More Black and Whites

Since this is really my story blog, and I just have to tell the stories that go along with these pictures, I decided to post them over here.  So, here are a few more pictures for Carmi’s Thematic Photographic “Black and White”.

This picture would have worked even if it had been in color, since it’s a picture of a "Black and White”, back when police cars were actually painted black and white.  This was taken out in front of my high school, it wasn’t even a friend of mine who was pulled over.  Probably why I found it amusing.

Across the street from every high school in Utah is an LDS Seminary building.  Utah schools are required to offer students “Release Time” during the school day so they can leave campus to receive religious training at the church of their choice.  Because Utah is predominantly LDS, the church chose to build the Seminary buildings adjacent to every school so that students would have quick access to their classes there.  I, not being of the predominant faith and somewhat of a rebel in my adolescence, decided that my friends and I needed to get a picture of our own seminary class.  The seminary teacher, the man standing at the door, didn’t find it amusing to have a group of teenagers with cigarettes and beer sitting on his front step, so he encouraged us to leave.  I just kept taking pictures during the whole ordeal, and found this one to be the best portrayal of my friends personalities.  I did not find it the least bit surprising that my friend in the dark coat would stand there arguing with him while the rest of them took off.

I bought my first brand new car when I was 19, a 1979 Mazda GLC wagon that I paid $4,500 for, and almost immediately proceeded to bring it down as many dirt roads as I could find.  One of them was the old Burr Trail, down an area in Southern Utah called Waterpocket Fold, going from camping in Capitol Reef National Park down to Bullfrog Marina on Lake Powell.  It was 100 miles of fairly good dirt road, with a creek crossing it twice, each towards opposite ends of the road.  On the map, about 5 miles from leaving the paved road was the town of Notom, Utah, which is where I had planned to fill up with gas.  About 10 miles in we got to this creek crossing the road and stopped to survey whether or not my rear-wheel drive car was going to make it across.  As we were checking things out a ranger came down the road and stopped to see if everything was ok.  We asked him about making it across, he assured we would be ok and stayed as I drove across, just in case.  Once on the other side I asked him how much farther down it was to Notom, and he told me we passed it about 5 miles back.  Five miles back?  All there was 5 miles back was a big clump of trees and a farm house.  Yup, he tells us, that’s Notom, nope they don’t have gas there.  Half a tank of gas, 100 miles to go and no idea how good my gas mileage will be on a dirt road.  What should I do?  Three 19 year olds out on a camping trip, what do you think we did?  Yup, pressed on.  We headed off, got 90 miles down the road, came over a hill and saw the road go down the other side, through the other end of the creek and up another hill.  On the hill on other side were three Jeeps (one may have been a Toyota Land Cruiser) with their drivers out surveying the creek and locking in the hubs on their 4-wheel drives.  I come to a stop at the top of the hill, my little white wagon loaded to the hilt, look down at them and say to my compadres “ready?”, let out the clutch, hit the gas and come cruising down the hill, right through the water and up the other side of the hill.  They all stopped locking in their hubs long enough to watch this all happen, jaws hitting the ground as I passed them up the hill and out of sight.  Yeah, that was fun!  And the gas?  When I got to Bullfrog and filled up my tank, I put 11.9 gallons in a 12 gallon tank.  God loves fools and drunks, and I wasn’t drunk.

The spring of ‘83 saw some serious flooding in Salt Lake City.  We had an especially snow packed winter and then went straight into summer.  The snow in the mountains was deep, and melted almost all at once.  The culvert under State Street in downtown Salt Lake was overwhelmed and that street became a river.  Literally.  The news showed clips of people rowing down the center of town fishing on State Street.  Another main culvert on 13th South overflowed and that street became a river, flowing halfway through the city to the point where the water could be diverted into the Jordan River.  For 3 days and nights straight, residents from all over the city were sandbagging the sidewalks to prevent the homes and businesses along these streets from flooding.  Our governor, Scott Matheson, said at a press conference “This is a heck of a way to run a desert.”  I got this picture of a kid floating down 13th South on an inner tube when, after things subsided a bit, my mom and I went down to survey the damage.

We were camping down along Horse Thief Trail when one evening this little fox came traipsing through our camp.  He (or she) never came close to us, since we were sitting by the campfire, and since we didn’t leave any food out by the tents and camper, it simply looked around for a couple minutes and then left.

I’ve got a whole bunch more pictures in the gallery.  A lot of them may not be interesting to anyone other than my family, but since my older brother mentioned wanting to see some more pictures, I put a whole bunch (98) in a gallery.  You are all welcome to check them out, but don’t promise it to be an exciting time.

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Practical Joke #2

As I mentioned in "Practical Joke #(Who Knows)”, we were heavily into playing little pranks on each other at the West Valley Free Wheeler.  I worked with a lady named Sylvia, and for the life of me I can’t remember the joke she played on me, but I do remember telling her that I was going to get revenge on her, that I would do it when she least expected it and that it would happen when I wasn’t even there.  I had no plan at the time, but I was a cocky 25 year old and over-confident in my own abilities.  Except this time I did it.

Sylvia worked during the days, and was usually the one that opened the store.  The driver I closed with that night and I brainstormed, came up with a plan and stayed up until the early morning hours setting things up for the morning.

We made a net out of string to hold a water balloon, attached it to the ceiling above the front door and placed a pin in the wall right below it.  Then we got a water balloon, put it in the net, hooked a string to hold it up and ran the string down the side of the door and across the bottom of the door. 

The idea was that Sylvia would come in, walk through the door, pulling the string out of the wall down below.  This would release the water balloon, which would fall onto the pin, pop and the water would fall right on her.  It worked perfect.  Exactly as planned.

Although she got me back even before I knew how well my plan had worked.  I came into the store that evening to work and the first thing Tonya, another employee, told me was that the water balloon had worked perfectly, except that Mike, one of the owners, had come by before the store opened to get some paperwork.  Instinctively I knew that couldn’t be true, wouldn’t because Mike hardly ever came out to the West Valley store, but that initial gut wrenching feeling of doom, despite only lasting seconds, was enough to give the two women a good laugh.

The Haunted Old Mill

October 28th, 2007, sometime after dark.  My friend, who I’ve called Adele since sometime in 1995, and I were on our somewhat annual Halloween trek to the Salt Lake Cemetery and other Halloween destinations.  This year it took us to the remains of The Haunted Old Mill.  It was falling apart, one section of the roof was gone, walls crumbled and it was completely closed off with a high fence. 

We walked around a bit, taking some pictures in the dark, talking about the experiences we had had there years ago when they still did the haunted house in the building.  We were joined by three college aged kids and continued checking out the place together.  At one point, can’t remember who first suggested it, we started talking about sneaking over the fence and getting into the abandoned building.  Despite being in my mid-40’s and Adele in her late 30’s, we’d reverted back to their age and got caught up in the thrill of sneaking in with them.  The five of us started walking around the fence looking for a weak spot where we could get in.  There was a field next to the Old Mill, going up the side of the hill, where we figured we could find a weak spot in one of the clump of bushes.  I was leading the way up the hill, in close to total darkness,  I turned around to look at the group, make a comment and get what I called my “Blair Witch Project” photo.  This comment about the Blair Witch Project heightened our anxiety and the group suddenly got quiet, but we kept plugging along.

Just as I found a kink in the fence, right behind a big bush, a bright light shines on us from the road at the top of the hill.  I have no idea what anyone else thought, but my gut reaction was “Damn, we’re being abducted by aliens, we’ll miss out on that scary old building.”  A disembodied voice comes from the light and informs us “You’re trespassing.  Leave the area now.” 

Double damn.  It’s only a cop, shooing us out of there.  But out of there we went, back down the hill to the car.  I offered the college folk a ride back to their car and one of the guys replied “And do I get the candy in your pocket too?”  We’d been traipsing around the mill long enough that it was said in a friendly way so we all laughed, but at the same time I understood that meant “No, but thanks.”

Adele and I got in the car and headed up to the Salt Lake Cemetery.

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Hypocrisy, thy name is me.

I just finished posting on how much I hate graffiti, and now I feel the need to confess.  I cannot say I have never done any graffiti myself.  I also wish I could say I regret and am embarrassed by the fact that I did it, but I have to admit that I still feel a little pride that it was left up for several years.

My senior year in high school.  My best friend was dating my sister’s best friend and the three of us decided to do a little art work.  My sister’s best friend and I kept watch while my best friend did the outline.  We had it drawn out on paper, so when it came time to fill in the outlines, all three of us went to work and got it done fairly quickly. 

We chose the walkway under 4th South that still goes from the Rice-Eccles Stadium parking lot (Rice Stadium at the time) to the main campus at the University of Utah.  We did it during the late-late hours of the night when there would be no foot traffic, but during school hours it saw heavy traffic.  It was perfect.  Under the street where no one driving would see us, empty at that time of night, but still where a lot of people would eventually get to see it. 

I can’t remember how many years they left it up, but I remember walking to class one time and being amazed that it hadn’t been covered over yet.  This was 30 years ago, so it’s long gone now.  And I can honestly say that it was the one and only time I remember vandalizing someone else’s property.

The Mayor of Sugarhouse.

We had a regular ‘customer’ back at the original Free Wheeler.  It was either the end of the 70’s or the beginning of the 80’s, and I can’t even remember her name (I think it was Eleanor) but we called her “The Mayor of Sugarhouse.”  She looked every bit of the 173 years old she was, smoked a carton a day and drank mini-bottles by the handful.

I don’t know if she was homeless, she certainly looked it, but we thought she had an apartment somewhere in the neighborhood,  She told a lot of stories, but a couple of themes seemed consistent.  She was originally from New York City, came out to Salt Lake with a husband that, some unknown years before, left town with a younger woman.  He had a name, but for the life of me I can’t remember what she said it was.

She would hang out at Free Wheeler a couple of evenings every week.  She liked us, mainly because the place was staffed by a bunch of hippies and we tolerated her.  Our customers did too, even found her somewhat amusing when she would claim to be the owner and yell at everybody.  She would sit on the window sill at the front of the store (it was a wide, low, long sill), drinking and smoking and telling stories of her life.  One time we saw her walking down the middle of 2100 South, shaking her fist and yelling at the cars as they passed her.

I have no idea what happened to her, she just faded from the fabric of Free Wheeler.  She can’t still be alive, that was over 30 years ago and she was 149 then, I just hope she’s resting peacefully.

How I got the nickname “Slim”

We’re talking the early 80’s, so I’ve been dealing with this nickname for almost 30 years now.

I was over at my older brother’s house and he was on the phone to our maternal grandmother, Ida.  They had been talking for a while when she asked him how his brother was doing.  Having two brothers, he asked which one she meant.

Not that she was senile or anything, but according to my brother her response was “uh, you know…, Slim.”  You know, kinda like how you call that big burly guy “Tiny”.

Anyway, my older brother found that incredibly hilarious, and the siblings have been calling me that ever since.

April Fool’s Day at CJH.

Both the Vice Principal and my best friend (the Spanish teacher) at the school were addicted to diet Coke.  So naturally I decided to prey on that one April 1st.  The night before, I got one of the custodians to let me into the VP’s office and replaced her 6 pack of diet Coke with regular Coke.  Then I went through 2 rolls of quarters buying all the diet Coke out of the faculty lounge vending machine.  On both the vending machine and the VP’s fridge I put a sign that said “Dr. Sucrose Strikes Again, muyaaahahahaha.” Thinking ahead, and realizing my life just may be on the line, I brought all the diet Cokes to school then next day in a ice filled cooler, and hid them in the auditorium.  Turned out to be a great idea.

Before the end of 2nd period, my friend showed up at my classroom door and demanded (as I remember it, in a deep Satan-esque voice) “Give me Diet Coke!”  At the speed of light I ran to the auditorium, grabbed a couple of the ice cold diet Cokes and brought them back to her.  She cracked one open, guzzled half of it and then, in her normal sweet voice, said “Thanks, may I have that other one too?”  Phew!

At lunch I went down to the VP’s office to make peace, carrying another ice cold can.  The first thing I noticed when I walked into her office was that she was drinking a 4 month-old, warm diet Coke.  (It wasn’t wet from sweat and it had the Christmas label on it.)  I’m standing there as she takes a swig of the old, warm one, ice cold can dripping in my hand when she looks up.  Now, I doubt this is true, but I’d still swear that when she saw that can she closed her eyes, tilted her head back and let out a classic Homer Simpson “aaaaaaaahhhhhh”.

Well, I survived, and thanks to their great sense of humor, even remained friends to this day.  They actually found it kind of amusing, and I ended up breaking even because they bought all the cans I had in the cooler off me.

And always remember – have an exit strategy.