John's Blogs

                                                                                                                         

                                                                                                                                                                           

            

Don’t Buy A Mitsubshi.

Why not, you ask? That’s a fair question, especially in today’s Auto Market. Well; for the answer to that question step into my Time Machine as we  to travel back to Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, to discover what  Mitsubishi’s involvement was on that infamous day.        

Built for the Japanese Imperial Navy, with "M" referring to the manufacturer, Mitsubishi. The A6M was usually referred to by the Allies, (that’s us) as the "Jap Zero." The A6M was the 1941 model that Japan tried importing into the U.S. via, pearl harbor. (Perhaps to avoid paying the excise tax, who knows.) And I might add at this point that even for the day this model had no luxury items, and very little in the way of option packages. (Hell in  the end the parachute option was even removed, and smaller gas tanks added.) Now you have to understand that to accomplish this feat they used specially designed cargo ships called, Aircraft Carriers to travel the Pacific from Japan into U.S. waters in Hawaii. And it all went unnoticed. (Shame on us.)

            I’m not going to give you a history lesson, they’re boring enough. But Me and a few friends were sitting around just spoofing on stuff, when someone mentioned they had just bought a new Mitsubishi, some model  or other.

            Well Me and my little group of friends basically being of a facetious nature, and always looking for a way to get a laugh at someone’s expense. Although usually being  some politician that just made headlines, or the manufacturer of a questionable medication that is supposed to be good for what ails you. Furthermore, while their new, “Wonder Drug” might cure you, the side affects can definitely kill you. Just listen to the commercials on TV. They make you afraid to take aspirin.

So, we decided to have a little fun at the expense of our friend, Susan.

            “Are you crazy?” The question was poised. And a barrage followed form the rest of the group. “You bought a Mitsubishi?” “Have you any Idea exactly who they are?” “ Do you not know about Pearl Harbor?” One question after another, and we had no Idea where it was going until I gave the history about the Zero.

            Then the fun began.

“Don’t you know we dropped a couple of Atomic Bombs on them back in the 40’s, and they have never forgiven u?.” I asked.

            “Well of course I know that?” Our friend answered.

We could tell that our friend was getting just a little agitated  when she asked.

            “And just what does that have to do with my new car, are you guys, nuts?”

Wrong question to ask, especially  from a group of guys that doubted their own sanity at times.

            “Okay, well you know they are very smart people?” Came another question.

“Yes I know that.” She answered.

“But I still don’t see what that has to do with my car.” She added.

Looking around the room for help, because I didn’t have a clue either, and after a pause that seemed an eternity, someone finally Said.

            “We didn’t want to tell you this and get you all upset, but they have developed a “Nuclear Bomb” that is so small it fits on a micro chip. And each one is powerful enough to take you a whole city block.”

Oh cool. “Now what do we do with this one?” I thought.

But my friend had prepared himself and gave the following explanation.

            “It’s just a matter of time Susan. I’m sure you have read the accounts of the various Japanese Soldiers that have been found hiding out on some Island and in other locations around the world, and all proclaiming that they didn’t know the war was over. Well that’s just a ruse to throw you off and remove any suspicion as to what is really going on.”

“You guys are really crazy, I think you all need help.” She stated.

“ No, no Susan, this is serious stuff.” Jeff added.

“I mean think about it for a minute. They have all these little Jap Guys that still think they are at war with us stationed all over the place, and who knows, by now they could be living right next door just waiting for the right moment.”

“What right moment Jeff, what are you talking about?”

“Each of those cars also have a little tracking chip in them, so they know exactly where they are at any given time. When unsuspecting buyers have purchased enough of the vehicles and they are spread out and distributed just the way they want them. Those little hold outs we talked about? Each one of them has a little device they were given and told that when the little green light starts blinking it will indicate that the war is over.  At  that point they should push the button and it will send out a signal telling the rescue crews where to locate them so they can be picked up and taken home. But Guess what  Susan? Their not homing devices. And those little Jap Guys? They  aren’t going home. When they push the buttons Susan, goodbye United States. So don’t buy a damn Mitsubishi.”

 

The End

 

Be careful what you buy.

 

 

    “What a weekend this was going to be. Opening day of trout season in upstate New York. I would be able to fish all weekend, and still be in up north in Natural Bridge in time for my usual Monday morning pick-up. (And legally too)

   I drove inbound freight so I would be leaving with an empty trailer; my plan was to leave the yard in Connecticut and meet with my friends at the Jet Diner, just outside of Utica. Our plans were to meet on Friday night at about nine o’clock. There would be six of us, all truck drivers, and with the exception of myself, they all lived and worked in the Utica area; one of the guys, (well call him Bob) owned several dump trailers and worked for himself. The rest of us worked for various freight haulers, I, drove for a cosmetics manufacturer in Connecticut.

    My regular run would take me from the plant in Connecticut, to Natural Bridge, up near the Canadian border where I would pick up forty thousand or so pounds of talcum powder. Because of the distance, I could legally make four turns a week without going over on my log.

   But however, the trip went I always found time to stop at the Jet Dinner diner, either  to eat, or simply have one, two and sometimes a third cup of coffee. And that’s how over time, I became friends with the guys I would be fishing with.

   Over the winter months, we would meet at the diner and tell our tales while we ate. Each of us doing our best to top the others yarns regarding the one that got away.    

   As winter passed and opening day drew closer, Bob suggested the six of us get together for an entire weekend of fishing. “He didn’t have to make that suggestion a second time.” With Connecticut’s opening day the following weekend, that translated into four days of doing battle with, and trying to outsmart a fish. Sounded like a plan to me.  

   I certainly wouldn’t have to worry about a place to stay. I had the sleeper. That meant no motel bill, just pay for food. Moreover, just in case, for reasons beyond our control we should end the day with narry a fish. I could always eat at the dinner.

Ψ

   Upon my return to home, I explained our plans; I left out nothing, right down to the smallest detail to the boss. (My wife)  Not only did I received her permission, but in addition her blessings as well. She even added a statement explaining how I deserved a few days to my self. I knew in a heartbeat  that her blessing meant that upon my return this would become an extremely costly fishing trip. After all, if two hours of fishing at the local trout stream that wound its way right past my house, cost me dinner that same evening, what would cost?  “I didn’t care.” Give me the opportunity to go on a two-day fishing trip in upstate New York,  you could get me to agree to just about anything.  

   Now the waiting game, why is it, when you’re waiting for time to pass, the clock seems to slow down and almost stop? Time marched on ever so slowly until Monday of that last week finally showed its face.  If you can imagine how the past months dragged on, then imagine what it was like waiting just a few more days for Friday to arrive. It would never get there; I would die of old age first.

   By the time my watch said that it was indeed Friday morning, I had been so excited about the prospects of catching those larger than life upstate New York Trout, that everything had been ready to go for weeks.

   All that’s left is to stow  my rod and tackle box into the truck. My tackle box by the way looks more like the inside of a tackle shop. It contains every thing you could possibly need, and more than a few things you would never use. “Hey, you never know what you will  need, or for that matter what the fish are going to attack. Right?” So remembering my Boy Scout days, it’s better to be prepared. However to be on the safe side we would more than likely hit the local tackle shop and pick up a few dozen night crawlers, you know, just in case.

   It was launch time, Friday afternoon had arrived, the final countdown, run through my pre-flight check list, make sure I had everything I needed, kiss the wife, the kids the neighbors dog and 3, 2, 1 , I was off. And then, and Then?

   It started to rain! Two questions immediately popped into my head. How could this happen I asked aloud, and, how can you do this to me? I, have no idea who I was yelling at, I just needed some answers. I had  been planning this day for four months, and now who knows, was  going to let it rain.  The farther I drove, the closer I got to Utica! The harder it rained!

   Then I thought. (This time quietly to myself) “Turn on the radio idiot; the thing has six weather stations built right into it. See what NOAA has to say. Out of the six weather stations, surly one will have some encouraging news.”  As luck would have it, the first station I tuned in was reporting that the storm was due to end at about the same time I would arrive at the diner. And mysteriously enough, it did. This was much to my surprise; fore I have never put a whole lot of trust in those weather people. I mean think about it for a minute, they have the only job you can think of where they can be wrong half the time, keep their job’s, and still get paid. In addition, they are given a chance the very next day to be right, or not! Just suppose for a moment; that I delivered my load to the wrong place, half of the time?

Ψ

   It was just before nine pm when I arrived at the diner; in my excitement, I was the first to show up and had to wait a half hour or so before the others started to arrive. We would meet, make short work of the diner’s coffee supply, and formulate our strategy. With the exception of Bob and myself, the others had to work through the night and would meet us back at the diner around five in the morning. Saturday morning, opening day of trout season. The day we had all been waiting for these past four months.

   We were waiting for one more would be fisherman to grace us with his presence, but he had called Bob to say he would be a few minutes late, his load wasn’t  ready when he arrived at work, however he would be along as soon as it was. It gave us time to visit, make our plans with military precision, right down to the last detail, down a few more cups of coffee, and anticipate the fish we would soon catch.

   Then Bob explained with some trepidation, that his wife had volunteered to pack lunch for everyone, and further volunteered to cook all the fish we were about to catch. Aw boy, a Saturday night fish fry, I could taste them already. And what was it she wanted in return? To be the seventh member of our precision six-man team. Simply the chance to go with us, and do some fishing her self.

   The prospects of a packed lunch, and Sarah, cooking all the fish, had us in total agreement with a very wise, Bob. Fore as he so aptly put it. “Guys; she don’t go fishin, we don’t eat.”

Ψ

   It was about ten thirty when (we’ll call him Pete) pulled his rig onto the wide shoulder across the street from the diner. Another ten minutes and he was well into his second cup of coffee. (And I thought I could drink it fast)    

   He explained to us that even though he was running late, he was confident that he could make up the lost time and be back at the dinner by five am. However, he didn’t want to waste too much time at the diner, therefore thought it best that he finished his coffee and head out on the road.  

   As Pete was explaining all this to us, we heard a muffled explosion outside. Bob and I were sitting across from each other closest to the window. Being of a curious nature, I pulled back the curtain to see what had happened. At first glance I saw nothing out of the ordinary. However, as I turned my head away and was drawing the curtain closed, I thought I saw smoke, or steam coming out from under Pete’s trailer. When I looked back to get a better view, I, saw what appeared to be a vehicle wedged under the trailer. To my shock and horror, there was. A car was wedged all the way up to where the tandems belonged. What ever had happened, it sure didn’t look good. And before I could say anything, Bob, who was sitting directly across from me, and had looked out and saw the same sight  I just had seen, turned his attention back to Pete, and said, “oh my good God.”

   Within that instant, calamity struck. Every one was running to see what had happened in hopes that there was a chance of rendering some sort of assistance. The answer to that question was a resounding, no.  

   The car had hit with such force, that all four pins were sheared, and the tandems slid forward almost completely off the track until the back of the trailer came to a rest on the ground, crushing what was left of the vehicle and it’s occupant  inside, who had also been decapitated on impact.

       It wasn’t until the next day when we read the account published in the local newspaper that we learned the details. The unfortunate driver, a young Air Force Sergeant from Rome Air Force Base, just a few miles up the road from the diner, was out celebrating the birth of his first child. He had left the hospital and stopped at several of the local bars to toast the arrival of a new life, and in the process lost his own.

   The information released by the police,  stated that he was not only well over the legal limit to drive, in addition they estimated that when the young sergeant, husband and new father; drove under the back of Pete’s trailer he was traveling close to or in excess of, one hundred miles an hour.

   The lives that were affected in that instant are too numerable to count. A young wife that would never again see her husband, a newborn child that will grow up never knowing its father. Family members, friends, and co-workers. Then there was Pete, who will live with that horror for the rest of his life. So many lives changed in an instant and from one momentary lack of discretion.

   Needless to say, it also brought an end to our fishing trip, and the months of planning and anticipation.

   The moral here guys. “Don’t drink and drive.” You’re not the only one that gets hurt.

 

Ψ

   The preceding story is but one of many such horrors I encountered in twenty-eight years on the road. Although this accident was horrific and affected many people. It is by no stretch of the imagination the worst.

   Unfortunately, alcohol plays a large part in a very high percentage of all highway accidents, and as a result causes the needless loss of life to innocent people. I hope in some way if you are going to drink, then get in a vehicle and drive, you will remember this story and perhaps have second thoughts.

   Although I haven’t had a drink in many years, I am a recovering alcoholic, and will be for the rest of my life. Fortunately, for everyone I never had an accident while drinking and driving. Nevertheless, family and friends were hurt in many other ways as a direct result of my abuse of alcohol. So if you think an occasional drink never hurt anyone, re-read this story. And think again.

Flight Of Fancy

A Short Story

 

By: J. Francis                                                                                                                                                                                                         © 2008

 

 

“For The Pumpkin Princess”

 

                       

   Role Playing, there are any number of words and terms for it, just look in a thesaurus, and you will find things such as, taradiddle, imagination, play-acting, pretense, make-believe, fantasy, daydream, castle in the sky, pipe dream, flight of fancy, sham, or even cloud-cuckoo-land, just to name a few. 

   Moreover, I have to admit that at one time I had no clue the expression even existed, or for that matter, that it was worthy of such  handles. Which handles by the way, you can grab on to and have free reign, poetic license. The license used by a writer or artist to heighten the effect of their work. And according to our constitution, you are free to do or say whatever you want. In addition, should you go too far and offend someone, all you have to do is apologize by printing a retraction, buried so deep in the five hundred page Sunday edition of the New York Times,  that no one will see it anyway.

   Then why wouldn’t the term carry a label? Everything else sports a tag of some sort. All the same, I digress and I am getting away from my flight of fancy. A memory I hope offends no one.

Ψ

   On a crisp evening in the fall of nineteen eighty something, a night so well lighted by the radiance of the full moon that it caught the attention of my youngest daughter Sharon, who so enraptured by yet another new discovery in her young life found it necessary to have me join her on the front porch, and observe this wonder in tandem.

   As she gazed skyward, I could tell that her attention was directed to a point in the heavens far beyond that radiant orb known as the moon. The universe, another first discovery. I’m not sure which question came first. “What’s out there, or where does it end?” Followed by a torrent of questions, that made the water flowing over the Horseshoe of Niagara Falls seem small in comparison. However, it was her next statement, worded as much as a question that made me realize I had a thinker on my hands.

   “Daddy, the sky is so bright, we should be able to see the flying saucers leaving the Moon tonight, shouldn’t we?

 Well, talk about taking advantage of a situation. Then, on the other hand, she left herself wide open for what popped into my head. After all, she loved stories, weather read from a book, recited from memory, or conjured from the depths of my imagination. Now the opportunity presented itself for a story that would allow her to interact. (There we go, role-play.) What’s more, is how she responded and beat me to the punch that took me completely by surprise?

   I had discovered early on, Sharon’s off the cuff ability to improvise, so I just thought that I would have a little fun and throw something out there, and see exactly how far she could run with it. I simply didn’t realize the depths to which her imagination reached, nor exactly how fast my little thinker could run. In addition, I certainly wasn’t ready when she took control of my little game, and ran so far out ahead of me that I was now playing catch-up with a ten year old.

   “Sharon, my love.” (I would have said were I given the opportunity.)

   “I have to tell you something about the flying saucers, and I have to tell you now, because there isn’t much time left tonight before they come to take me home.”

That was my intended opening line. My intention was to tell her that my stay on this planet was fast drawing to an end; that the flying saucers would soon be coming to pick me up and take me back to my home planet. Then in anticipation of her next question, I would point skyward and say. “Somewhere out there Sharon, somewhere beyond the moon, somewhere past the second star to the right, and straight on till morning.” (I can still hear “Scotty” complaining even now. “But she’s gonna blow captain.”) However, that was not to happen. I lost control of the situation before I could get the first word out of my scheming oral cavity.  Beaten at my own game by this mere child that somehow anticipated what I was going to say, and beat me to the punch.

   “Daddy, I have something to tell you.” She started.

“Wait a just a minute; this was my part in the script, and it’s my story, not hers. Who gave her the lead  in this play?” I wondered.

   With her mother, my wife of sixteen years, listening behind the screen door, and thinking we were both  a couple of lunatics; "No pun intended." I was taken  on a wondrous ride through the universe, past that second star to the right, and straight on till morning, finally landing on her home planet. Whose inhabitants as it turned out, looked exactly the same as we did. Which made me curious, and I posed the following question. “Why did you make the people on you’re planet, look the same as the people here on earth?”

   “Well Dad, it just seems that if God created man, and Women  in “her own image, (woman’s lib, already at ten) and she created the heavens and the earth. Don’t you think she would make the people on other planets all look the same?”

   Wow, here we go, my little thinker, and with that question she was about to throw the whole thing back in my lap. (She will grow to be a very clever woman I thought. Which by the way she managed to do.) Creating another half hour debate, ending with my daughter making another new discovery. Daddy is not as smart as she thought, and doesn’t have all the answers. (Moreover, I do have to make an admission. At that time; I didn’t have all the answers. And do I now?)

In addition to which the person listening behind the screen door, was by this time totally convinced that she should call someone in white coats. “Whatever gave her that idea?” I wondered.

   A story Rod Serling himself would have been intrigued with, that I’m certain had he been the one standing behind the screen door would have found it worthy of at least two half hour episodes of the Twilight Light Zone. What’s more, all this from the mind of my ten-year-old daughter?

As we whiled away the evening without the aid of television, or other electrical devises, memories were created. Memories so precious, they cry out to be shared with whoever will listen. In drawing to a close, I hope this particular memory is as precious to my daughter Sharon, as it is to me. 

 

 

“I’ll Always Love Ya Sharon!”

“Dad”

 

The best part of not being perfect is simply,

the joy that it brings to others.

J. Francis