41 Days To Go

We entered WWII in '41 on a day that will live in infamy.

Yesterday I gave in to an urge and went to Half-Price Books, where I snagged 17 books at under $2.00 each. Later, I bought another half-dozen books on Amazon.

Before I left the house I washed my car for the first time in a year. Today it rained.

And the countdown continues...

42 Days To Go

I like the number 42. The Doolittle Raid and the Battle of Midway happened in '42. Summer of '42 was a pretty good movie. My younger baby was born when I was 42. I didn't want to rush into things, I guess.

Pictured is the classic shadow band The Moops. From let to right are yours truly, Dave "Evan" Lewis, and Brian Trainer (alias Tough Jim Gaston). Tough Jim is going to have some heart surgery in about 10 days and I want to wish him every kind of good fortune. He's a swell fellow and a magnificent guitarist.

43 Days To Go

I really have nothing to say about the number 43, but this day is not without good tidings. James Reasoner, as fine and prolific a writer as ever beat a keyboard into submission, posted a review of my latest book, THE TOYMAN RIDES AGAIN, on his excellent blog. If I remember how to create links you'll find it here. Thanks, James, for your perspicacity.

44 Days To Go

A pair of fours in poker is called Sailboats. I used to have a .44 magnum Ruger Blackhawk. There are 44 keys in half a piano keyboard. The days melt away, but not fast enough.

My older girl, Stephanie, who is gifting me with a granddaughter in November, had a checkup today. All is well, I'm relieved and happy to say.

Tune in tomorrow when I have even less to say.

45 Day To Go

Just 45 working days left. I can liken the number 45 to 1845, the year the Mexican War started, and 1945, the year WWII ended and my older sister was born. I had a semi-productive weekend. Finally installed the molding on the new flooring (new several months ago) and took $30 from the Muckleshoot tribe at their large and clean casino.

I'm also tracking the Auburn, WA, team in the Little League World Series. After dropping their first game in the double-elimination format to Connecticutt 3-1, they came back to win two subsequent games and are still in the tournament. Auburn is just northeast of us and it's also where the Muckleshoot Casino stands. Seen how it all ties together?

46 Days To Go

On April 1 in '46 my cousin George was born. I don't have anything else to say about that number.

Our squardon picnic was held today. I went, I ate, I left.

Speaking of work, our new break room had the TV hooked up a few days ago and we now get a station called RTV (Retro Television). I've had a chance to watch episodes of I Spy and Daniel Boone. I missed Quincy, but it was there, along with Kojak. Today's I Spy guest starred Sue Randall, famous as Miss Landers on Leave It to Beaver. She looked a bit fuller in the face (filmed in 1965, three years after Randall left LITB), but she looked as lovely as ever. She also had a chance to emote more than she did as the wise and caring teacher. But you know what I liked best about these old shows?

Steady cameras that held a shot. No blitz cuts, no wobbly camera work, no brilliant lights flashing in my face--none of those damnable MTV effects every callow director finds necessary to inflict on us, and I doubt they even know why they're doing it.

47 Days To Go

I'm sure I'll have trouble finding a tie-in to certain numbers, but 47 is a snap. The US Air Force, my employer, was born in 1947. So was I.

48 Days To Go

There were 48 states when I was born, and there are 48 working days to go. Join the countdown as I watch a life of typical civil servitude come to an end. Today was unpleasant. I must have spent over 5 hours in a cramped K Loader cab of one kind or another, mostly waiting for people to get their butts in gear. At least I was smart enough to bring a book. On the up side, some reservists visiting from San Antonio had a burger burn to celebrate their departure, so I glommed onto free food.

You might have read about the sonic booms that hit our area yesterday. What happened was a float plane with a clueless pilot violated restricted air space in Seattle, causing two F-15 fighters stationed in Portland, OR, to scramble. I had just left the post office where I'd mailed my retirement papers when the noises hit. My first thought was the Army was firing some large cannons, but when my older daughter said it shook her house at a distance from the base I changed my mind.

As you know, the president flies around in Air Force One, even for non-essential, tax-money-wasting trips like the ones he's been on recently to prop up Democrats running for office. Did you also know that a second plane flies with him? Said backup craft sat outside my building yesterday until the POTUS finished his fraud, waste, and abuse campaigning, at which time it flew to wherever he was going next.

49 Days To Go

I'm a 49er today. I mailed my retirement papers to Randolph AFB, Texas today and I hope they aren't lost. The government has a bad habit of losing my documents going back to 1966.

Willamette Writers Conference

August 6-8, 2010: My trip to Portland and the Willamette Writers' Conference was a lot of fun and a bit of work. I got up at 3:30 a.m. so I'd be there for breakfast at 7:30 but the roads were so sparsely populated with autos I got in almost an hour early. Not a problem. I went into the hotel and read a paper until the room opened that had the badges and packets for the volunteers. Soon after that my friend Dave "Evan" Lewis showed up and we hit the chow line. The food was plentiful if unspectacular. We paid $27-a-day for it but that was our only expense for the whole affair. Regular attendees paid as much as $500. Over the next three days we split our time between our work in the pitch practice room and watching panels. I was lucky on day one--most of the people who pitched to me were young ladies. But it wasn't all beer and skittles and creamy thighs. There were some characters who stick in my mind no matter how hard I've tried to dislodge them. To wit:

Meatloaf. This woman looked like Meatloaf, or his fatter, homelier sister. She had a book she couldn't explain, she ate enough at the meals to feed Bangladesh, and at one panel she slept the whole time. Dave and I happened to be sitting in the row behind her as she snoozed. I stage whispered "Meatloaf! Meatloaf!" a few times but she slept right through it.

Superfly. A 6'6" black guy in a suit a pimp would love who hasn't written anything. He's on a local access TV show and some days stands at one end of a bridge wearing a tux and Mickey Mouse ears. He passed out DVD's of his show, talked too loud in the pitch practice room, and seemed to be fundraising for some crackpot scheme.

Nervous Nellie. A woman who's written a memoir and can't figure out what to emphasize in her pitch. I got the impression she was about to break out into a crying jag at any moment, and damned if she didn't use me twice to practice her pitch. Twenty minutes before she was to meet with an agent she still didn't know what to do. I wanted to smack her in the head and tell her to quit fretting and leave me alone.

On the up side there were the 14- and 15-year-old girls who'd written novels. At 15 I was learning to smoke, and at 14 I hadn't accomplished even that much. Most admirable kids. Most of the people I worked with in pitch practice were normal, intelligent, and affable folks, of course, but they aren't as fun to talk about.

Better than all that was spending time with Dave and our rocker friend Tough Jim Gaston. Also Laurie, a friend of Jim's and member of his band, Rock Residue. And dinner out each night and a trip to Powell's City of Books after the con was over. All those books and I forgot to look for a couple of titles I've been wanting for years. I spent $75 anyway, half on some books for my younger daughter.

The programs I saw were a study in contradictions. Memoirs were out/Memoirs were hot. Don't use a professional editor to revise your manuscript/Do use one. Use e-mail to submit or query/Don't do it. Even the woman who proclaimed that any attribution other than "said" should be avoided found exceptions this year.

I don't know if I'll be able to attend next year, being a poor pensioner and all, but I'd like to. Being among so many writers and wannabes is refreshing.

50 More

Yep, only 50 more working days and I can kiss my illustrious career with the Department of Defense goodbye. While I am grateful as all get out for the steady paychecks, the b.s. factor that has gotten horribly worse these past few years assures that I won't miss the place one iota once I'm gone.

Pictured is a Tunner 60K Loader and a KC-135 air-to-air refueling plane. The plane is a visitor since all we have at McChord Field are C-17 Globemaster III cargo planes.

Happy Birthday America

Nothing profound to say. I just hope everyone has a safe and happy celebration.

Grandchild News

Stephanie had her ultrasound today and the verdict is in. It's a....












Girl!

Her name will be Sophia (maybe Sofia).

June 25, 1876

It was 134 years ago today that Lt. Col. Custer and five troops of the 7th U.S. Cavalry met their end at the Little Big Horn. That single engagement has generated more controversy than any other battle in history, and also spawned a small industry of books, figures, comics, cards, movies, and dozens of other ephemera. My Custer collection includes jigsaw puzzles, flags, a belt buckle, a battlefield pennant, dozens of books, figures, movies, a card set, a decanter, prints, and more. So here's a salute from the Cap'n to all those who fought and/or died that day, red or white.

All About Me

I've been quiet here of late but there's an interview with me (part 3 of ?) on Evan Lewis's excellent blog. Go to davycrockettsalmanack.blogspot.com and learn all about my experiences at various mystery conventions. At least the parts I can prudently discuss.

D-Day

On this day in 1944 the Allies invaded continental Europe at Normandy and started the drive that would lead to the defeat of Nazi Germany. Not many of the heroes who stormed those beaches are still alive, but here at Casa Cap'n we salute them.
Pictured is a blogger from that battle.

I'm Rich! I'm Rich!

The following e-mail arrived in my box this morning. About damned time. I've already quit my job and sent Margaret my bank account information. I ought to have the money within 48 hours. Gee, I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight.

Dear Lucky Winner.

Please be informed that your email address have won you the grand sum of £1,000,000 GBP in the United Kingdom International Lottery promotion held 2010. Get in touch with me for more information on how to claim your prize.

Congratulations

Thank you,

Mrs. Margaret Sweetland.

I'LL BET HE'S SORRY HE ASKED

Blogmeister supreme Evan Lewis has an interview with me on his blog. He'll be running it over several days. Go to: davycrockettsalmanack.blogspot.com

That's Evan's picture.

WOULD YOU PAY $2,499.99 FOR MY BOOK?

You would if you buy it from Big T Products via Amazon. Plus $3.99 for shipping. Are these people bottom-feeding burn artists or have I achieved hypermodern status?

BUSTED

Three of the four home invaders/murderers that killed my younger daughter's boyfriend's uncle were arrested in California on unrelated charges. One bailed out, the other two are in stir and awaiting extradition. The one who made bail did so before it was learned she was one of the creeps wanted up here.

STEPHANIE

This is my older girl, Stephanie, the mother-to-be. I'm too young for all this.

FAMILY ALBUM

Here's an untrasound picture of my grandchild-to-be. Due date Nov. 16.

BAD NEWS HIT HOME

The following account is in tonight's on line local newspaper:

A 43-year-old man is dead after four robbers invaded his Edgewood home Wednesday night, according to the Pierce County Sheriff's Office.

Deputies responded around 9:30 p.m. to a report of a residential robbery in the 3600 block of 106th Avenue Court E. They arrived to find an unconscious man with a gunshot wound, according to Pierce County Sheriff's spokesman Ed Troyer. The man died at the scene.

Three people were at home at the time of the robbery -- the man, his wife, and their 14-year-old son, Troyer said.

Troyer gave this account:

The family had been trying to sell a ring on Craigslist and had received a call earlier from the suspects, who said that they were interested. Three males and one female knocked on the door and showed cash to get inside. Once they were let in, the robbers pulled guns on the family, tying up the mother and shooting the father. The son then jumped on one gunman and was struck on the head.

The teen has been taken to a hospital. It does not appear that he was shot.

This may be the second Craigslist robbery of the night in the county, said Troyer, who added that another person was tied up and had his car stolen several hours earlier.

Cap'n Bob again. The victims are the uncle, aunt, and cousin of my younger daughter's boyfriend. As you can imagine, his family is terribly upset. I'm sure they'll catch the mutants who did this crime, and I'm equally sure they won't be sufficiently punished.

And Yet Another Perceptive Critic

Read another review of my page burner at Bill Crider's excellent blog:

BillCrider.blogspot.com

Just so this doesn't sound like nothing but blatant self-promotion, let me add that I won $50 from the Puyallup Tribe today.

Also, I will be doing a signing at the Seattle Mystery Bookstore on Saturday the 24th at noon. I'd love to see you there.

Another Perceptive Critic

Go to the following blog for another review of my latest book, plus the previous one.

http://randall120.wordpress.com/2010/04/17/the-toyman-robert-s-napier/#comment-1894

Hey, Walleeee, Happy Birthday

Tony "Wally Cleaver" Dow is 65 today. Thanks for all the great entertainment, Tony. That's Dow on the right and on the left is Jerry Mathers as The Beaver.

TOYMAN REVIEW

There's a review of THE TOYMAN RIDES AGAIN at lauriepowerswildwest.blogspot.com

The George Meme

Or, The Ten Most Influential Books I've Read.

In no particular order they are:

1. Doctor Dan the Bandage Man. The first book I recall owning. The Band Aids in the back made me want to cut myself just so I could use them.

2. The Catcher in the Rye. I identified with the kid who was out of step with the world. Still do.

3. The Complete Sherlock Holmes. I may have the title wrong, but once I read one story I had to read them all.

4. I. the Jury. I was just the right age to appreciate the sex and violence and I always found Hammer's over-the-top emotions amusing in a strange way.

5. Fanny Hill. This combination of Victorian prose and blatant sex made me wish I'd been born a century sooner and a lot richer.

6. Slaughterhouse Five. Which started me on a tear through Vonnegut's work, which I like a lot.

7. Farewell, My Lovely. My first Chandler. I still consider him the best.

8. Son of the Morning Star. The first detailed and balanced biography of George Armstrong Custer and the Battle of the Little Big Horn I read.

9. Babbitt. Love the zip, zing, and zowee.

10. The Pictorial History of World War II. A four-volume set we had at home when I was a kid, covering the war in stark detail.

I'm not counting comics, though if I did the first Spider-Man would be the one. I left out fantasy and science fiction, too. I was much impressed with Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert Heinlien. If I had to choose a Western it would be Shane or True Grit, but I read them too late in life to really call them influential. The illustration that accompanies this post is what is known as gratuitous.

Apology to a Virgin

I've been crowing a lot lately about having a jacket stolen from me when I returned from L.A. via Virgin Airlines. Today I did my laundry and in the botton of the basket I found that jacket. How it got there I don't know. It wasn't even dirty. So I have removed Virgin from my overburdened shit list, sent them an apology, and confessed my sins to a itinerant druid priest.

What bothers me as much as standing here with egg on my face is the fact that I have no recollection whatsoever of tossing that jacket into the laundry basket. Is my mind really that far gone? It's a frightening prospect.

But as long as I have your attention, don't forget to read my new mystery novel, THE TOYMAN RIDES AGAIN. No signs of senility are present in that work.

New Header

See my new header? It's not the best job I've ever done, but it might be the most frustrating. The photo is me about 40 pounds ago, I mean 30 years ago. Oh to be young again.

For the last six days I have been trying to find someone, anyone, at Virgin America Airlines to speak with about the jacket stolen from my luggage from one of their fine, fine baggage handlers. Talk about a runaround. Call here. Call there. Go here. E-mail this. Contact that. I'm convinced they intentionally make it impossible to complain about their lousy service. For one thing, they don't publish anything that would direct you to the department that handles the problem. If by some miracle you find the right number to call no one will answer. I'm disgusted. I'll make one more attempt, by writing to the main office, but I have little hope anything will come from it.
I have a lengthy shit list, and Virgin America just got added.

Let's Do Lunch

My cousin Glenn and I ate at LA's famous In-and-Out Burgers when I was there. Some people (like Mark Evanier) swear they are the best burgers anywhere. They're good, but I've had better. The best hamburgers I ever ate were served at a Der Weinerschnitzel in Campbell, California, circa 1977. The franchise was operated by a Middle Eastern family and they flavored their burgers with something that gave them an exotic and wonderful taste.
Not that there's anything wrong with In-and-Out. If nothing else, their order taking should be the blueprint for every fast food business extant. A line of 20 cars can be processed in a matter of minutes, quicker than one person can order at the average McGarbage. It's a marvel of efficiency.
The photo of this Air India 747 on its glide path was taken by cousin Glenn during a different visit. As you might guess, we're close to the airport. You know, LAX, where Virgin America's baggage handlers think we pack our clothes for their use.

Left Coast Crime in Los Angeles

March 11-14 marked another LCC, and since it nearly coincided with the official release date of my second book (order THE TOYMAN RIDES AGAIN on Amazon), I decided to go. I also thought it would be a good chance to see some old and new friends who live down there.
The Good: I enjoyed the convention for the most part. I attended quite a few panels and they were mostly interesting. The one on Chandler's LA contained a few misstatements of fact, but nothing too glaring. I was able to correct one during the Q&A. The book bags were nice, with zippered tops, and the books inside were okay. I kept about half. The staff was friendly and tried to be helpful--not that I needed any help, but I felt they were there if I did. The hotel was very good, with most of the amenities. I'm still not sure why people need a phone next to the toilet, but for them that do, it was there. It was generous of Michael Connelly to provide a free bag lunch on Saturday, but the food was forgettable except for the cookie. But it was free. I saw half a dozen people there I knew from either Dapa-Em or MDM, and a few writers of my acquaintance. Had a nice chat with Parnell Hall, name dropper that I am. I also saw some LA landmarks while being driven around: The Coliseum, USC, train station, Parker Center, LA Times, and the Bradbury Building. I went inside the Bradbury building, which was two streets down from the hotel (Omni Int'l), but couldn't go upstairs because it was closed. Still, I had a good look at the famous grill work, brass, and architecture. From the outside it isn't as eye-catching, and the lower floors house a Sub-Way sandwich shop, a cutlery store, and a cell phone store. The rest of the street is all Mexican shops. Walking along, I felt like I was in Ensenada. On Saturday evening I met my old pal Jan Strand and his wife Julie for dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Good food, good conversation, and I learned that one can have margaritas on the rocks. I can't abide crushed ice in my beverages and this was a wonderful revelation. The next day, after I'd left the hotel for a Holiday Inn, Jan and Julie took me to the Gene Autry Museum of Western Heritage. It took a while to drive the last half mile because the approach is the same road as the LA Zoo, but we had a swell time seeing all the cowboy/Old West exhibits and the Hollywood versions of the Old West. I mean, when you can see John Wayne's shirt, Clint Eastwood's hat, and George Armstrong Custer's pistol in the same building, something's going right.

The Bad: The hospitality suite was a joke. Little or no food and not much of a variety in beverages. All I saw to eat were some apples and a couple of bags of chips. And the room was tiny. The name badges didn't identify the status of the attendee. Writer, Editor, Agent, Fan, Bookseller, etc. Maybe this isn't done anymore, but it should be. Worst of all, some s.o.b. stole my denim jacket from my suitcase at LAX on the return flight. I paid $25 to have that bag sent, and this is how they treat it. Maybe even worse is the fact that I'd planned to spend the week after the con with my cousin when a job opportunity popped up for him. We managed to visit for one day. Now, I learn that the job was canceled. I haven't been in LA for 25 years and the one week I'm there this happens. I could just scream.

The Ugly: Photos of me. Notice that earlier I said there were some people I knew in attendance? That translated to one book sale. Since I wasn't on any panels, I didn't expect a stranger to buy one (at a generous discount), but this...

The next Left Coast Crime convention will be on the tropical seaport city of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Do be there.

FESS PARKER, RIP

The man who portrayed Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone to millions of my generation has passed away at age 85. By all accounts he was a fine gentleman and a kind person. I never met him, but I'll always be grateful for the many entertainments he gave me not only as Davy and Daniel but in movies like THE GREAT LOCOMOTIVE CHASE, WESTWARD HO THE WAGONS, and OLD YELLER. Thanks, Fess.

Toyman Review

The following is the first review I've seen of my latest literary effort, THE TOYMAN RIDES AGAIN. Hey, if Harriet Klausner likes it, I'm happy. She's a dear lady.


In Tacoma, Washington, veteran and former investigative reporter Jack Lorentz enjoys selling collectible toys to baby boomers though he only makes a modest living at the Olden Daze co-op. August Baldwin enters his shop and says he recognizes the smell of death by shooting (see Love, Death, And The Toyman). He explains to Lorentz that he wants to hire him to protect the reenactor Charles Swanson playing the role of General George Armstrong Custer. He feels with Jack’s recent reputation, he might keep away those who want to harm the reenactor playing the role because someone has threatened him.

Jack is to play the part of reporter Mark Kellogg who died at the battle of Little Big Horn. However, after a previous skirmish, on the way to the site where the current battle will rage, Native Americans led by Harold Two Bears and Professor Abigail She Stands In Light attack the company. When the dust settles, Custer-Swanson is dead with Two Bears’ knife in him. Police Sergeant Cooper arrests Two Bears while Abigail asks Jack to snoop as she believes her friend is innocent. Attracted to the professor, Jack knows she had access to Two Bear’s knife. As he makes inquiries, Jack alienates everyone.

This is a fun Reagan era whodunit starring a reluctant former investigative journalist who feels guilty that he failed at his mission though he knows Swanson as Custer was impossible to protect. The story line provides a fascinating deep look at reenactors, but an incident with a new recruit seems over the top of Granite Peak. The whodunit is entertaining as the reader knows whom most likely killed Custer yet not sure how. The Toyman Rides Again is a fun mystery.

Harriet Klausner

Dear John

There's a movie out that I think is titled DEAR JOHN. I also hear it's not very good. I mention it only because someone at work told me that in the beginning it shows a C-17 cargo airplane being loaded. That's what I do for a living, usually driving the big machine that transports the load to the plane. Not rocket science but it pays the bills. The photo depicts a 60K Tunner Loader. It is capable to hauling 60,000 pounds of cargo and named after General Tunner, the architech of the Berlin Air Lift. That's not a C-17 flying past in the picture, by the way. It's a KC-135 air-to-air refueler, which is also capable to carrying cargo loads.

It Was 174 Years Ago Today

On the 13th day of the siege of the Alamo Santa Ana's forces finally breached the North Wall's defenses in a pre-dawn assault. Once that happened the outcome of the battle was not in question. The defnders were killed to a man. The date was March 6, 1836.

The figures I'm presenting today depict: (left) Col. William Barrett Travis; (center) Jim Bowie, and; (right) Davy Crockett. Despite the recent hoorawing, I firmly believe that Crockett died during the fight and there is firm evidence to support that idea. But I'm not here to argue historical trivia. I wish to pay tribute to the brave defenders of the Alamo, whose lengthy stand served to allow Sam Houston to raise an army as well as cause large, demoralizing casualties in the Mexican ranks.

Happy Birthday Linda

Today is the birthday of my wife, Linda. We'll be having dinner at Harbor Lights, cake at her mother's, and hit the Muckleshoot Casino tomorrow. I don't have a photo in my files so you'll have to imagine what she looks like.

Happy Birthday Mom

Gloria Napier/Kirshner/Newsome, nee Servidio, celebrates her 87th birthday today. She still lives independently and is in good health and spirits, I'm glad to say. Happy Birthday, Mom.

Bald-Faced Liar/Creative Writer Exercise

Dave Lewis, alias Evan Lewis, chose me to play the Bald-Faced Liar game. The rules follow:

1. Thank the person who gave this to you.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you.
4. Tell up to six outrageous lies about yourself, and at least one outrageous truth - or - switch it around and tell six outrageous truths and one outrageous lie. See below.
5. Nominate seven "Creative Writers" who might have fun coming up with outrageous lies.
6. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know you nominated them. Seven? I don't have that many fingers.

Herewith my submission:

1) I killed over a dozen men before my 21st birthday.

2) I spent most of age 7 in an iron lung.

3) I sued Bob Dylan for copyright infringement and won, but he never paid me.

4) In Viet Nam, armed only with a bayonet, I captured 3 Viet Cong.

5) I worked my way through college selling cocaine.

6) I have three testicles.

7) I once took part in a cattle roundup.

And/Or ...

1) I sang lead in a rock band.

2) I met Joe Garagiola in a men's room.

3) I went to a nudist colony.

4) I had a license to drive a bulldozer before I had a license to drive a car.

5) I worked as a gravedigger.

6) I lived in 5 states by age 6.

7) My sixth grade teacher thought I had a speech impediment.


The only rule I'm breaking is sending this to others. Most of the people I know have already played.

The Birthday Boys

Tiny (left) and Toby turned seven today. Tiny belongs to my older girl Stephanie, and Toby belongs to Kristine. Both are fine, and very good boys. When they were puppies the girls threw them lavish parties. Now that the boys are middle-aged their birthday passes with relative quiet.

Scratch Another Calendar

So long, 2009. Hello 2010. Hope everyone had a decent Xmas. I just got home from five days in a cabin with some other scruffy old farts for a semi-annual gathering called Tankon. Four out of the five nights I woke up freezing my arms off and as a result have a chest cold. Nevertheless, a good and lazy time was had by all. I read three books, saw about a dozen movies, and wrote one apazine.

Xmas was fine, too.

I just wanted to say Happy New Year to all before it hits midnight here. I'll probably be fast asleep when the new year arrives, and glad of it.

Happy Festivus

Happy Festivus to all. May your aluminum pole be bright and your grievances unending.

Remembering John

Each year on this date I take time to remember John Lennon. I listen to his songs, play a few of them on my guitar, and think about how much my own life was enriched because of him and The Beatles. Thank you, John.

Happy Birthday Kristine

My baby turned 19 today. Seems like last week we were playing Minnie Slides and Super Wheeze and I read her stories and nursery rhymes at night. She's blossomed into a bright, talented, lovely young lady and I'm mighty proud of her.

Happy Birthday Uncle Georgie

On this day in 1839 George Armstrong Custer entered the world in New Rumley, Ohio. He went on to become a hero of the Civil War and a legend after his defeat and death at the Little Big Horn in 1876.

The Story With No Name, Chapter 18

Arnside washed the trail dust from his hands and face at a watering trough, beat the dirt from his clothes with his hat, and strode into Molly's Cafe with hunger tearing at his belly like cats in a sack.
"I'll have whatever's ready," he told the plump, smiling waitress, "and a pitcher of water, please."
She took one look at his red, chapped skin and peelings lips and hustled off, returning moments later with a large blue ewer and a tin tumbler. Walt filled the tumbler with shaking hands, drank deeply, and sighed.
"Appears like you haven't drunk nothin' in a month of Sundays, mister."
"Feels like it, too, darling. Are you Molly?"
"She's the owner, cook, and my ma. I'm Gretchen. I'll fetch that food now. I hope stew's okay."
Before Walt could answer she scurried away and was back in two shakes with a large bowl of steaming mulligan, napkin and utensils, and basket of bread.
"Anything interesting happen in these parts?" he asked around a mouthful of stew. The juice burned the roof of his mouth but after what he'd been through a little heat was like an old friend.
"Interesting? Our marshal got his head busted and had to get shipped off to a home for the feeble-minded, our undertaker had a bunch of fingers broke, and an old prospector was in earlier swearin' he saw The Magi riding across the desert. Says it means the Second Coming is nigh and we'd all best prepare our souls."
Walt grinned at the girl's recitation and tucked back into his meal. When he finished he left a half dollar on the table, twice what the meal cost, and strode out to find a quiet saloon. A whiskey would satisfy right handsome about now, he allowed.
He took three steps down the boardwalk when the import of the girl's story slammed him like the board that sent Marshal Stryker to the drool academy. He ran back into Molly's and grabbed Gretchen by her shoulders.
"That sourdough, where can I find him?"
"Wha--?"
"Tell me!"
"Stop it, you're hurting me."
Walt loosened his grip. "Sorry, Gretchen. I need to find that prospector, right away."
She thought for a moment, tongue out. "He has a shack behind the saddle shop. If he ain't there try The Silver Palace saloon."
Arnside raced off.
He found the shack where Gretchen said it would be, but no one answered his knock. Should have tried the saloon first, he chided himself.
Walt stood at the bat wings of The Silver Palace and scanned the room before entering. Wouldn't pay to have some of Zack Roden's men inside. His glance fell on a table at the center of the room where a shabby old cuss was regaling the room with a story, much to their amusement.
"I tell ya', I seen 'em with my own eyes. Long-legged critters with necks long as stovepipes and backs like anthills, just a-lumbering across the sands like they owned the desert. I seen a picture once of the three magi when they come calling on baby Jesus and they was riding the same critters. If that don't prove it, I don't know what does."
"Sure, Gabe, sure. Have another drink. Maybe you'll tell us about seeing the Noah's Ark next."
The crowd burst out laughing. Gabe jumped to his feet and pushed through the men having a laugh at his expense. He nearly plowed Walt Arnside down as he crashed out of the saloon.
"Whoa, there, old timer. What the rush?"
"Dang-blasted fools. Wouldn't know the truth if it crawled up their dumb asses."
Walt laid a comforting arm on old Gabe's shoulder. "Why not tell me your story? I'm the believing kind."
"Can't talk on a dry throat, pardner. Let's mosey up the street and find a joint where we can dip a bill in peace."
With a bottle between them and each man holding a full shot glass, Gabe proposed a toast.
"Here's how."
"Now, about the magi. . ." Arnside prompted.
"Yesterday, I was coming back from digging in the Mohawk Mountains when I seen a passel of riders out in the Yuma Desert. Makes no sense. Nothin' there but sand and snakes. No water for a hundred miles. Even the A-patch go 'round it."
Gabe refilled his glass and continued. "They was maybe six or seven on horses, but the others were ridin' those Bible animals like I seen in the picture. Four of them, they was."
"Was one a woman?"
"Too far to tell, even with my spyglass."
"Any Indians?"
"Nope. Like I said, the A-patch got more sense than to go out there."
"Can you tell me how to find this place, Gabe?"
"Sure. Might as well. The world'll end soon enough anyway."
Armed with a detailed description of how to find the last place Roden, Lola and the others had been spotted--assuming Bourbon allowed them to live--Arnside stepped from the saloon and aimed himself toward the stable.
"You!" a voice cried. "You do this!"
He turned to see Choo How pointing at Walt with his bandaged hand. Behind the Chinaman, a crowd began to grow.

There's Good News Tonight

As my backache slowly heals I have two things to celebrate tonight.

1) The University of Washington Huskies declawed the Washington State University Cougars 30-0 in the Apple Cup.  If I recall correctly, that puts the Huskies ahead 65-31-6 in the 102-year history of the in-state rivalry.

2) Less than five minutes after I sat down at a slot machine at the Emerald Queen Casino I won $153 and change.

Last night I finished my chapter in the round robin western story yclept The Story With No Name. It will be published Wednesday.

Wahl, Let Me Tell Ya', Pilgrim...

     
      In about 80 minutes it will be Thanksbuddy, so I'd like to take a moment to wish all who read this pathetic blog a happy day and sumptuous feast. Since I can't find either of my Marx pioneers carrying game birds, I'll present a small tableau of two Indian ladies--one with a papoose--preparing dinner. The woman with the papoose and the animal on a spit are by Atlantic, an Italian figure maker. The woman with the bowl, standing, is from Marx.

Favorite TV Show

As part of the blog-world-wide attempt to discuss our favorite TV shows, I'm adding my voice to the chorus. Frankly, Pattinase took my first choice, LEAVE TO BEAVER. But when I thought it over there was another show that was more of a must-see for me in my pre-teen days: GUNSMOKE

I have to qualify that a bit. My favorite GUNSMOKE shows were the episodes with Chester, 1955-1964.  The show lasted an incredible 20 years (1955-1975) although the star, James Arness, was frequently a cameo in many of the later years.

The series took place in Dodge City, Kansas, after the Civil War, and in the days of the trail drives from Texas to the Kansas railheads. Marshall Matt Dillon (Arness), his deputy Chester Goode (Dennis Weaver), Miss Kitty Russell (Amanda Blake), and Doctor Galen "Doc" Adams (Milburn Stone), provided the nexus for the stories. GUNSMOKE, along with THE LIFE AND LEGEND OF WYATT EARP (which premiered the same week), were the first adult TV westerns and portrayed gritty violence absent from shows like THE LONE RANGER and HOPALONG CASSIDY--shows I also loved. I recall one episode in which a gang of killers is running rampant through the countryside wiping out entire farm families and trying to make it look like the work of Indians, including murdering and scalping children. Matt and Chester eventually confront the bad guys and shoot them down like the dogs they were, Chester's shotgun being very effective in the close quarter lead fest. Heady stuff, and it taught me a valuable lesson: no mercy for evil killers.

GUNSMOKE started out as a radio show, with William Conrad as the voice of Matt. The rotund, short Conrad, while a fine actor, wasn't right for the TV version of Matt and the role was offered to John Wayne. The Duke didn't want to do televison and suggested his friend James Arness, a 6'7" actor who'd played supporting parts in a couple of John Wayne movies and was the monster in THE THING. After a slow first season the show picked up steam and was soon number one in the ratings.

Over the years a lot of supporting roles came and went. When Chester left he was replaced by Ken Curtis as Festus Hagen (another guy who'd played parts in Wayne movies, as well as doing a stint in The Sons of the Pioneers). Sam the bartender was played by Glenn Strange, who once portrayed Frankenstein. Burt Reynolds showed up for three seasons as a blacksmith.

Perhaps one of my sentimental favorites was Amanda Blake as Miss Kitty, the owner of the Long Branch Saloon and Matt's paramour. I wasn't interested in girls at that young age, but Miss Kitty stirred something in my child's mind that made me admire her greatly. It's no accident that the female lead in my first book is named Amanda. I was saddened when I learned she died from AIDS contracted from her bi-sexual husband.

For the first six years of its existence GUNSMOKE was a 30-minute show, in glorious black & white. Color came along in the middle sixties. I believe many of the scripts from these 30-minute episodes were cribbed from the radio incarnation. You might remember Matt walking through Boot Hill, his voiceover setting up the premise for that evening's telecast. Or maybe you remember the show's opening of the gunfight, or Matt riding hell for leather across the plains. Since Arness didn't much like horses, that must have been a fun shoot for him. BYW, Matt's horse was named Buck.

Another sharp memory for me was watching the show the two years we lived at Rosewood Lane in Denbigh, Virginia. In order to get the prime seat in the rec room (a converted garage) I'd stake out my spot early. That meant I had to endure my father's weekly viewing of THE LAWRENCE WELK SHOW. For this little rock 'n' roller, that was dedication.

PS: Marx made a GUNSMOKE playset with character figures of Matt, Chester, Miss Kitty, and Doc. For some reason it included a mining operation.

They're Out To Get Me

Three--count 'em--three different drivers tried to run into me today. I know most people can't drive for squat, but this was a red letter day for them. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it being my birthday yesterday. Apparently there's a plot afoot to see that I never have another one.

If you need me for anything else I'll be in my room. In bed. Under the covers.

It Comes But Once a Year.

Happy 39th Birthday to me, again. It's a rotten day for celebrating: stormy, cold, and both my girls are sick. No big plans. Dinner, maybe a trip to the casino.

In lieu of gifts please send a cash donation to The Cap'n Bob Relief Fund c/o this blog.

Happy Vet's Day

Here's a salute from the Cap'n to my brother and sister veterans. Pictured at left is Le, the mascot of my old unit in Viet Nam at Base Camp Bearcat, the 595th Engineer  Company (LE). I remember three distinct things about this old mule: 1) He was mean, 2) He was tethered at the end of a 50' rope and allowed to graze in an abandoned company area across from ours, and 3) He was promoted ahead of me.
He was later sent to Fort Riley, Kansas, and from the photo it seems he was promoted again, to sergeant. If you look closely you can see the Engineer castle insignia on his blanket.

Clay Burnham

Steve Kaye, of Beaverton, Oregon, writes as Clay Burnham. After much seeking I found his third Western from Black Horse, Bloody Montana. (Black Horse Western, 2005, hc.)


Rafe McDonough is lost in a Montana blizzard and close to freezing when he comes across the corpse of a man who'd been shot and left on the trail. Since Rafe doesn't have warm clothing and the corpse does, Rafe helps himself to the unfortunate's thick coat and warm hat, thus saving his own life. Later, when Rafe finds a town, he's mistaken for the dead man because of the telltale attire, a situation which causes quite a stir among the locals. Even when they realize he's not the murdered man, his refusal to depart with the noteworthy duds creates serious trouble. He takes it upon himself to discover why people are so afraid of the dead man, and who left the body out in the snow. Also, he finds a letter on the corpse addressed to Clara, whom none of the locals know, and Rafe wants to locate her because it seems like the right thing to do.

In addition to the mystery of the dead man, Rafe has to decide which of the two women who show interest in him to pick--the gal who runs the restaurant or the lady rancher who seems to hire men who twirl sixguns instead of ropes. There's also a crazy coot roaming the hills and the question of why some people are so interested in what seems to be worthless property. Burnham keeps the action flowing and fleshes out the characters fully in the scant 160 pages he's allowed. His prose flows effortlessly and evokes the spirit of the Old West. He handles action or romance with equal skill. It would be nice if an American publisher would pick up the Clay Burnham books so more of his countrymen could enjoy his work.

Black Horse creates a handsome package, too. Their covers are reminiscent of classic pulp work. Instead of loose dust wrappers, the covers are attached and laminated. Check 'em out.

Looking for something to read on your Kindle? My first book, Love, Death and the Toyman, is now on Kindle via Amazon and can be downloaded (if that's how it works) for a mere $3.00. Such a deal. Such a chance for me to monetize.

As I type this the Phillies are losing to NY in the fourth game of the World Series. Horrors!

A Belated Notice

I'm mortified. On Monday the 26th my number one daughter turned 20. I had to work a 12-hour shift that day and we celebrated over the weekend, and I didn't do any blogging that night, so I forgot to mention it. I feel awful. So Happy Birthday Stephanie with all my love.

Vive la France

From USA Today: "A Paris court convicted the Church of Scientology of fraud and fined it more than $900,000, but it stopped short of banning the group's activities."

     Good for France. It's a shame the spineless courts in this country can't do something to stem the outrageous behavior of that horrid cult.

On another topic, today marks 33 years of selfless service for Uncle Sam. If you want to know the secret of my longevity it's simple: I pace myself.

World Series Chat

I didn't post my World Series hopes/predictions sooner but so far it's following my wishes. I wanted the Phillies to win and they did, rather handily to my surprise. I want the Yankees to beat the hated Angels, then I want the Phillies to win it all. Time will tell, and I'll be watching.

Super Circus

     The Marx Super Circus playset was based on the TV show of the same name. Marx also released the set as The Big Top, perhaps without the character figures. Super Circus ran on ABC-TV Sunday afternoons from 1949-1955. It featured real circus acts presented by ringmaster Claude Kirschner and his leggy assistant Mary Hartline. The three clowns in this set are (l-r) Scampy (Sandy Dobritsch), Cliffy (Clifford Soubier), and Nicky (Nicky Francis). The show originated in Chicago but later moved to New York.

     The Marx Playset is a beatifully-crafted set, with a huge tin litho big top and another tin litho sideshow. The sideshow features a snake charmer, Siamese twins, fat lady, sword swallower, hula girl, Mr. & Mrs. Tom Thumb, and barker. The big top features the usual circus acts--lion tamer, trapeze artists, tightrope walker, clowns, elephants, horses, and so on. There are also patrons and a nice set of figures showing a cop catching a kid peeking under the canvas. Once set up it's a large and impressive array.

Reading Habits

This has been wending its way around a number of blogs. My turn.


Do you snack while you read? If so, favorite reading snack:

No. I might have a bottle of caffiene-free Diet Pepsi around, but when I'm reading I'm too engrossed to eat.

Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?

People who mark up books should be drawn and quartered. I don't do it. If I want to make a note I write on my bookmark.

How do you keep your place while reading a book? Bookmark? Dog-ears? Laying the book flat open?

As the previous answer suggests, I use bookmarks. I have a lot of real bookmarks, but I tend to use a folded Post-It note or a business card.

Fiction, nonfiction, or both?

Mostly fiction. I might read three nonfiction books a year unless there are spate of them on a pet subject that catch my eye all at once.

Are you a person who tends to read to the end of a chapter, or can you stop anywhere?

End of chapter unless I'm reading in bed and fall asleep in the middle of a chapter, or I'm reading at work and have to stop to do something job related.

If you come across an unfamiliar word, do you stop and look it up right away?

Once in a while. I can usually extrapolate its meaning from the context of the story.

What are you currently reading?

Oddly enough, a nonfiction book called The Doolittle Raid, by Carroll V. Glines. A couple of months ago I had the honor of meeting three surviving members of The Doolittle Raid, which inspired me to read more about it. I bought three books, and have already finished Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo, by Capt. Ted Lawson. I'm also reading The Dead Man's Brother, by Roger Zelazny, and Bluefeather Fellini in the Sacred Realm, by Max Evans.

What is the last book you bought?

I just got back from the store and picked up Utah Outlaws, by Jon Sharpe--#336 in The Trailsman series--and .45-Caliber Firebrand, by Peter Brandvold.

Are you the type of person that reads one book at a time, or can you read more than one?

I prefer one, but I can manage two. Usually one at work and one at home. I have three going now because one didn't grab me that much and I keep going back to it bit by bit.

Do you have a favorite time/place to read?

No. I try to get in a little reading at bedtime, but otherwise I grab the time when I can.

Do you prefer series books or stand alones?

Series, but I'll read stand alones.

Is there a specific book or author you find yourself recommending over and over?

I'm always glad to recommend Raymond Chandler. I'd add Bill Pronzini, Max Allan Collins, Bill Crider, James Reasoner, Robert B. Parker, Ed Gorman, Loren Estleman, Richard S. Wheeler, and about fifty others. A newcomer named Lisa Black is damn good, too.

How do you organize your books?(by genre, title, author’s last name, etc.)

Organize? Hahahahaha! The Collyer Brothers were better organized.

I've spent much of the past two days getting this new computer up and running. Much of that time was devoted to getting the darn thing to hook up with the router downstairs. I've just finished installing the printer/scanner/ fax, and that was another hair-pulling treat. With luck I'm over the worst of the problems and can get back to some more entertaining blogging. I still need to give Robert Horton and Ward Bond eyeballs, and I have some other Marx character figures to show you.

Today also marks the end of a ten-day hiatus from work. Getting up early will be hard, come morning.

Classes start today for my two college girls. I wish them luck and good grades. 

I've been reading a lot of Trailsman books lately. These are entertaining, well-written, breezy stories about Skye Fargo, a leather-clad stud who travels the Old West busting baddies and bedding babes. Just the ticket if you don't want to get bogged down with dense, ponderous tomes.

One Moment, Please

I've been trying to get my new computer set up and as feared I'm having trouble getting the darn thing to pick up the router signal, so I can't get on line with it. Two trips to my server's HQ netted me nothing, but they have been very helpful. Tomorrow I'm taking the tower, which is about the size of the UN building, to Net Venture's shop and see what they can do. The problem seems to be that the unit is so new they don't have any references for it. I'm using Kristine's computer for now, but it doesn't have all my bookmarks and handy widgets. I don't even know if this will post.

I can use the computer for other things, f course. I've watched a movie, listened to music, worked on my OWLHOOT zine, and played a lot of games. I haven't played chess in decades, but I regularly beat the computer. Obviously it wa not programmed by Mr. Spock.

Went to the casino today and bet 75 cents on a slot machine spin. I had five Scatters pop up and won $150. Hee-Haw!

Sunrise, Sunset

This morning we drove the baby to Seattle, where she will start college. What an empty home this is now. Seems like only last week she was starting pre-school. Here are photos of Kristine at 22 months and 18 years. Where did the time go?

The Story With No Name, Part 8

There's a round robin story wending its way through various blogs and I foolishly agreed to take a turn. You can see the other seven parts by looking at Dave Lewis's excellent blog: Here's my shot:

Marshal Heck Stryker grunted.


“I’ll get rich charging folks four bits a head to watch you hang.”

“Chicken feed,” Walt said. “I’m talking about millions in Spanish gold. You’ll live like the Duke of Prussia.”

“Who?”

Arnside sighed. “No matter. What matters is I can find that treasure ship. Throw in with me and you share the bounty.”

Stryker screwed his face into a contemplative mask, which made him look dumber than usual.

“If you’re worried about Zack Roden,” Walt said, “we can sneak away tonight. By the time he learns we’re gone he’ll be picking breakfast from his teeth. Besides, he won’t know where we’re headed.”

Stryker smiled like a bullfrog who’d speared a fly. “It’s a deal, but heed me. I’ll tote your gun. If you even think about crossing me I’ll sink you with your own lead.”

“Done. Now, loose me from this stink hole.”



Stryker led Walt to the rear of Choo How’s Mortuary, cutting through back alleys in order not to be seen. They entered the unlocked rear entrance. Choo was in the room where he built caskets, laughing .

“Evening, Choo,” the burly marshal said.

Choo jumped up. The laughter ceased. An expression of wide-eyed shock replaced his normally inscrutable countenance. Choo quickly pasted on a smile and kowtowed to the occidentals.

“Ah, marshal, you scare Choo.”

Walt stepped forward. “Where’s the body of Silas Bartlett. He was killed in the attack on the train, burned up pretty bad.”

Choo’s smile widened. “Poor man. Back side all black. Front not so bad.”

“Where’s is he?” Stryker demanded.

Choo indicated a plank coffin, nothing like the opulence Bartlett enjoyed in life. Stryker and Arnside pried the lid off. Bartlett was sunk deeply into rough batting obviously arranged to hide charred flesh. He wore a broadcloth suit, white shirt with celluloid collar, and red vest. Shined boots covered his feet.

Stryker rifled Bartlett’s pockets. Nothing.

“Where’s his goods, Choo?”

Choo fetched a small wooden box.

Walt went through this. Empty wallet, turnip watch, insignificant papers.

“Something wrong?” Stryker asked.

“There’s no map.”

Stryker turned on Choo. “Well, Chinaman?”

“Choo no see.”

Stryker grabbed Choo’s left hand and bent the pinkie finger back. A sharp snap brought an agonized scream from the smaller man.

“The map?”

Give Choo credit, he didn’t surrender the map easily. Stryker broke three of Choo’s fingers and a thumb first.



Outside, Stryker and Arnside made their way to the livery stable. The dead drunk hostler was deaf to the sounds of the men saddling their horses.

“We’ll tie the horses behind the jail. I got supplies in there I keep handy,” Stryker said.

Ten minutes later, with a sack of provisions tied to Walt’s saddle, Stryker turned to his new partner and smiled his ugly smile. “No use waiting,” he said. “Time to dissolve the partnership.”

Walt looked at the .44 aimed at his gut. “Knew you’d show your colors, just didn’t expect it so soon. Go ahead and shoot. Wake Roden.”

Stryker held the revolver steady as he slid a Green River knife from a sheath on his belt.

“Reckon this’ll take you out quieter.”

He took a step towards Walt. The leering lawman’s advance stopped when he heard a wet splat. Then he felt what caused it. His knees buckled and a moment later he was face down in the dust.

Walt looked at the marshal’s recumbent form, then beyond it. There stood Lola, a length of lumber in her hands dripping goo.

“Okay, cowboy, let’s ride.”

Walt gathered Stryker’s weapons and mounted up. Lola climbed aboard Stryker’s horse.

“Like you said, lady, let’s ride.”

    

    

Here"s the cover for my next book, due out next March. Start saving your dimes.

PUH-LEEESE!

An Experiment

These are lead copies of the Marx Flint McCullough and Major Seth Adams figures from the Wagon Train playset, painted by YHOS. If you look closely you can see that I left the eyes unfinished. That's because I bought some eye decals way back when I did this but never applied them. We shall see how they work out when I apply them and run the new, improved figures Real Soon Now.
Wagon Train aired from Sep 1957 to Sep 1965; on NBC until 1962, and ABC the remaining three years. In my mind the best years were the ones that featured Maj. Adams (Ward Bond) and McCullough (Robert Horton). Bond died in 1961 and was replaced by John McIntire, Horton left in 1962 and both Scott Miller and Robert Fuller took over his scouting chores. Regulars who remained throughout the series were Frank McGrath as Charlie Wooster the cook, and Terry Wilson as Bill Hawks.
One of the show's execs was Gene Roddenberry. When he went to pitch a new s-f show to producers, Star Trek, he called it "Wagon Train in space."
The first time I noticed an appaloosa horse was the one Horton rode on Wagon Train. I thought it was the strangest horse I ever saw. Years later, when I became acquainted with appies, I knew for certain they are strange. It seems every one of them has some quirk or another. I've grown to like their looks, though.

Dale X 2 and a Bullet

And now, here on our stage...Dale Evans and Bullet. The Dale on the left is Marx's 54mm figure. The one on the right is Dale in 60mm. Bullet is made to go with the 60mm pose. There were a number of Roy and/or Dale Marx playsets. I owned a Roy Rogers Rodeo set, which was the first Marx playset I ever had (and I can't recall having any character figures in it). According to one source there were two Roy Rogers Double R Bar Ranch sets, one RR Mineral City set, three RR Ranch sets, four RR Rodeo sets, five RR Rodeo Ranch sets, and four RR Western Town sets. Roy and Dale (and Pat Brady at times) showed up in more Marx playsets than any other celebrities. Personally, I think the 60mm Dale looks pretty saucy.

El Zorro

We saw the other five character figures from the Zorro playset, now we have El Zorro himself. Since he's mounted on a black horse it must be Tornado. In the show he also rode a white horse named Phantom. Zorro, of course, was played by Guy Williams. Like most kids of that time I watched the show faithfully and was badly disappointed when it was canceled. Many years later, when I learned that the cancellation was due to a dispute between Disney and ABC, I was irate.

More Zorro Figures

On the left is El Commandante ( Captain Monastario, played by Britt Lomand) and on the right Sergeant Garcia (played by Disney stalwart Henry Calvin).

Zorro aired from Oct 1957 to Sep 1959 on ABC at 8 o'clock. One of the best marketing tie-ins, after the playset, was the Zorro sword. A piece of chalk could be inserted into the tip so the kids could carve a Z with their blades. I had a Zorro board game. If I'd had a sword I would have put my eye out.

The de la Vega Household

From Louis Marx & Co comes this set of character figures from their Zorro playset, based on the Disney TV show. From left to right we have Bernardo, Don Diego, and Don Alejandro de la Vega. I have a partial set. My tin litho hacienda is missing the plastic stairs and patio, and I don't have the cuartel. Next up: El Commandante and Sgt. Garcia.

New Heading

How do you like the new heading? Thanks to Dave "Evan" Lewis for creating it. It'll probably rotate with a Western-themed one as the months go by.