Month: January 2018

“These are the good old days.” — Oscar Elliott (My late friend and long-time purveyor of philosophy, wit and wisdom.)

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Stuck at home entertaining an uninvited bout of flu last week gave rise to discussion touting methods of modern medicine against Granny’s old-fashioned home remedies.

The winner, and the cough cure recommended by nine out of ten Grannies, was the proverbial lemon, honey and a shot of whiskey. Mine endorsed it. Granny Aldridge, a devout teetotaler quick to admonish alcohol as the work of the devil, kept a small bottle of spirits in her cupboard—for medicinal purposes only, of course.

The affliction itself, she attacked with a concoction of garlic, vinegar and other ingredients that I not only couldn’t identify, I didn’t want to know. Today, I’m convinced the cure was not in the potion itself, but in the fact that no one else was going to get close enough to infect you.

Everything was just different at Granny’s. From miracle cures, to more pleasant memories, like eating: if it was from Granny’s house, it was better. Simple things like chips. I eat Fritos today because Granny kept them at her house. My favorite chip could be a toss up. “Ruffles,” or barbecue potato chips are contenders, but, I’m thinking Fritos would win two out of three times just because eating them recalls time spent at her house.

Fritos were not a common pantry item at home. We had chips—just the plain ones for “sandwich night.” Mom prepared simple meals, even on sandwich night, and I guess Fritos were too fancy.

Granny’s stash of Fritos, cookies, candy and other treats was kept only in her dining room buffet and that was the attraction. Special treats, kept in a special place.

For instance, we had mellorine at home, not to be confused with real ice cream, in the half-gallon square cartons. But, Granny kept ice cream sandwiches, and for a practical reason. Her refrigerator was old, even for the 50s. It had a very small freezer compartment with space on either side for milk, juice, and a water bottle, because there was no need to “waste” ice on a drink of water.

The tiny freezer in Granny’s ‘fridge had only two shelves for frozen food, each one accommodating something no larger than a couple of ice trays—which it also had just below the shelves. Therefore, she bought ice cream sandwiches because they fit. Today, however, I still eat ice cream sandwiches for no other reason than it reminds me of snacking at her house.

Another special treat at Granny’s was one I’ve not seen in many years—vanilla ice cream and devil’s food cake roll. That was not going to fit in her freezer in any case, making it a special treat bought only on Sunday afternoons at the A&P, after which we drove to the “gravel pit” to enjoy it picnic style.

The county gravel pit in the late 50s was on a county road off 271 north near the current Pittsburg hospital. Why we didn’t just go to the park, I don’t know. There was obviously some sort of attraction to enjoying a cake and ice cream roll on a sunny Sunday afternoon at the gravel pit.

It was in any case, a much easier and simpler way of life than today…except for those old-fashioned home remedies. You can keep them, but let me know if you see a cake and ice cream roll, will you?

—Leon Aldridge

(PHOTO: By the author—”Granny’s buffet,” the same one I went to for “special treats in a special place” at her house. She bought it used from a neighbor in Mineola, Texas sometime between 1923 and 1930. It sat in the same spot in her house in Pittsburg, Texas from 1930 to 1993. It has resided with me since 1993.)

Aldridge columns are also published in the Center, Texas, Light and Champion (http://www.lightandchampion.com) and the Mount Pleasant, Texas, Tribune newspapers (http://www.tribnow.com).

“Today is the oldest you’ve ever been, and the youngest you’ll ever be again.” ― Eleanor Roosevelt

Many people regard birthdays ending with a zero as milestones. That’s a title I use for events like the day I graduated from high school, the day I got my first car, or the day I retired. Oh wait, haven’t completed that last one yet.

Honestly, I don’t mind aging. I’m of the opinion that continuing to have birthdays is a good thing—a blessing, and that an optimistic outlook about having birthdays will lead to a long life.

Thinking decade by decade last weekend about the zero-year birthdays with which I’ve been blessed, two or three birthdays are all that really stood out. Truth is, I’m thankful for every one I have been blessed to celebrate.

I’m reasonably sure I had a tenth birthday, but possess no memory of it. I do, however, remember Valentine’s Day as a fourth grader in Mrs. Poe’s class at Seymour (Texas) Elementary. Why Valentine’s Day instead of my birthday? Maybe it was something to do with the little blonde I had big crush on.

Fast forward ten years. Fourth grade quickly became my second year of college at East Texas State University in Commerce sharing a rented house with two of my Mount Pleasant classmates, Ronny Narramore and Gary Cornett. Birthday? I guess, but memories are likely overshadowed by the next year’s birthday—turning 21. Now, that’s a milestone.

Birthday 30 as a blank could have something to do with emotions falling between losing a first child short of his first birthday and celebrating a new daughter within eight months. Thirty was the first birthday I remember thinking getting “old” seemed closer than it had once been.

Forty was a big one. Friends and family heaped three celebrations on my “big Four Oh.” Turning the dreaded 40 made me feel more blessed than anything else. It was also the first time I realized a lot can happen in ten years, and that ten years can go by before you have time to think about it.

50 and 60 were marked with memories of settling into thinking, “Just another birthday. Yesterday, I was one day younger. Tomorrow, I will be one day older.” With each one, however, the ten-year spans were not just fast any more, they were picking up speed like a runaway locomotive.

So, what about 70? I’m proud to say, today is the day. If you’re reading this, chances are I’ve made it. My aforestated philosophies of remaining optimistic and maintaining a humorous outlook as prerequisites for a good life and a long life remain intact. And, today, I’m pretty sure those principles came from my dad whose wisdom on birthdays was, “Life is like a roll of toilet paper—the closer to the end you get, the faster it goes.”

I also believe there’s truth in the clichéd adage that age is a state of mind, that we are only as old as we feel. I can report today that 70 doesn’t loom nearly as old as it did when I viewed it on my parents. My goal is 100, which by then will surely be the new 70, and we’ll take a look at things from there.

I’ve been blessed to have known two centenarians while living in Center, Texas. Mattie Dellinger, with whom I worked for many years, lived to see 100 and beyond. She embarked on a journalism career after she was past 50, wrote columns, and hosted a radio show at one point, while reaching 100.

The other was Grover Hicks who saw 100 still driving a car, teaching a Sunday School class, and going wherever she wanted to go.

I knew Miss Grover had celebrated 100 when I saw her in the bank a few days after her milestone birthday. “You missed my 100^th birthday party,” she teasingly scolded me. I acknowledged that I had, but apologized, letting her know I didn’t know about the party until I read it in the paper. She smiled and replied, “That’s all right, you can come to my 101^st party next year.”

That’s the optimism I hope I have…should I still be doing this at 100.

—Leon Aldridge

(Youngster’s birthday party photo from author’s collection. A birthday party, but not his, in Pittsburg, Texas, about 1950 or ’51. He’s the one behind the table, between the two girls and looking at the camera.)

Aldridge columns are also published in the Center, Texas, Light and Champion (http://www.lightandchampion.com) and the Mount Pleasant, Texas, Tribune newspapers (http://www.tribnow.com).

“Our memories keep yesterday alive.”—Author unknown

Roller rinks. Not so long ago, every small town had one. Facebook discussions last week about the “good old days” of roller skating in my hometown of Mount Pleasant, Texas, gave new life to lots of great memories. The smell of leather rink skates, the sound of skate wheels on wood floors and music by Bill Black’s Combo.

Invented in 1863 and popularized in the late 1800s, roller rinks boomed after World War II. Roller skating birthday parties became a rite of passage for children from the 1950s through the 1980s. Changes in the 70s with the disco craze boosted skating’s popularity as many rinks became roller discos. Replacing staid lighting, organ music and aging clientele, teenagers were skating under mirror balls to disco beats.

The skating rink was my primary hangout as a youth in the 60s. Owner J.B. Hall lived across the street from us on Redbud Lane, and I enjoyed time spent as his semi-sort-of employee riding to the skating rink with him to help open up for business. This entailed opening large wood “barn doors” over the screen windows and turning on evaporative coolers in the summer, or leaving the windows closed and lighting gas heaters in the winter. Dust mopping the floor performed on roller skates was next, followed by ensuring that stacks of 45 r.p.m. records were ready to spin.

Best part of the job, however, was that I was also the “bouncer” on some nights, a job that rotated between a number of guys. That meant wearing a whistle and pointing at anyone skating recklessly, too fast, or in any other unacceptable fashion.

My pay? Free ride to the skating rink, free admission, free snacks, and a free ride home. Oh, and the coolness that came with being a bouncer.

I wasn’t the best skater, but do anything often enough and you eventually get the hang of it. I was fair on wheels, held my own with most of the crowd. One of the crowd, however, stood out as “the pro.” Bobby Rhea moved with the fluid motion of an Olympic ice skater, turning circles, spinning on one skate, forward or backward, never faltered. Made it look easy.

The most amazing thing he did was strike a match on the floor while holding it in his teeth. I could attempt a description of the rolling acrobatics he accomplished to pull this off, but mere words are weak short of seeing someone do it. To every young guy wanting to skate like he did, and to every young girl he impressed, Bobby personified cool on skates.

The Halls purchased the rink from the McMahans, then later sold it to the Henry’s who owned it for a long time. By then, my skating days in Mount Pleasant were fading away as high school faded into college.

I never completely left roller skating behind though, accomplishing two “comebacks” since those early days. One in the late 80s when with my children, daughter Robin and son Lee, we started skating at the rink in Nacogdoches, the nearest one to home in Center, Texas. Despite a 20-year absence, old skating skills returned with a few laps around the floor. To ensure an authentic atmosphere for a respectable return, I even worked a deal with the rink manager to play my 60s Bill Black combo music.

The last comeback was just a few years ago in Longview, Texas, when my wife’s nephew decided a skating party for his birthday would be the bomb. As I had 20 years before, I calculated about 20 fingers and toes since the last time I had rolled on a rink—and this time I was in my 60s. None-the-less, I laced up my skates and rolled out on the floor one more time with “the other kids.” Within 15 minutes I was 16 years old again, even without the aid of what I termed proper music.

Perhaps there will be other comebacks before I hang up my skates for good, at least as long as Bill Black’s Combo music is still available.

—Leon Aldridge

(Photo: Author’s 60s vintage Chicago Trophy roller skates still doing time, these days as a reminder of the “good old days” displayed in the back seat of his 1955 Ford Crown Victoria at vintage car events.)

Aldridge columns are also published in the Center, Texas, Light and Champion (http://www.lightandchampion.com) and the Mount Pleasant, Texas, Tribune newspapers (http://www.tribnow.com).

“Artificial intelligence is wonderful. I told my computer that today is my birthday, and it said I needed an upgrade.” — Uncredited greeting card quote

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“You ever hear of the Turing Test,” Lou asked? “No, I haven’t,” I replied.

The question arose as I attempted to purchase a copy of Louis Antonelli’s debut science fiction novel, Another Girl, Another Planet.  Lou is a newspaper editor by day and a science fiction writer other times. He has authored 113 short stories published in the U.S., U.K., Canada, Australia, India and Portugal, and his work has garnered nominations for awards by a number of science fiction writer’s associations.

Paying Lou should have been easy, but the deal went South when I tried to use PayPal. Actually, groundwork was laid two years ago when I opened the account. For reasons unknown and unnoticed, until I began getting email greeting me, “Hello Aldridge Aldridge,” the account employed my last name as both first and last.

PayPal for online purchases with the unintentional alias worked without a hitch. However, selecting “cash” prompted the question, “Is Aldridge Aldridge your legal name?” Clicking “no” allowed minor corrections, two characters or less. Any further change was an artificial intelligence assumption that a “legal” name change was required necessitating a driver’s license, credit card statement, etc. All of this is accomplished lacking real-person intelligence. Translation: This is going to take a while.

Explaining to Lou the hassle I’d run into, I promised him one of those antiquated forms of payment, a check. Then added, “As I was dealing with PayPal trying to order a book titled Another Girl, Another Planet, I saw some strange irony that trying to get something done online can be like dealing with another person from another planet.”

This prompted Lou’s earlier question about the Turing Test, and his answer: “(Alan) Turing said (in 1950) the goal of computer science would be to come up with a machine or program that, if you are communicating with it via text or voice (not in person), you couldn’t tell that you weren’t communicating with a real person. Ever since then, every time someone invents a system to automatically communicate with people, they say they’re trying to beat the Turing Test.”

Wikipedia adds: “Since Turing first introduced his test, it has…become an important concept in the philosophy of artificial intelligence. Also known as AI.”

Book order done and back to PayPal, I uploaded required documentation asking simply for a correction of the first-name error. Some form of intelligence, I’m betting artificial, determined I needed an automated reply covering everything I already knew and had already done. Thinking I could outsmart their AI with a series of two-character changes to accomplish the correction proved to be a fail. It did however, prompt a real person response—a message that my name was successfully updated to Ledridge Aldridge. How ironic. Real-person intelligence intervened to foil my AI work-around. Happy to discover real-person intelligence, however, I responded with a recap of what needed to happen. Update: As of this writing, I’ve had no further response from PayPal intelligence, real-person or artificial. And, I also remain known in PayPal circles as Ledridge Aldridge.

Personally, I don’t think artificial intelligence will ever reach the point we cannot discern AI from human intelligence. I know, because I asked Siri, and she said so. She also knows about the Turing Test.

—Leon Aldridge

Aldridge columns are also published in the Center, Texas, Light and Champion (http://www.lightandchampion.com) and the Mount Pleasant, Texas, Tribune newspapers (http://www.tribnow.com).