WAYBACK WEDNESDAY

A long time friend, Seattle Lori, wrote after yesterday's blog to say that she didn't know I had interviewed John Wayne.

I thought sure I had bragged told her about it.

But here's the proof, from 1975 on his back patio overlooking the bay in Newport Beach.

"C'mon, don't touch my knee!"

"Timmer, Is this guy really a reporter?"

"Isn't it about time for you to leave?

Incidentally, again in reference to yesterday's post, Timmer  . . who took these pictures . . wrote and said it wasn't his first trip to California but probably his first trip to Newport Beach.

Now reversing course a bit, here are some more pictures taken at various places on the Mexican Pacific Coast where Hurricane Patricia came ashore this week.

These were all taken when we lived in Mexico during the 1980's.

One of my first friends in Mexico, Bob, and, yeah, I was probably just as skeptical about whatever he was telling me than I appear to be in the photo.

The previously mentioned Philomena, proprietress of Los Pelicanos bar and restaurant in Melaque and, Judy noted below this picture, "story teller".

One can only wonder what story she was telling this time but since she was holding a gun on us we listened politely.

Boat-mates Bea and Harry with my beautiful bride.

B and H are wearing their "sand dollar" t-shirts in reference to the name of Harry's boat, Sand Dollar II. I'm not sure what happened to Sand Dollar I.

Harry whistling a new companion to attention. He had a way with parrots. And with people.

Before he retired to the "yachtie life" in Mexico, he was some kind of nuclear engineer in New Mexico.

We went sailing a couple of times on Harry's boat.

Great guy, gone now I think.

TUESDAY TRAVELS

A gray California morning in 1975.

Enroute to Newport Beach to interview John Wayne, driver/photographer Tim suddenly turned off the highway with an "Okay, we've got to check out this beach!"

(It may have been his first time in California, I'm not sure.)

So we made a quick stop at Huntington Beach State Park to look at seaweed and shells in the sand.

And then back to work.

OF HURRICANES AND THE GOOD TIMES

Hurricane Patricia, curiously, made landfall between Manzanillo and Puerto Vallarta near the beachside town of San Patricio.

While there was damage, some of it serious, there appears to have been no deaths or grave injuries.

Which, considering the size of the hurricane, is a miracle.

As I have said on more than one occasion on this blog, Judy (SWMBO) and I lived in Mexico for nearly five years back in the 1980's in a sort of early retirement.

When I was asked what I was doing down there at such a young age (late 40's) I always replied that I was conducting intensive research into the effects of tequila on the average American male.

We lived most of our time down there in Guadalajara.

But we spent a lot of time at the Pacific coast, right where Hurricane Patricia came in.

San Patricio is the only town by that name in Mexico and, therefore, has one helluva St. Patrick's Day fiesta. We were there for one such celebration.

There is an adjoining town known as Melaque and it's always a problem knowing which town you're in.

Whichever it was, we met up with a bunch of old and new friends, many of them "yachties", as the people who live on their boats and cruise the coast are called.

The evening drinkathon was held in a beachfront bar and restaurant called Los Pelicanos, run by a feisty and funny woman named Philomena.

But the next day, her bar had been converted with a makeshift altar placed across the opening to the beach and a priest was there celebrating mass.

It was a special service for the fishermen and they gathered on their boats just off shore to listen to the priest's words.

Afterwards the priest boarded a dinghy which was pushed and rowed out so he could go from boat to boat sprinkling them with holy water and blessing them.

In spite of our hangovers it was a moving experience.

Just up the coast a short distance is Tenacatita Bay and several small fishing villages.

We spent time in one of them, La Manzanilla.

One day when I was walking on the beach I noticed an excited crowd looking at the water.

A school of fish had come in close to the beach and several fishermen in boats had surrrounded them with a net.

People from the village rushed to help the fishermen bring in their catch.

The fish were dumped into a boat on the beach and covered to keep them from spoiling in the sun while the townspeople waited to sell their huge catch to the local co-op.

I bought a red snapper for a ridiculously low price and took it home for our dinner.

The other direction from San Patricio-Melaque lies the town of Barra de Navidad. 

It, too, is a great place to watch the sea. And the gringos who stare at it.

Judy captioned this photo "Bruce refuses to leave the beach until the sun sets."

A short time later it did.

In spite of what you may hear from some of our U.S. politicians, during our time in Mexico we found the great majority of the Mexican people we met to be warm and friendly.

I am sad for the troubles they face now in the wake of this hurricane but I know they will take it in stride and quickly return to their normal lives.

With smiles on their faces.

¡Buena suerte, amigos!

LOW CLOUD BANK

This is something you usually see over the coast.

Any coast.

But not usually in Arizona.

After a rainy day, as the sky was clearing, a low cloud or fog bank clung below the mountains but just above the city.

Whatever the cause, it made for a nice view and some nice photo-ops, as we old television people say.

Clouds.

Always fascinating.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

Yup. 

Another week has slipped/sped by.

Another Friday has rolled around.

Another chucklebox has been opened for you.

Prepare yourself.

And with that cheery thought we fade off into the setting sun.

In the meantime, thanks to contributors/theft victims and please, please keep on laughing.

THROWBACK THURSDAY

In 1963 I was a young, wide-eyed, Marlboro-puffing television reporter in Aberdeen, South Dakota.

Early in the morning of September 14th, I was awakened by a telephone call from UPI Movietone in Chicago asking if I had any film of the quints they could buy.

I was then made aware that five new babies had come into the world on that day - the Fischer Quintuplets, the first surviving quintuplets ever born in the United States.

A large part of the national and international news media soon swarmed the small town, many of them coming from only a short distance as they had been in Bismarck, North Dakota, covering a speech by Bobby Kennedy.

The rest of that time is a mystery lost in the shrouds of time. I can only remember a few incidents.

But it did launch me into a new job in Bismarck and many more adventures in a career that lasted some 30 years.

The picture above was taken as we, the media, waited for a news conference to begin in St. Alexius Hospital, where the four girls and a boy were born.

After only a few years of publicity and attention by the Pope and President Kennedy, among others, the quintuplets retreated to a quiet life with their protective parents and the SIX other children in their family.

POLITICAL DECISIONS

Vice-President Joe Biden says "No, I won't try to make this lovely blonde the next First Lady."

Paul Ryan says "Maybe, I'll be your next Speaker of the House but only if you let me have my way on everything."

It's been an interesting week.

TUESDAY TRAVELS

Visiting Chicago in 1971 to see my sons.

Kicking back on the grassy lawn near Lake Michigan outside the Adler Planetarium.

THE END OF THE SEASON?

The day started with fog.

By the time SWMBO fired up the barbecue grill, the sky was gray, the wind brisk and the day crisp.

Was this, then, the end of grilling season?

On this final(?) day the menu featured bone-in chicken breast.

The chef said she sprinkled the raw chicken with smoked paprika, which promptly burned.

I said "Hey, blackened chicken breast . . it's a treat!" (Thank you, Paul Prudhomme.)

And, you know what?

It was great, giving a tasty sharpness to the chicken. We both liked it.

On the side potatoes gratiné made with store-bought shredded potatoes, some French cheese, cream, seasonings.

If it WAS the end of grilling season (for this year), it was a great way to go out.

(If it wasn't . . . what are you gonna do next?)

Thank you, chef.

LATE BLOOMERS

Spotted on my stroll around the neighborhood this evening . . .

A LITTLE OF EACH, PLEASE

Rainy morning.

Sunny afternoon.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

That music!

Do you hear it?

Is that "Hail to the Chief"?

No, no, no.

It's "Hail to the Friday Funnies!"

And to the continuing saga of how cats and dogs stay warm.

The control on the left is set to "Toast the Cat".

These little rascals are risking a slow burn.

The rest of these, cats AND dogs, are looking for warmth in the light.

Then there's artificial light.

And THIS cat even climbed into the lizard's cage to share his warm light.

Before we go, a reminder about the upcoming Special Day.

Still laughing?

Good.

Have a great weekend!

THROWBACK THURSDAY

It's finally over and for the first time all week we're smiling!

The 1984 Republican National Convention in Dallas, Texas.

(For those who care: left to right, Photographer Gary Stafford, Reporter Ron Talley, Producer Al Macias, Photographer Howard Shepherd, Photographer Wally Athey, Anchorman Kent Dana, Producer Bruce Taylor)

We all miss the late, great Howie, gone long before his time.

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

TUESDAY TRAVELS

When I was a younger man I liked to get on top of things.

Like buildings.

It started, I believe, when I was a little kid.

I liked to climb trees.

I had a favorite place in what I called "the big tree" in a weedy alley a few houses away from ours in Stanley, North Dakota, where I grew up.

I would climb up there and, sheltered and hidden by the leaves, sit for hours, some times reading a book, some times just looking out over "my realm" and living in my imagination.

Some years later I became an amateur radio operator and climbed on various roofs to string antennas.

Being up on roofs never lost its fascination for me.

The views from above were fascinating to me and made me feel somehow powerful.

I remember once in Phoenix during an evening with friends, Timmer and Beaner, I climbed to our roof to get a better look at a distant lightning storm.

My wife and my friends refused to join me and only got me to come down when I "needed" a cigarette.

(I smoked in those days as did everyone else.)

But old age and the infirmities it brings have put a stop to my climbing.

So this rang a bell with me.

As one of my heroes, the late Kurt Vonnegut, would say - "so it goes."

CHANGING TIMES

Our neighbors are having their house painted.

The painting crew arrived this morning, set up ladders and began work.

Here's what I'm faced with. (Be sure to turn up your volume.)

Right now they're sanding various surfaces with some kind of power tool.

I sort of remember the good old days when the painting crew would arrive with a boom box blasting music out into the neighborhood.

¡Ole!

SQUARED UP

SWMBO hates what I call "Beverly Hills" yard care.

She thinks shrubbery should grow in a natural state, with only occasional trimming of the wild or outlying branch.

She hates this:

Like many plantings around our library and city hall, these have been trimmed into these square shapes.

I must agree with her: they don't look natural.

But still, they're kind of neat.

I call them Beverly Hills yard work because of a walk I took in that tony area of Greater Los Angeles once many years ago.

I was in town for a convention but decided one day to take a walk around in the residential enclave to see what was there.

(At the time I had lived all of my life in the Dakotas and this Beverly Hills was pretty strange in appearance to me.)

I was walking along, checking out the big mansions but also marveling at the lawns and the shrubbery, all of which looked to me like they had been manicured with a nail clippers.

Imagine the surprise of this naive North Dakota boy when a police car pulled up beside me and an officer asked me just what I thought I was doing.

We had a conversation, I think he looked at my driver's license, saw that I was from Dakota and politely informed me that this was an exclusive conclave and people got nervous about some stranger walking around looking at the big houses.

Even though I was dressed in a suit and tie.

But I guess my attire and manner pegged me as . . . . . a square.

Some times it's good to be a square.

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND

Living in a household of two self professed "political junkies", I could not avoid the chaos and craziness playing out in Congress this week.

While the editorial cartoonist Horsey sees the so-called "Freedom Caucus" in the nation's House of Representatives as rampaging Huns or Visigoths, I could not help being reminded of the good old days of the John Birch Society. 

Back in the 1960's that group of far-right-wingers was running amok in politics and they were parodied by the Chad Mitchell trio in this catchy folk tune.

So relax, folks.

As always, this too shall pass.