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.