Funny anecdotes from a century ago

by Pat Laster
For those of us who delight in nostalgia, as well as the changes noticeable in journalistic reporting, here are some one-hundred-year-old (or more) items from the old Arkansas Gazette and the newer Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.
OTHER DAYS, (Arkansas Gazette), May 27, 1989--TEXARKANA, May 27, 1889. “For the last month or so the women of ill-repute and other characters, both white and black . . . have made the nights hideous and life a burden to the residents of the surrounding neighborhood . . . Marshall Edwards succeeded arresting twenty-one soiled doves, and it was quite an amusing sight to see him march them in single file and take them to the calaboose . . .”
Here is a poem I wrote based on this item and published in my first chapbook in 1992.
"Soiled doves, both black and white,/ Marching to the calaboose./ Neighbors joyful at the sight,/ Soiled doves, both black and white./ "Good riddance to a dreadful blight!/ Wonder if they'll get the noose?"/ Soiled doves, both black and white,/ Marching to the calaboose. "
A second such item, datelined HOT SPRINGS, October 24, 1939 is the basis for another poem published in my second chapbook in 1994, reads:
"In an effort to reduce stealing of bird dogs, Police Lt . . . . Kauffman began taking the noseprints of such animals in an effort to reduce stealing of bird dogs, police LT. Kauffman began taking the noseprints of such animals.
Here is my poem: “The sheriff proposed/ that printin’ dogs’ noses//will cut down on thieving’/ and keep us from grievin’.// Let’s stop all our riddlin’/ and fork out a piddlin’// four bits (fifty cents)/ to cover expense.// We’ll keep those illegals/ from stealin’ our beagles!”
A third such item—with a poem not yet published follows:
OTHER DAYS, (Arkansas Democrat-Gazette) March 27, 1911: “Something like a near riot occurred on Main street between 3 & 5 o’clock yesterday afternoon when a young woman, attired in the first harem skirt ever worn on the streets of Little Rock or in the South, walked with an escort between the Leader store at 2nd and Main street up Main to Errett Hamilton’s confectionery at Capitol Avenue and back again on two occasions. The young woman’s name was not given.”
In researching this online, I found a NYTimes article dated Feb. 5, 1911, which described a similar event. The description of the skirt was: “an adaptation of the Turkish lady’s trousers to the bobble skirt.”
My poem is: “Oh, look at that!/ The nerve of her/ to wear that costume out!”/ I’d never wear/ one out like that—she’s positively stout.”
And the last one datelined August 4 1911: "TEXARKANA--"One hundred and ninety pints of bottled in bond whiskey were poured out on the ground on East Broad street yesterday afternoon by Deputy Sheriff John Strange, acting under the direction of Justice Higginbotham's court. The event had been quietly heralded about town, in advance, and about 200 persons were mute if not disgusted witnesses of the waste of ‘booze.’ A few groans were heard and, it is believed there were many other groans that were not audible, when the precious fluid was rained upon the dry earth."
My new poem follows: “It rained upon the parch-ed ground/ that precious home-made brew./ And groans were heard from all around./ “You wretched wastrel, you!”/ was likely on the lips of those/ whose salivary glands/ were working overtime; whose toes/ were soaking up the sands.”
Huzzahs to the old days.
c 2011 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press

Things my eldest child continues to teach me

by Pat Laster

First, my second-born teaches me that what I thought were dandelions are a type of coreopsis.
Next, the youngest teaches me about reusing fan blades rather than buying a new fan. The third-born teaches me how to text. Except for Kid Billy, my “fifth-wheel,” there is one child whom I haven’t yet mentioned in this context.
I have inherited (!) from my first-born, Gordon--the one who turned fifty last month--the tendency to make lists. When he was a teen, he would sometimes sit in his room, listen to the radio and make a log of what songs played and when and how often. If my in-progress compendium of journal jottings (lists) ever hits the printing press, he might be the one to do it.
Gordon sends me bundles of the weekly New York Times Book Reviews. I read/skim them, have ordered books, and learned new words. So my first-born has taught me to broaden my reading horizons. Thank you, son.
Speaking of new words, picture this. Six women, two in their eighties, two in our seventies and two in their sixties, standing or sitting before a table holding six music stands, six copies of music, and with a tone bar in each hand-- what we refer to as bells.
Before we begin, one woman comments how she enjoyed reading Roy Blount, Jr.’s Alphabetter Juice: the Joy of Text, which I lent her at her request. Before long, the word “copacetic” escaped someone’s lips. Another said, “Oh, I haven’t heard that word since my husband died. ‘Copacetic’ was one of his favorite words.”
Readers, this was astounding! I had seen the word in print; in fact, that very night, I read an essay that ended with “copacetic.” Next morning, I emailed the group to see who actually used that word in the air we were breathing. No one admitted it. One said, “Unless it came out of my subconscious.” It means excellent; first rate; fine.
I will have to say, the bell rehearsal that day was copacetic.
Trying my best to learn (and use, perhaps) new words has been a project since I began serious journaling. I keep a document called “Unknown Words and Phrases.” And their meanings—why else? But some words just don’t make it deeply enough into my gray matter at first, and I have to re-look-up the meanings.
“Misanthrope,” for example. “A person who hates or distrusts all people.”
And “scrum.” I’ve seen that twice lately. And without context, I’m at a loss. It is too new for both of my dictionaries, so I go online. In rugby, Wikipedia says, a “scrum” refers to the manner of restarting the game after a minor infraction.
In another context, “Scrum is an iterative, incremental framework for project management…” Math teachers probably called it “show-the-steps-in-your-solution.”
Aha! Scrum is already in my list of unknown words, but with this definition: “a disordered or confused situation involving a number of people, as in a “scrum of photographers.”
I pretty well know the words, “ennui,” “angst,” and “genre.” If I learn one or two every now and then . . . well, that will be copacetic. #

c 2011, Pat Laster dba lovepat press

A do-ahead column gone awry

by Pat Laster


By now everyone who regularly reads the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette knows that Jay Grelan’s Sweet Tea column is history. Too bad. He knew how to hook the reader at the very first sentence. I often thought “I wish I could write like that.” Many letters-to-the-editor have ensued and one of them caught my notice. It said, “His column is not always about him.” She meant the thrust of the column, I’m sure, since he wrote pieces about other people. Of course, he did have a connection to the subject of each column.
Anyway, nearly every other columnist I read writes about him/herself. But since my last several pieces have been about myself, I’ll give both me and thee a break. Of sorts.
For my 75th birthday, my sis Carolyn not only gave me a gorgeous music-motifed scarf, but also a Hallmark gift book, “GREAT at any age: who did what from age 1 to 100…and beyond.”
How interesting, I thought, and after I'd finished a column listing one name/accomplishment for each year up to 21, I looked on the back of the title page. "No part of this book can be reproduced, etc. etc."
I emailed the web site requesting permission for using what I had typed. "Unfortunately, we cannot......" So you'll never know that toddler Mickey Rooney was a part of his family’s vaudeville act. Or that as a 2-year-old Judy Garland began her stage career.
Or you may already know that Albert Einstein didn't speak until he was three. Or that Andre Agassi--at age four--impressed tennis great Jimmy Connors as they rallied for a quarter of an hour. And every one of a certain age knows--or has heard--that five-year-old Charlie Chaplin performed with his mother on the vaudeville stage.
And who doesn't remember that at six, Ron Howard began his run as Opie Taylor on the TV classic The Andy Griffith Show. We don't need a book to tell us that, now do we?
I won’t go on. For one reason, I can’t access the finished column (computer woes). Instead, I’ll continue with journal jottings from the first few days of August. How about a paragraph or two of trivia, called BY THE NUMBERS?
130 million = the estimated number of books that exist worldwide.
A $1.6 million Missouri lottery win is only worth (ONLY?) a cash payout of $800,000.
96 = the age Katharine Hepburn died.
12= the number of Oscar nominations for Hepburn.
4= the number of Oscars won by her.
3,280 feet tall=the height of the planned Kingdom Tower to be built in Jeddah, a port city on the Red Sea (Saudi Arabia), making it at least 563 feet taller than the world’s tallest building, Dubai’s Burj Khalifa.
76=the age of Dame Judy Dench, one of my favorite British actresses.
115=degrees of temperature around parts of our (and surrounding) state(s) with more to come.
It’s awfully hard to write a column without bringing yourself in to it.
Folks, stay inside while this heat prevails. #

Learning from your children, part two, plus...

by Pat Laster

When the bottom end of a flag pole met two blades of a whirling ceiling fan around July 4, the thin tin of the pole wrenched off the thick metal of two fan blades. They clattered to the floor and at the same time, the one-sided fan whomped drunkenly from its position on the ceiling until I could get to the off switch. Did not mar the pole or break the light globes!
Oh, dear! In the heat of the summer, no fan to assist the old window air conditioner in the living room.
That made two fans that needed "fixing" or replacing. I called an electrician, left a message, never heard a word. If they were on vacation at the time; if their message machine malfunctioned, if they saw my name on Caller ID--for whatever reason, they haven't called back.
When Kid Billy's mother, my baby child aged 41, came over, she looked at the fan and listened to my tale. Bending over the detatched fan blades, she proclaimed, "You can replace these blades, Mom. I'll bet Habitat Restore has some." When she left, the had one blade under her arm.
A few days later, she returned with four new blades the same size but with a different rattan pattern. Using a screwdriver, she removed the other two blades and the broken parts of the others, and with the aid of a flashlight that I held, soon had the new blades on, tightened, and the fan humming smoother than it did before.
And all for $4. I would never have considered replacing the blades because I didn't know it was possible. What the younger folks have learned! And thank goodness.
My other daughter, Jennifer, taught me how to text on my phone. While standing on a step stool painting the upper reaches of the kitchen cabinets, I heard the phone in my pocket jangle. I put down the paint tray and brush and pulled out the phone. It was my Florida son, Gordon, answering my text sent last night. We "talked" (texted) back and forth a time or two, and then I finished painting.
Oh, I know an old person should not be on a step stool alone, but Kid Billy had taken his little sister Emma swimming. And the second coat HAD to go on today. After I pronounced the painting job thus far as good, I cleaned off an upper shelf, taking a coal oil lamp, a copper-looking spittoon, vases and other odd-a-ments, down. I washed years of accumulated dust from the bare board, and painted it, too. The other five boards already have one coat of white paint, so it won't be hard to slap on another coat of beige to match the kitchen.
Perhaps soon, I'll be invigorated enough to tackle the dark brown cabinets.
~~~
c 2011 by lovepat press
Also check out my novel, A Journey of Choice, on Amazon/B&N.