Do I Really Want to Live to Be a Hundred??

I used to think living 100 years would be a thrilling milestone, the capstone to a fruitful life, an event to celebrate.  And for some it is.  My Baba lived to 100 and enjoyed the big party in her honor.  My grandfather's cousin made it, and my great-great-great grandmother was supposedly 103 when she died.

Yesterday and today I took a short road trip from NY where I'm already on vacation, to visit some elderly relatives in PA.  It's likely the last time I'll see them. 

My step-mom is nearly 95 and yesterday was the first time I had seen her in about 7 years.  She's still very much herself, but is now nearly blind, very hard of hearing, failing in memory, and living in a very nice care home, the same one where her sister lives.  On the plus side she gets around on her own using a walker, but only in the care home.  She's not capable of say, doing grocery shopping, even if someone provided transportation.  She repeated several times how she can't do anything because she can't see.  It's gotta be hard.

Today I stopped for an hour in another city to visit a distant cousin, an old lady I'm very fond of.  She's 92 and in a care home.  She's intelligent, smart (they are 2 different things), resourceful, has a great memory.  Physically she needs a wheelchair to get around because of a fall 2 years ago.  She explained that she uses Depends and detailed the science behind them for me (I'll file that away under "information I hope I never need to retrieve.")  Before I left I pushed her in her wheelchair to the dining room.  On the way she pointed out the room where the very debilitated patients are brought for their meals.  They have to be fed as they are far beyond doing anything for themselves.  I caught a glimpse through the doorway and was appalled by the condition of some of the folks in there.  Am pretty sure a few aren't even aware of their surroundings.

We have only so much power over our own health.  I would say that making the century mark probably isn't all it's cracked up to be.  One of my elderly relatives mentioned above kept saying she's ready to go.  The other talked about her funeral plans and how the funeral is to be paid for.  Neither one is chomping at the bit to make it to 100.

Great Pop Songs

Ah, memories.  I was thinking about blasts from the pasts that transport me back in time.  Smells do it, and songs do too.

When certain songs come on the radio (or I play them on youtube), I am able to take a nostalgic walk down memory lane.  Tons of tunes bring back fun or precious memories, but it's these below that make me float.

Rocky Mountain High by John Denver: Late 1972.  I was a freshman at College of the Canyons longing to get farther from home.  Dreaming of  a place of quiet solitude among the forest and the streams, a place where it rains fire in the sky, and seeking the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake . . . that was the place for me.  

John Denver; we lost a great musician when he died

Listen to the Music by the Doobie Brothers.  Don't ya feel it comin', day by day . . . this 70s song has a catchy feel-good rhythm to it.

Take it Easy by the Eagles.  What a fun song to sing while driving down the highway.   I may have stood on a corner in Winslow Arizona when we passed through in 1962, but I'm not sure.

Layla by Derek and the Dominos [Eric Clapton]: Layla was a radio staple in summer 1972, the year I graduated from high school.  My job that summer was babysitting a couple of children full-time, and most days we spent at least part of the afternoon at the neighborhood swimming pool.  The radio was always on there, and when Layla came blasting out it was the tune and the fantastic guitar-picking that put me in a good mood every time.  When no one is looking I play my air guitar along with Clapton.  One of the best rock songs ever.

Betcha By Golly Wow by the Stylistics: This dreamy tune from my senior year often played late at night while I was lying in my upstairs bedroom looking at the sky.  I was pushing my way through the Book of Mormon for the first time, and I would leave my curtains open to think while watching the moon and stars move across the night sky.

I'm Stone in Love With You by Stylistics: I was in love.  With a cowboy, the giver of The Book of Mormon.

Too Late to Turn Back Now by Cornelius Brothers: It was too late for me too, in a marvelous way.  Transports me right back to the fall of 1972, a time of great discoveries.

I Only Want to be With You by Dusty Springfield: No one belts it out like Dusty.  Her energy is contagious.  This number gets me right up out of my seat.

The Last Song by Edward Bear: Pleasant voice, pleasant tune.  Kind of a mournful idea that sometimes two people don't want the same things in life.  One can hang on longer than the other. 

I Can See Clearly Now by Jimmy Cliff:  Freshman year at College of the Canyons.  I could see clearly as all get out.

Galveston by the great Glen Campbell: Most anti-Vietnam War songs were hostile and bitter.  Glen's  is wistful and honest.

I will leave the rest for another time.

Tanasbourne

I am away from home thus won't have access to my photo collection for another 5 days.  This post will be of interest to those who are or have been residents of the Beaverton / Hillsboro area. 

Who remembers the old Tanasbourne Mall folks??  That dreadful dark dungeon-y bunker-style mall was the only "major" shopping area for miles around back in the day.  Gloomy and creepy, we patronized it out of necessity.   Our tiny local library was in the underground area.  Sunshine Pizza we went to when our kids had a post-season sports party.  I recall the over-priced children's clothing store, and the Chang's that we never ate at until it moved to Cornell Road.

The link below displays some grainy black and white photos of Tanasbourne Mall.   Why the developer thought it was a good idea to create a shopping area that mimicked  an air-raid bunker on the partially-buried lower floor, and had the feel of a haunted abandoned building on the upper, no one will never understand.

Link to the long-defunct Tanasbourne Mall

Tanasbourne Mall's demolition spawned two tragic building mistakes.  It was replaced by the strip mall from H-E-double toothpicks on the same site--an extended row of ugly big-box stores that make even a walker like me drive from one end to the other.  A friendly neighborhood gathering place it is not.  Then across the street another strip-mall center popped up.  That place is a parking nightmare and dangerous for a pedestrian to negotiate.  Worst of all, it is inaccessible from the backside.  There are no store entrances or parking over there.  A huge "Berlin Wall" blocks it off from the thousands of apartments directly behind the wall, so that even those who live only a  quick stroll away feel the need to get into their car, drive out of their complex, go around the side of the mall and then into the mall parking area.   Sheesh, what was Washington County thinking when they approved that??

What's Black & White & Read All Over??

The title of my post comes from a joke my Mom used to tell.  The first time I heard it--about age 5--I puzzled long into the night about what could be black and white, yet "red" all over.  I was the last one on the planet to guess the answer to her riddle.

When I visit a town I check out the name of their local newspaper.   Lots of newspaper names are colorful and descriptive.  Some are not.  The creative titles are either "one of a kind" or they shed light on the character of the communities they serve.  Would you want to live in the town whose newspaper is titled "The Rustler?"   Mmmm.  You'd best stay out of the street at high noon.  If your paper is called "The Reminder" does that mean your town is dominated by the geriatric crowd?  I can't figure out the Sacramento Bee and Fresno Bee.  Do they mean bee as in bumble bee?  Was the publisher's daughter named Bee?  Or is there a play on words going on here?   ***

I leave you with a list of the plain and mundane, the interesting, and the witty / creative titles of newspapers around the country.

the dull                 the interesting                                    the creative
Times                 Idaho Statesman                                 Cleveland Plain Dealer
Journal               Observer                                             Daily Planet
Sun                     Sounder                                              Vermont Phoenix
Post                    Fresno  Bee                                         Rustler
Tribune              Town Crier                                          Territorial
Chronicle           Brattleboro Reformer                          Reminder
News                  Bugle                                                  Champion
Inquirer              Independent                                        Seattle Post Intelligencer
Globe                 Pioneer                                                Kingman Miner
Gazette               Town Crier                                          Shinbone Star
Herald                Democrat
Press                   Eugene Register Guard
Standard             Watchman
Advertiser           Newhall Signal
Examiner            Oregonian
Dispatch             Ledger
Reporter              Constitution
Mirror                 Commercial
Clarion                Eagle
Citizen                Holyoke Transcript-Telegram
World                  Keene Sentinel

***An alert reader, Susanne from NC, located this article that explains the origin of the name Bee for the newspaper in Sacramento

 

Oh Yeah, Never Walk on the Railroad Tracks

(amended quote by Phil Connors (Bill Murray) in "Groundhog Day")

 

In October of 1970 I and some of my friends nearly became a statistic when we foolishly sat on the railroad tracks of a busy train route that ran along the side of the mountain behind my friend's house.  This friend lived on a large piece of property that could accommodate the construction of our high school class's annual homecoming float.  The float consisted of rolls of chicken wire (usually swiped from a construction site) shaped over a car, and then thousands of Zee paper napkins bunched up and stuck in the holes of the chicken wire in some kind of pattern.  Yeah, it was a real beaut.  Keep in mind that paper napkins only came in white, washed out pale green, washed out pale blue, and washed out pale pink.  Stunning as the float was, we never thought to photograph one of those gems.

Anyway, it was common for the other classes to seek out their rival's float to throw eggs on it.  This one night we heard through the grapevine that the seniors were on their way to wreck our float, and we being as smart as all get out, climbed the hill to the tracks to keep a lookout for the perps on that pitch black night.

Nothing happened where the float was concerned.  But there we were sitting ON the rails when all of a sudden a train rounded the bend, and it was all we could do to leap off down the berm as it passed by.  It seems unbelievable, but we never felt the tracks vibrate, nor did we hear the rumbling of the train as it barreled toward the curve.  Suddenly, there was the powerful beam and the train was upon us.

This memory came back to me because while doing some research recently, I saw this death record of 3 young Irishmen killed in a railroad accident:

A portion of the Chicopee Massachusetts death register dated 25 Sep 1895:

 

I had to know what happened.  The accident likely occurred during the course of rail construction gone wrong, a common method employed by the grim reaper to make his mark.  A search on www.newspapers.com showed this was not the case:

 

 

 The Atlanta Constitution September 27, 1895 Page 3.  A similar article appeared in papers around the country.

Golly, these 3 grown men were walking on the tracks, then carelessly attempted to cross an adjacent set of rails without looking first.  What a sad end.  One wonders if they had a split second to regret their mistake.

 Railroad-related deaths were once common.  Railroad laborers were killed in construction mishaps, while coupling cars, and while switching engines or cars.  Brakemen were killed falling off the caboose or while working the brake and not noticing that low bridge ahead.  Engineers and passengers burned to death in train wrecks when the oil lamps were upset and caught fire.  Derailments caused injury and death when severe weather undermined and destabilized the tracks, causing trains to leap off at top speed. 

My great-great grandfather, Cornelius O'Sullivan, was killed on the tracks in Brattleboro, Vermont in 1877.  The account of the accident made it clear he was the class of railroad employee they now call a lineman.  He was on a handcar, and when it lurched on the track he was knocked off to the rear, and then run over by a following handcar.  It must have tumbled him around underneath, leaving him with severe injuries to the back, lungs, and a broken leg.  He lived 5 days in that condition.  I don't know how the family got by after his death.

 1870-style handcar (http://www.micronart.com)

later handcar

Thoughts of Cornelius O'Sullivan's pain and suffering haunt me every time I drive past the spot of the accident, which I did last week.  The newspaper reporting the accident did not make it clear whether he was brought home to be treated, or taken to the nearest house.  I have a copy of his will created 3 days after the accident and 2 days before his death.  He left everything to his wife Catherine and signed it with his mark, the letter X.  He was laid to rest in the Catholic Cemetery on the hill beside his deceased children.  And resting nearby are a handful of others who also lost their lives due to railroad-related accidents.

3 Terrible Days in May

At this time of year in NW Oregon one or more news websites always posts a tidbit about what is known around here as "The OES Disaster."  It was an agonizing three days in May 1986, with a horrific outcome that devastated the families involved and cast a weighty pall over the community.  And it changed forever the way I look at Mt. Hood.

Mt. Hood is one of many volcanoes in the Cascade Mountain Range that spans from Canada south into California.  Its 11,000-foot pointy white cone creates a stunning backdrop for the city of Portland, and is a destination for recreation in every season.   Mt. Hood has a flip side.  It's a menacing place of yawning crevasses, wild glacial rivers, deep snow, crushing avalanches, and extreme weather generated by the mountain itself.

OES stands for Oregon Episcopal School, a private institution in Portland that annually gave some of its students an opportunity to climb Mt. Hood.  The 1986 group of 10 students and 2 teachers was caught in a severe blizzard on the mountain.   The climbers were floundering but did not turn back in time to make it to safety before the gale-force winds and zero visibility shut their window of opportunity.   Fatigue and hypothermia were blamed for the calamitous poor decisions made by the faculty leader that day.

At mid-morning the next day, one student and the climbing guide were able to get down the mountain to alert authorities that the others were hunkered down in a snow cave.  Search and rescue teams mobilized and the families of the climbers gathered at Timberline Lodge which is at the 6000 foot level on Mt. Hood's southern slope.  By this time, all of Portland was glued to the TV coverage of the missing party, and I'm sure a multitude of prayers for the climbers were offered by total strangers for these kids lost in the storm.

Searchers combed the mountain in perilous conditions and a few were injured in their quest to locate the missing.  Visibility was nil and blowing snow made it difficult to move or handle equipment.  On the third day the frozen bodies of three of the climbers were found sprawled in the snow, and tragic as that was, it gave rescuers a clue that the snow cave might be close by.  Five feet of new snow obscured any evidence of where that could be, so rescuers spread across the flank of the mountain to probe the snow with long poles in what some thought was a futile exercise.

It worked.  Eight bodies were found stacked like cord wood in the tiny snow cave.  They had no sleeping bags, no stove, and wore inadequate clothing for the conditions.  All were airlifted to various area hospitals.  Only two would survive and they were basically brought back from the dead.  One of them lost his legs.
 

snowcave discovered

In the aftermath recriminations flew from every quarter directed toward the school that allowed such an inexperienced and ill-prepared group to attempt a serious and perilous climb of Oregon's highest peak.  The parents may as well have been stabbed in the heart, for the pain they felt.  The bitter father of one of the deceased did not allow himself to look at Mt. Hood, and eventually moved far away to put it out of sight.  But it was probably never out of mind.

Locater beacons were designed and made available for checkout by summit-bound climbers.  Outdoor-lovers such as myself realized that even a day-hike in the wilderness could lead to a bad situation, and began to hike and camp with better equipment and more complete supplies.

This video is made of original footage from that dreadful three-day ordeal.  It is eerie to see the concerned optimism displayed by officials in the first part, knowing now that the worst possible outcome was just around the bend.

Portland to Seattle: The Slog

I live on the outskirts of Portland Oregon and fortunately don't have to travel to Seattle very often.  It isn't that I don't love Seattle.  I do.  It's a marvelous city, sort of like a big sister to Portland:  more mature, lovelier, greener, and captivating in a way that Portland will never be because Seattle has a fresh, sparkling, ocean-y feel to it.

The trick is in getting there.  You'll do fine if you drive up in the middle of the night.  Most other times of day can be a traveler's nightmare, in spots.  There is an eternal traffic jam up near Olympia, road construction that never finishes, speed traps, and just about every other type of obstacle you could meet on a road trip.

Some years ago Horizon Airlines put out this brilliant advertisement encouraging folks to take a Horizon flight to Seattle, thus skipping what they call, The Slog: The Longest 3-Hour Drive in American History.  I love that they tell the story in "Oregon Trail fashion," with pioneer-era music, letters home, detailed descriptions of unforgettable landmarks along the way, and tall tales that have entrenched themselves in the history of Western Washington.

Here is The Slog.  It's about 10 minutes long and so droll, it's worth the time to watch.

NOTE: As of 12 / 2017 The Slog no longer shows up online. If I can find it, will repost 😢