Mike called a couple of days ago to report his concern about his nephew, Ethan.

Playing in the catcher position in a grade school baseball game, Ethan threw off his protective mask to field a throw as a base runner raced toward home plate. The errant toss missed his outstretched mitt and hit him dirctly in the head.

A quick run to the emergency room found him groggy but released as fit.

Mike asked me to report on an experience I had in high school football.

My father was not a football fan. My mother urged him to come to a game to support my efforts as a reserve guard on the Wa Hi Blue Devils team.

The assistant coach called my name and told me to "warm up". I did wind sprints up and down the sidelines for several minutes. I stopped. Looked to the coach. No sign. I continued my exercises.

Finally the nod came to enter the game. I raced to the point where the referee was placing the ball. It much further than it appeared from the sidelines and as I ran my asthma kicked in and I was in great fear I couldn't get there but I did.

We were in defense and I began chasing their runners across the field. As I closed in on one hapless ball carrier another tackler grabbed him. In my exuberance I flung myself to secure the tackle just as the whistle blew.

The young man had the wind knocked out and lay motionless on the ground as the opposing team coaches ran out to aid him.

The referee gave me a warning about late hits and an opposing player said, "You are next."

He was right. On the next play it seems that eleven young athletes of the opposing team attacked me. I was carried half conscious from the field. I still have a scar on my face.

My father ran out of the stadium vowing never watch me get mauled in a game again,

Crazy Icebox

Grandfather B. had thought about settling in Philadelphia after rescuing his family in Europe after World War I but a recession had gripped the country and he decided to return to Walla.

While living alone, a room at a boarding house was O.K. but now as a family of five Grandfather needed more and permanent space. 28 West Chestnut was the answer.

A large white two story frame at the corner of Third and Chestnut. Four bedrooms, a bath, and a storeroom upstairs and bedroom, half bath with laundry tubs, kitchen, breakfast room, formal dining room and parlor on the main floor. Sitting on an elevated corner lot it is still quite impressive.

Quite by accident I found an old telephone book that indicated the name of the previous owner.
Time has erased his name from my mind. I did some research into his back round and discovered that he had been a "49er" but had come up empty handed in California and South America but had accumulated enough wealth in Australia to set himself up in the residential contracting business in the growing town of Walla Walla.

Apparently he had passed on a the purchase was made from his heirs.

One of the features of the house was a screened in back porch. There stood the majestic wooden icebox, a place to protect perishables from the summer heat. The iceman called on frequent rounds to refresh the melting blocks of ice a quiet sentinel standing guard just outside the kitchen door.

Just as progress dictated that the copper boiler and wooden paddle give way to the Thor washing machine with attached wringer, a sleek white electric refrigerator replaced the ever dripping ice box.

When her daughter asked her, "Mom, what do you think of your new convenience?'

The answer was, "The motor goes on the motor goes off, the motor goes on the motor goes off. What a crazy icebox!" and for many years that was a family laugh line

Read Dan's blog on the "word".

Grandfather G.s idol was revolutionary war Admiral A. Philip Levy. In fact he chose Philip for his son's name.

One of Admiral Levy's legacies is that he holds to this day the record of receiving the most courts martial of any officer in the history of the U. S. Navy but that is another story.

He campaigned vigorously to abolish flogging in the service.

It was common in those days that after extended time at sea the sailors would be paid and given shore liberty.

Typically they would head for a waterfront tavern where a comely lady would invite one to her quarters. Once there, a potion known as a "Mickey Finn" would be added to his drink and after a confederate ransacked his pockets, he would be dumped into the alley to sleep it off.

The next morning the "wronged" lady and her confederate would present the "bill" to the ship's officer. The payment with the officer getting a bit of a kickback would be charged to the seaman's pay account plus he would be assessed a certain number of lashes with a whip.

The entry in the punishment book would be "For unlawful carnal knowledge" usually in acronym form.

Admiral Levy made attempts over the years to get Congress to outlaw the practice of whipping American sailors and was rebuffed.

This consensus was that a good whipping was needed once in awhile to maintain discipline.

Finally, Levy came up with an idea. He brought a navy Sargent at arms to the floor of congress with a cat-o-nine tails and invited any member who felt it was minimal punishment to step forward and the chief would demonstrate on him.

The vote to abolish flogging in the U. S. Navy was unanimous

Another Tiger?

Uncle David reported to me that the members of the two golf clubs to which he belonged had their noses out of joint because a young salesman who snubbed invitations to play socially would sign up for course tournaments and win.

This was in the early days of our marriage and Jeannie was president of Young Wives Club of the YWCA. I made my obligatory attendance at their annual banquet and found myself sitting next to this young man.

I queried as to whether he played golf. He responded that he hated golf. He went on to say that he carried clubs in his car. It seems that many of his customers were avid golfers and a few hours on the course could cement a business relationship.

He went on to say he could win by a stroke or lose by a stroke.

Then the rest of the story unfolded.

His father was a golf pro bent on training his son to be a winner on the professional golf tour.

This ran counter his ambition.

In college he entered the the National Junior Amateur Golf Tournament. He finished second.

He told his father that he did not want to continue in competitive golf.

If he couldn't win against a college kid, how would do against the big boys?

Who beat him?

Jack Nicklaus, six time winner of the Green Jacket and one of the greatest golfers of our time.

A story from another time that may give some thought in our time.

In the fifteenth century there lived a pious Jew known as Abravanel. He wrote poetry and hymns of praise that endure in prayer books to this day.

He was also was very wise and rose quickly in influence in the court of Spain.

Then came the inquisition.

He was advised by his royal friends that he was on a list for prison and torture by the zealots of the Catholic Church.

Abandoning everything he secured passage on a boat leaving that night. On the sea his vessel was attacked by pirates. His family was murdered and he was sold into slavery in Morocco.

His new master recognized Abravenal's powers of reason and he and others sought the advise of this slave. Eventually, he was able to secure his freedom.

Landing in Naples he restored his fame and became adviser to Italian royalty. He led a rich and respected life.

In his seventies, an especially advanced age in those days, he set out on his lifelong dream, a journey to the holy land to spend his final days.

The trip was arduous taxing even much younger men.

When the pilgrim beheld the the walls of Jerusalem that appear golden in the evening sun, he sank to his knees in awe and commenced praying.

An Arab riding out from the city spied the the man in foreign dress kneeling in the roadway, drew a scimitar and lopped off his head.

Remember George Burns?
Remember Gracie Allen?

You may remember their TV show if you are old enough. When they retired it was the longest running show on the tube.

They started in vaudeville. They were one of the few to successfully make the switch from stage to radio in 1934 when whole families sat in the parlor to listen to Sunday night comedies.

As people became fascinated with the hazy black and white images on the television set, the Burnses moved to the new medium.

The reason this is on my blog. Last night we went to a one man show in which the actor tried to recreate the character of George Burns based on his autobiography "Gracie and Me".

It brought a a memory. Our local newspaper in the 1930's carried a column headed "Gracie Allen Says" a spoof on the talking heads of that day.


At the age of seven I was reading the newspaper and I asked my mother to explain who Gracie Allen was. She took a few minutes from her task at hand and responded that Gracie was part of the team of Burns and Allen. Gracie was a comedienne. George was her partner. Without Gracie George Burns would not last a week in show business.

Gracie retired in 1950 after a series of heart attacks.

George did a command performance for the queen of England in the 1990's.

The Rothschild family was fabled both in Jewish and non-Jewish circles.

Mayer Amschel Rothschild's ascent from seller of rare coins to become banker to Wilhem of Hesse in 1785 and later to many of the princes of Europe was almost beyond imagination.

Wilhelm as Landgrave of Hesse had a profitable business renting units of his army to his brother royalty. His problem was there was no loyalty among royalty and they could not be bothered with mundane things like paying bills. Rothschild took on the job of collecting and accounting for the monies

He sent each of his five sons to an important capital in Europe to open a branch of his bank.

Actually, by measuring out the amount of money he loaned through his banks to each prince he and his descendants were able to keep a level of peace in Europe for almost a century.

Anyway, the story I want to tell concerns one of Mayer Amschel's descendents.

It was Christmas day. The Baron Rothschild had given all of his servants the day off to celebrate the holiday with their famlies.

There came a persistant chiming of the door bell. Unaccustomed to answering his own door and thinking it might be a well wisher who happened by in those days before the telephone he trudged to the portal.

Before his eyes staring back at him through the swirling snow was a travel worn bearded old man.

"I am Rabbi Schmul from a small village in Eastern Poland. I have traveled three hundred miles on foot to see you. I am frozen and hungry. May I come in?"

The Baron was taken aback. Gathering his wits he ushered the man to the kitchen. The visitor ate till he could fill himself no more.

He then told his story. The cossacks had been on one of their pograms against the Polish Jews. They had burned homes, stolen cattle, and left the population of the little Jewish enclaves battered and starving.

Please, Baron, give us some money to buy seed and livestock so that we can rebuild our lives.

The Baron turned petulant. What do I have to do with people three hundred miles away?

You are a Jew and if the anti semites can attack us they can surely find you.

The Baron grew irritated. Here in Germany? Never!

The Baron then summoned the Old Rabbi down a passage into a huge walkin safe with a heavy steel door.

See there is gold, there are French francs, Italian lira, Spanish pesetas, Brittish pounds

Whatever happens my money will keep me safe. Go back to your people and tell them to work out their own problems.

The old man quietly slipped out of the strongroom As he left he slammed the door shut and snapped the lock.

Looking back at the steel door he shouted to the entrapped baron, "As long as your money can keep you safe I will leave with your message to my people!"