’ve decided. Sunday we attended a Stracensky Family Picnic that seems to be becoming an annual thing thanks to Chris and John.

The Stone Mad Pub is located on West 65th Street. The building was constructed as a tavern and store house by the Leisy Brewing Company in 1912. At the turn of the century, Leisy was Cleveland’s largest brewery and owned multiple taverns throughout the city. The location on West 65th was probably chosen due to the rapidly growing immigrant population in the neighborhood — mostly Irish, Italian and Romanian.

Production at Leisy Brewing Company peaked in 1918, but Prohibition (1920 – 1930) resulted in the brewery’s downfall. The bar, however, continued its operation and was a popular speakeasy for a while. With the disappearance of commerce, industry and people from the area, the neighborhood began to deteriorate. Although the surrounding neighborhoods remain in pretty sad shape, the area around the pub has witnessed revitalization.

When you pull in you get a sense you’re somewhere in Europe — there’s a cobblestone drive and with a little imagination, the pub has a castle like appearance. The bar and the restaurant are located in separate rooms, but the best thing about the place is the outdoor area – it would be wrong to call it a patio – entirely made of stone — the surface, tables, benches — everything. In the middle of the area are multiple fireplaces with big stone chimneys. Looks like a great place to sit on a fall evening. Unfortunately, it rained the day we were there. The close second best thing about the place was the bathrooms — yep, the bathrooms are completely covered with antique tiling that had to be laid by hand by someone with amazing skill…

Although I didn’t attend, I’m told that the shower activities went well and everyone was happy to get to know the newest member of the family a little better.

The picnic was just as great as always and we carried on with our tradition of touring Cleveland on the way there.

All in all, a great weekend on the North Shore.
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So I see in the news this morning that Edward Snowden has been given “temporary” asylum in Russia. Both you readers already know what I think of Snowden (lowest of the low) and my opinion isn’t changing the more I read.

It appears that his big beef is American surveillance of its own citizens, so off he goes to Hong Kong (now in possession of China) and then to Moscow. From there he has sought protection from countries that are far, far worse violators of freedom than the United States.

Part of this morning’s article indicated that he has deliberately withheld the most damaging information about how the National Security Agency operates. If Snowden’s intent is to expose what he regards as illicit programs/operations, why not just expose them? It appears that he’s attempting to play some blackmailing game. The article also stated that a few years ago, Snowden wrote that leakers (like himself) “should be shot.” Wonder what changed his mind?

Unfortunately, Edward Snowden isn’t just some malcontent that’s annoying and more than just a little dangerous. He’s done significant harm to international relations. Trying to gain asylum in countries like Nicaragua, Ecuador, Bolivia, etc. has consequences – for both him and the U.S. In fact, good ole Ed may be almost single-handily responsible for a significant rise in the costs/availability of frozen broccoli — and even roses. Ecuador is now using the NSA scandal as a reason to pull out of trade agreements with the United States that have kept Ecuadorian imports of frozen broccoli, canned artichokes and flowers tariff-free. Those agreements expire at midnight on August first.

Ecuador is the fourth largest supplier for frozen broccoli and canned artichokes. They are also the second-leading exporter of flowers. Certain large-headed roses only grow in Ecuador, so there is no alternative supply. So get ready for higher prices – thanks, Ed.

Edward Snowden considers himself a hero and a victim. He’s certainly no hero, and is not the victim of anything but the consequences of his own actions.
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Maysville, Oklahoma is well known as the place I grew up of course, but it’s also the place Wiley Post grew up. Anyone aware of early aviation history knows about Wiley Post. If you’ve visited the Air and Space Museum of the Smithsonian, you’ve probably seen his airplane, the Winnie Mae, on display. That’s the plane he flew solo around the world.

Wiley Post was born in Grand Saline, Texas where his father was a cotton farmer. The family moved to Oklahoma when Wiley was five and settled on a farm near Maysville. His first view of an aircraft in flight was at the county fair in Lawton, Oklahoma in 1913. He enrolled in the Sweeney Automobile and Aviation School in Kansas City and became a pilot in the U.S. Army Air Service in World War I. His training took place at the University of Oklahoma where he learned radio technology. The war ended before he completed his training and he worked as a “roughneck” in the Oklahoma oilfields. The work was unsteady and he turned to car jacking. He was arrested in 1921 and sent to the Oklahoma State Reformatory where he served 14 months of a ten-year sentence.

His aviation career began as a parachutist for a flying circus and he became well known on the barnstorming circuit. In 1926 he lost his left eye in an oil field accident and he used the settlement money to buy his first airplane. He met fellow Okie Will Rogers when he flew Rogers to a Rodeo. The two became good friends.

In August of 1935, Post and Will Rogers set out to tour Alaska and Siberia – via air. The plane crashed on takeoff from Barrow, Alaska, killing both men.

So why this discussion now? Eighty years ago this month, Wiley Post became the first man to fly solo around the world. Post took off on July 15, 1933 from an airstrip on Floyd Bennet Field in New York. Seven days, 18 hours, and 49 1/2 minutes later, he landed at Floyd Bennet Field, after circling the globe. Another solo flight around the world wouldn’t be accomplished until 1947.

The airport in Oklahoma City is named “Will Rogers World Airport,” and the secondary Oklahoma City airport is named “Wiley Post Airport” and is located on the north side of Oklahoma City — almost within walking distance of my sister’s house.

Maysville has honored Post by naming the high school auditorium The Wiley Post Auditorium.

As I mentioned, if you visit the the Smithsonian, you can see the airplane used for the solo flight – named the Winnie Mae (after the daughter of an Oklahoma oilman that originally purchased the plane) on display. The plane was purchased from Wiley Post’s widow for $25,000. Congress authorized the purchase just nine days after the crash in Alaska.

So next time you see Maysville, Oklahoma in the news, just remember that I’m not the only one that put it on the map — give Wiley a little credit too….
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I just renewed my drivers’s license. I remember not too many years ago, when your license was due to be renewed, you went to the DMV and stood in line (usually a long line) then gave them your old license, they took a new picture, checked your eyes and gave you a new license.

Today to renew a driver’s license, you must provide a birth certificate, passport, social security card, two or three proofs of residency, voter registration card, and who knows what else.
So how did we get to this state of affairs?

When cars came along around the start of the 20th century, anyone could drive them without restriction. Of course some of the early “cars” were just wagons that people attached a engine to for power — essentially replacing their horses. In 1899, Chicago and New York City required all drivers to pass an exam in order to operate their vehicles. New York City required any operator of a steam-powered car to be a licensed engineer. I guess technically, the first license to drive a motor vehicle was issued to Karl Benz (the acknowledged inventor of the modern automobile) in 1888. Because of the noise and smell of his creation, the citizens of Mannheim (Germany) complained. Benz requested and received written permission by the Grand Ducal authorities to operate his car on public roads.

The first real driver’s licenses were issued in 1903 by the states of Massachusetts and Missouri and required no examination of driving knowledge or skill and were basically just identification cards. As the number of cars increased, safety concerns began to prompt states to require driving examinations before issuing licenses. Rhode island became the first state to test individuals on their driving skills in 1908. The last state to require drivers to pass a driving test was South Dakota in 1959.

Driver’s licenses are used as the de facto form of identification in a large number (if not most) of countries, including the US, UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada, because these countries have no national identification cards.

The fact is we all need driver’s licenses and we put up with all the rules and regulations necessary to get/keep one. But deep down we don’t think that little card is necessary because we’re all above average drivers.

While waiting for my license, there was a youngster waiting to take his exam for his learner’s permit. I vaguely remember taking the test when I was about 15 or 16. I remember one question asked who had the right of way when four cars approach a four-way stop at the same time? If that question is on the West Virginia exam, the correct answer is probably the pick-up truck with the gun rack and the bumper sticker saying, “Guns don’t kill people. I do.”
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If my count is correct, the last entry in this blog was number 100. Both you faithful readers will remember that this is the second generation of my blog — the first one (“In My Own Write”) was closed out some time back and I started over with a simplified format. Anyhow, the fact that I’ve now updated it 100 times says something — I have no idea what, but it’s probably something like I can still write a lot of words about nothing.

But 100 is a cool number. We all wanted to get 100 on our homework when in school. The Today Show honors people that have lived to be 100 every week. It seems to indicate a fullness or completeness.

100 degrees on the Celsius scale is the boiling point of water (at sea level.) 100 kilometers is generally considered to be how high the Earth’s atmosphere is (the Karman line is the line above sea level and is generally considered the boundary between our atmosphere and outer space.

100 is the number of years in a century and we have 100 U.S. Senators, there are 100 tiles in a Scrabble game (at least the English version) and the first hundred days of the President’s term is used as a benchmark for his accomplishments.

In many countries 100 is the telephone number for emergencies — in England, dialing 100 will get you the operator.

There are 100 yards on a football field and it’s the minimum distance for a Par 3 hole on a golf course.

The first gulf war, under President H.W. Bush, lasted 100 days. The second reign of Napoleon lasted 100 days — ended by his defeat at Waterloo. On average, 100 people choke to death on ball-point pens every year. An ant can lift 100 times its own weight.

The Bible mentions lots of number lots of times, but the number 100 is used 95 times. Abraham was 100 years old when his son Isaac was born.

Often times we just use a hundred to mean “a lot.” So I’ve written in this blog a lot and here we are on entry number 101 – that’s a lot too, but because of its lack of “roundness,” it seems more precise. So when we reach 101 it’s kind of like a fresh start — the first day of every new year starts on 1/01 and usually when we say something is 101 it means the beginning, like a beginner’s or introductory course — that’s the number invariably given to the first course in each field of study in universities.

So here’s to not necessarily a new beginning but maybe a fresh start for a lot more of nothing….
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