Stories of Pacific Powerland

May 29

Posted by J.Charles in True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp, Uncategorized | No Comments

True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp

 

Stories of Pacific Powerland

By J. Charles Cheek[1]

© September 2007

 

Nelson Olmsted (1914 – 1992) narrated over 1,000 three minute stories under the series title of Stories of Pacific Powerland. The stories were broadcast regularly over seventeen years on radio stations covering the six-state service area of Pacific Power & Light Company. The November 1977 PP&L company “Bulletin” has a lead article announcing retirement of the series. I thought the stories were engaging and Olmsted’s story telling talent was exceptional. I looked forward to hearing each of them on the radio. The only criticism I ever heard of the program was in the middle1970s when a man made a remark at a public hearing claiming that PP&L was arrogant, “as proved by their reference to Pacific Powerland, as if they owned all the country in which they furnished electricity.” 

Glen Gillispie, a fellow 1990 retiree, worked with Olmsted on the production of many of his stories. Indeed, Gillispie wrote a few of the tales narrated by Olmsted.

“He was a master story teller,” said Gillispie. 

We can each relive some of the Stories of Pacific Powerland via a DVD that contains 157 of the episodes. 

http://www.otrtoday.com/programlistother.htm This website also has many DVDs of other old-time radio programs (No, I don’t get a commission on the sales). 

E – N – D

 

[1] Mr. Cheek has written dozens short stories under the general headings of True Stores from the 20th Century at Pacificorp and Digressions of J. Charles.  He is also the author of the novel Stay Safe, Buddy – A Story of Humor and Horror during the Korean War,300 pages, Publish America ISBN # 159286631X

A Man Called Thumper

May 29

Posted by J.Charles in True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp | No Comments

True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp

By J. Charles Cheek[1]

© June 2004

 

A Man Called Thumper

 

In the mid 60s, PP&L ( Pacific Power & Light Company), built a 230,000 volt transmission line from Walla Walla, Washington to Enterprise, Oregon. The contractor building the line hired a couple of dozen union linemen referred to as “Boomers.” Boomers were itinerant linemen that moved from job to job all around the country.  They were a tough bunch. They worked hard and played hard.

Bob Sires, a brand new construction inspector, had been hired away from a PP&L line crew in Walla Walla. Bob was a sharp young square jawed fellow that had ax handle wide shoulders sitting on a bucket size waste. He was not one to be toyed with but the devil-may-care Boomers tested him anyway.

New inspectors always started out inspecting hole digging and pole setting because the specifications were simple – make sure the hole is as deep as specified by the engineers and the pole is set in the ground with one man shoveling in the soil and two men tamping it down tight.

“Well, how did it go on you first day as an inspector?” asked Chief Inspector, Bob Goldsmith.

“It didn’t go worth a damn,” replied Sires. Those filthy boomers wouldn’t backfill the poles according to the specifications.”

 “Tomorrow,” said Goldsmith, “Tell them you’ll have the job shut down if they don’t do it right. If they don’t shape up, call me on the radio and I’ll notify the contractor’s superintendent that nothing will be paid for until futher notice.”

“Okay,” said Sires, “I’ll try and get the point across. It is hard to even talk to those guys though. They’re Neanderthal men.”

“I hope you can convince them,.” replied Goldsmith. “I don’t really want to do shut the job down because the Portland Contract Construction Office will have a fit but I will back you up if that is what you have to do to convince them to backfill correctly.” 

“Well, how did it go today?” asked Goldsmith the following evening after quitting time.

“Great,” replied Sires. “They did it exactly the way they are supposed to – one shoveling and two tamping.”

Somewhat surprised at his quick success with the Boomers, Goldsmith said, “How did you convince them so quickly to go by the specifications?”

“Well, I got out there early and waited for the crew to show up. When they arrived I asked the foreman to come over behind my truck and chat a bit. I grabbed him by the collar, pulled him up real close and said, ‘Look you SOB, today you and your crew are going to do the backfilling according to specs or I’m going to thump your ass.’”

And that is how Bob Sires got the nickname, Thumper. 

E-N-D

[1] Mr. Cheek has written dozens short stories under the general headings of True Stores from the 20th Century at Pacificorp and Digressions of J. Charles.  He is also the author of the novel Stay Safe, Buddy – A Story of Humor and Horror during the Korean War,300 pages, Publish America ISBN # 159286631X

Political Correctness 1

May 29

Posted by J.Charles in Health Care, Humor, Political | No Comments

  • In line with the climate of political correctness now widespread in America, those of us from the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas and Missouri will no longer be referred to as HILLBILLIES because we find that term derogatory, degrading and discriminatory. We ask that you now refer to us as OZARK-AMERICANS.
    Thank you for complying. (It may save you an ass kicking by some yokel dressed in denim overalls calling himself Bubba)

How Much Does a 500,000 volt Electrical Transformer Cost?

May 28

Posted by J.Charles in True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp | No Comments

True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp 

By John Cheek[1] 

© May 2004 

How Much does a 500,000 volt Electrical Transformer Cost? 

I spent eight years of my career as the Project Manager on a 550-mile long 500,000-volt electric transmission line. The project attracted a lot of media attention and much of the positive attention was generated by press releases written by Glen Gillispie or Delores Chenoweth of Pacific’s Communication Department. I found most television and radio reporters are nice and treated me fairly. One exception occurred when a rookie reporter from a Portland TV station grilled me with questions suggesting that the line might kill hundreds and hundreds of ducks who would fly into the line  in the Klamath Basin. Not getting the answers she wanted her bias finally spilled over with a frustrated comment to her cameraman, “Shut it down. I’m not getting what I want.” The evening television news showed hundreds of ducks flying along while the reporter overtalked about the danger of the ducks colliding with the proposed transmission line.

My favorite TV interview occurred in Medford, Oregon. The local TV was covering the first electric transformer being brought in from the factory. As the large oversize truck, named “Enormous,” with the huge transformer aboard came into the waiting TV setup behind me the reporter asked, “How much did that monstrous transformer cost?” 

My boss, Steve Roussos, a big gruff Greek electrical engineer, had provided me with a crib sheet containing all the technical information for answering any possible question I might be asked about the transformer.  Oh crap, I though. I had studied that crib sheet thoroughly on the hour long flight from Portland to Medford and the cost of the transformer was not on that sheet. The crib sheet had all the electrical data and the physical data but I was certain the cost was not included. 

Fortunately, a fellow employee, Bob Beadnell, had recently told me a humorous and, fortunately, a relevant story.  Bob managed a large coal fired generating plant near Centralia, Washington. A State politician on a dignitary tour of the plant asked him how much the plant weighed? The obvious answer is, “That’s a stupid question. Who cares?” However, by definition, a politician never asks a stupid question. Of course Beadnell had no idea what the plant weighted but he knew how much it had cost and he had recently read that nearly all manufactured things cost about one dollar per pound. So, he just switched the dollars of costs to pounds and told the politician who was duly impressed. 

My situation was the reverse. I knew how much the transformer weighed but didn’t have the slightest idea of its cost. What the heck, I just switched pounds to dollars and said it confidently into the TV camera. 

Back in Portland Roussos asked me how the interview went? “It didn’t go well at all,” I said. “The TV reporter asked me a question for which the answer was not on that crib sheet you gave me”  

“What did he ask?” replied Roussos with a look of astonishment. 

“He asked me how much the transformer cost. That was not on your crib sheet so I used the Beadnell technique to answer.” 

“What the hell are you talking about, Cheek? 

I told Roussos about switching the weight to dollars and using that as my answer. 

 “You what? That can’t possibly be.”  Then he started digging through a file drawer, came up with a piece of paper and exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s within a few percent.” 
 

 

[1] Mr. Cheek has written dozens short stories under the general headings of True Stores from the 20th Century at Pacificorp and Digressions of J. Charles.  He is also the author of the novel Stay Safe, Buddy – A Story of Humor and Horror during the Korean War,300 pages, Publish America ISBN # 159286631X

Bob Beadnell – The Master Story Teller

May 26

Posted by J.Charles in Humor, True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp | 1 Comment

True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp

By J. Charles Cheek[1]

© May 2005

 

Bob Beadnell, the Master Story Teller

 

Bob Beadnell was a superb storyteller. I heard him tell many amusing tales during coffee breaks and lunch-time at the second-floor cafeteria of the Public Service Building in Portland, Oregon.  One such story revolved around his heart problems.

Bob was one of the early recipients of coronary bypass surgery. The surgeon was Doctor Star, a pioneer in the field. In their initial get-acquainted appointment the doctor encountered and quickly appreciated Bob’s keen sense of humor. All went well with all the initial medical examination and the doctor scheduled a stress test on a treadmill.

Doctor Starr met Bob at the appointed date for the stress test. Bob’s end of the conversation included his usual witticisms.  Doctor Starr listened intently and was sincerely entertained. Then, as the medical assistant was attaching the wires for the electrocardiogram to Bob’s body, Doctor Starr handed Bob a release form to sign.

“What’s this?” asked Bob.

“I’m obligated to inform you,” said the doctor, “that there is some risk to the patient in this test so you must sign that I have told you about the risks and you accept them.”

“How much risk,” asked Bob.

“About one in 10,000 people taking this test have a heart attack and die during the test,” replied the doctor. “However, it has never happened to one of my patients,” he quickly added.

Finding the humor in the situation, Bob tested the doctor by feeding him the obvious straight line, “How many of these tests have you performed, doctor?”

Without hesitation, Doctor Starr replied, “Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine.”

***

While Beadnell was Manager of the Centralia Generating Plant he was obligated to accompany dignitaries who wanted to see the plant. Bob would take them on a walking tour around the plant and show them the complex makeup of the huge coal fired electric generating plant. The dignitary tours were scheduled to begin at eleven in the morning and conclude with a catered lunch. After hosting lunch he would thank them for coming and ask if anyone had any questions before they depart. One of the Washington State Congressmen in one tour of a dozen or so legislators asked, “How much does this plant weigh?”

“I was dumbfounded,” said Beadnell while telling the story over lunch in the cafeteria of the Public Service Building. “I thought, what kind of a stupid question is that?” However, he had read in an engineering magazine recently that manufactured things usually cost around one-dollar per pound of finished product. “Well now, I knew how much the plant cost so I just changed the dollars to pounds and told him with confidence that it weights 402 million pounds.”

E – N – D

[1] Mr. Cheek has written dozens short stories under the general headings of True Stores from the 20th Century at Pacificorp and Digressions of J. Charles.  He is also the author of the novel Stay Safe, Buddy – A Story of Humor and Horror during the Korean War,300 pages, Publish America ISBN # 159286631X

Don Frisbee and the Lady Drafter

May 26

Posted by J.Charles in Humor, True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp | No Comments

True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp

By J. Charles Cheek[1]

© April 2005

Don Frisbee and the Lady Drafter

Marge Thompson was a drafter in the Transmission Engineering Section.  She was a very nice lady and wouldn’t say you-know-what if she stepped in it. Don Frisbee was the President and CEO of Pacific Power & Light Company. I never heard him say you-know-what either even though some said he stepped in it a few times over his brilliant career. However, I have more confidence that Marge didn’t say it simply because I was around her more.

Marge’s husband was a mechanical engineer and owned a small company that was expert in the use of vibrators. No, no, he didn’t own a porn shop. I’m talking about vibration machines used for purposes few of us would ever imagine. He once told me he could shake down the Steel Bridge that crosses the Willamette River with just a 5-horsepower engine driving a vibrator at the end of the bridge. I believed him.

The reason I believed him was that he had demonstrated his mastery of vibrator technology in a gravel yard of the contract construction area near the Albina Service Center. He and an assistant hooked the vibrator mechanism to a 4-inch by 4-inch wooden post. While his assistant held the post vertical Thompson operated the controls which included the throttle of a nearby 5-horsepower gasoline engine. The post was not sharpened on the end but it began to sink into the ground slowly as if the soil was quicksand. Within a couple of minutes the post was three or four feet down into the ground. Others there that day were Ken Stevens and Carl Fishback of Transmission Engineering Design, and Bruce McMillan of the Construction Department. We were all duly impressed. After the vibration was stopped the post was as solid in the ground as if it has been set in a drilled hole and tamped. It was one of those rare “well I’ll be damned” moments. I’ll get back to Marge and Frisbee shortly, right after one more vibration story. Well, maybe two vibration stories.

Thompson did most of his vibration business with the U.S. Navy and ship repair yards. Removing the propeller drive shafts from submarines and ships was often a difficult task. He made the job easy with his knowledge for applying the correct vibration technology. Much of his technology was in the form of charts and graphs that were the results of his experiments with vibration machinery. He kept those records locked away in a large safe in his Portland office. The Navy had taken advantage of him on the first job he did for them and he made it a point to get back at them with all his future jobs with them. On his first job the Navy asked him for any hourly rate and he quoted them $100.00 per hour plus reimbursement of expenses. That was not an outlandish rate even in the 1960s for a specialist that possessed a rare skill. The submarine they wanted the shaft removed from was located at a repair facility in Hawaii. He flew to Hawaii, stayed overnight, spend the next day using his vibration knowledge to loosen the shaft for removal, then spent another day getting home. After he billed them for three workdays (24 hours) of his time the Navy contract administrator pointed out to him that the hourly rate was for “time at the job site.” Time at the job site was only about three hours so he got paid $300.00 instead of $2,400.00. “From then on I bid their jobs lump sum plus expenses and figured about 40 hours of my time.”

Thompson figured the Oregon State Highway Division could use his technology to drive the wooden posts guard rails are fastened to so he made an appointed with their Chief Engineer in his Salem office. It was drizzling rain when he arrived and checked in a few minutes early with the Secretary of the Chief Engineer. She announced his arrival by telephone then said, “He’s just finishing up on something but if you’ll wait it should only be a few minutes.”

“His door was open and I could see the SOB sitting with is feet up on his desk. He was reading a newspaper.” Thompson sat waiting for 30 minutes past his appointment time while the Chief Engineer read a newspaper. “He knew damn well I could see him in there,” said Thompson.

Finally Thompson got in and explained how he could drive guard rail post with vibration. “Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me,” said the Chief Engineer.

Thompson held his temper down and said, “If you’ll come outside with me I can demonstrate it to you.”

“I’m not going out there and stand in the rain. My state car is being serviced today. That empty parking space right there is my private one so just back your truck in there and drive the post in the grass. I’ll watch from my window here.”

By now Thompson was furious but held his temper and said, “Okay.” Thompson went to his truck and backed it part way into the Chief’s parking space. “Me and my assistant drove a guard rail post down two feet into the middle of that asphalt parking space. Then we loaded up the equipment and went back to Portland.” Then he concluded, “I don’t need that egotistical bastards business.” Okay, okay, back to the main story.

Early each Christmas Eve morning Don Frisbee would start on the 15th Floor of the Public Service Building and personally greet and wish each employee a merry Christmas. By about ten o’clock he would reach the 7th floor where the engineering design group was located. Marge Thompson’s drafting desk was adjacent to one of the entrance doors. Frisbee came in that door and said, “Merry Christmas, Marge.” He had a remarkable talent for remembering names and hadn’t seen Marge since introducing himself the previous Christmas in the year that she was a new employee.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. DeLucia,” responded Marge.

“Oh, you have me confused with the Chief Engineer, Marge. I’m Don Frisbee.”

Marge’s face turned red and she replied, “Well, if you’d come around more often I’d know who you are.”

E – N – D

[1] Mr. Cheek has written dozens short stories under the general headings of True Stores from the 20th Century at Pacificorp and Digressions of J. Charles.  He is also the author of the novel Stay Safe, Buddy – A Story of Humor and Horror during the Korean War,300 pages, Publish America ISBN # 159286631X

What it Takes to Get What You Want.

May 18

Posted by J.Charles in Financial | No Comments

What it Takes to Get What You Want. 

An article titled, 5 Secrets of Self-Made Millionaires, concludes with the following paragraph:

The Biggest Secret? Stop spending.
Every millionaire we spoke to has one thing in common: Not a single one spends needlessly. Real estate investor Dave Lindahl drives a Ford Explorer and says his middle-class neighbors would be shocked to learn how much he’s worth. Fitness mogul Rick Sikorski can’t fathom why anyone would buy bottled water. Steve Maxwell, the finance teacher, looked at a $1.5 million home but decided to buy one for half the price because “a house with double the cost wouldn’t give me double the enjoyment.” 

I thought, “Anyone who buys bottled water and is not already rich is unlikely to ever be rich.” 

See the entire article here: http://shine.yahoo.com/event/financiallyfit/5-secrets-of-self-made-millionaires-1370279/

Healing Power of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial

May 17

Posted by J.Charles in Military, Political | No Comments

The note below was appended to a story about the healing effects of visiting the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C.

“I have tried many times to walk the Memorial wall, I can never get past the entrance. I served in Vietnam in 1971 I was attached to the 101st a recon unit after serving on a Fire Bace in Cambodia and made many friends. Each and every day in 1971 guys were getting killed for no reason at all, the war was winding down and yet they were forced to enter the Jungle where many did not return. One guy was a short timer who had but three weeks left to serve and he was sent to his death. Another good friend, Irving Brown, was to be married upon his return to the states. He left one morning and never returned, he took a bullet to the head. The wall reminds me of the failures of our Gov leaders and the damage they caused by making wrong decisions. 58000+ young men are now dead because of that and when I see the wall I am overcome with emotions and cannot enter memorial. The unit I was with while in PhuBai actually protested being sent into the field and the MP’s were called in to stop the rioting. I cannot enter the memorial as my feet are anchored by my tears and anger.”
Joe A

Link to story:  http://www.miller-mccune.com/health/the-healing-power-of-the-vietnam-veterans-memorial-14719/

Louie Dyer, Don Martin and I Quit Smoking.

May 1

Posted by J.Charles in True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp | No Comments

 

True Stories from the 20th Century at Pacificorp

By J. Charles Cheek1

© April 2005

 

Louie Dyer, Don Martin and I Quit Smoking – Briefly

 

Every organization, from the Cub Scouts and Brownies through big corporations and big government, has at least one memorable character. In the engineering arm of Pacific Power & Light Company that character was Louie Dyer.

I used to tease Louie occasionally and ask him how it felt to have been born in the sub basement of the Public Service Building, the 15-story headquarters office building located at 920 SW 6th Avenue in Portland, Oregon. He was fresh out of high school and barely 18 years old when he was hired as a clerk trainee in the accounting department. He was proud of his longevity with the company and when we each took the early-out offer effective August 1, 1990 he had been working there nearly 40 years. I was six months short of 30 years so I got to select from the company’s retirement gift selection for 25 years. I had the choice of a set of Browning golf clubs or a Browning pump shotgun. Since I have an old shotgun that hadn’t been fired for 25 years I selected the golf clubs even though I didn’t know how to play golf. But I digress; this story is not about golf.

Sometimes it was fun to feed Dyer a straight line. “Hey, Dyer. How does it feel to have been born in the subbasement here?”

Dyer was a master at ad-libbing cutting remarks. “Great, Cheek, because you weren’t there to stink up the place.”

Dyer had a lot of one liners and sometimes they could be cruel humor. Carl Hoffman, Treasurer, was very proud of the new conference room he had finally got built on the accounting floor after many years of failed budget requests. Carl had been in the German Air Force during World War II then came to the United States after the war. He went to school while working at PP&L as an accounting clerk, got his accounting degree and subsequent CPA ticket. At the lunch table one day Carl told us his conference room had just been finished the day before and he’d be pleased to show it to us. A half dozen of us followed Carl to his new conference room.

While looking around the ceiling of the room Dyer said quizzically, “Carl, where are the shower heads?” Now that’s cruel humor! Hoffman didn’t speak to him for a couple of months. But again I digress, this is a story about quitting smoking. Dyer became the self appointed leader of a few of us that “took the cure” during a company sponsored quit smoking course led by a hypnotist.

Sometime during the mid-1980s the company established a program to help employees quit smoking. One of the methods they would pay for was led by a hypnotist. Dyer led the effort to recruit the required minimum number necessary to have the hypnotist teach his quit-smoking course at the Public Service Building. He signed up over a dozen of us, enrolled us in the class and obtained written instructions from the hypnotist as to how we were to behave in the few days prior to beginning the class. Basically, the instructions were to savor each cigarette and get prepared for the next one to possibly be the last we’d smoke.

Dyer, Don Martin, and myself were from engineering and the others were from other departments. Don was the savvy manager of the electrical systems planning section and an interesting character. One cold day in December while I was visiting Don in his office it began to snow. Large golf ball size fluffy snowflakes fell leisurely past his 8th floor office window. “Look at that,” said Don, “The big executives on the 15th floor must be molting. Look at all the turkey feathers falling.” But again I digress.

Written instructions from the hypnotist said we could have as many cigarettes as we wanted on the last day of smoking right up to the start of the class at 5:30pm. Dyer, Martin and I met at 5:00 and chain-smoked until time to go into the auditorium on the mezzanine and begin the class. Truth be known, we had each smoked twice as much as usual for the entire day. Maybe that is some sort of psychological attempt to store up nicotine for the future.

We took our seats in the front row of the auditorium and awaited the man with the hypnotic wand. My lips felt dry. I thought about getting up and leaving until I glanced at Dyer who nodded and smiled confidently. To my dismay a rather ordinary looking fellow in a business suit soon appeared and introduced himself as our instructor. I was disappointed. He reminded me of one of those consultants that top management hired every 10 years or so to spend several days asking employees how the work could be done more efficiently, then write a report and sell that information back to the top executives. I always thought that the top executives could have interviewed the employees themselves and saved all those big bucks spent on the consultants. Perhaps they could have used a golf day or two for the interviews. I understand some big important deals are struck on the golf course, perhaps with expensive consultants from out of town who perform efficiency studies in large corporations. But there I go again, digressing.

Actually, I needed to smoke a cigarette to calm my disappointment. I was expecting to see someone dressed like Amazing Claude, the world class hypnotist that did amazing group hypnotism. Claude’s first show at the Broadway Theater in New York City is legend in the world of hypnotic tales. Claude swept onto the stage of the 1752-seat theater dressed in a flowing black robe trimmed in red. From a gold necklace around his neck hung a gold pocket watch. He looked like an oriental mystic. Not a seat was empty. It was Claude’s first show in New York and his reputation had preceded him. Everyone in the full house was awaiting his amazing performance. He raised both arms toward the full house, symbolically embraced each person and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight you are going to be astonished for I am going to hypnotize all of you.” The audience fidgeted nervously as Claude removed his necklace and began to swing the pocket watch slowly back and forth.

“Watch the watch, watch the watch. This beautiful antique watch has been handed down to me through five generations of my family.” He continued to swing the watch slowly while saying, “Watch the watch.” Soon, everyone in the audience was swaying slowly back and forth. Suddenly, the watch slipped from Claude’s grip, fell to the stage floor and broke into several pieces. “Crap,” yelled out Claude disgustingly. The hypnotized audience reacted immediately. It took a crew of ten workers three days to clean up the theater. Back to the tale at hand.

Well now, where was I with the quit smoking story? Oh, yes the hypnotist in the business suit. He proceeded to remind us that we’d just had our last cigarette. Dyer, Martin and I exchanged panicked glances. I was disappointed that he didn’t swing a watch or wand or something. He just started saying, “Close your eyes. You are each getting sleepy and soon you’ll be hypnotized. Just relax. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Think of the sounds of the ocean. Waves are rolling in. Hear the surf. Sleep. Sleep. I glanced around and Dyer and Martin were already under. I smiled and suppressed a laugh. The hypnotist scowled at me so I closed my eyes again. I thought, This is a bunch of bull pucky but I’ll go along with it. I never succumbed to the hypnotism even though I did want to quit smoking.

After the session, Dyer bought a cassette tape from the hypnotist. The only thing on the tape was the sound of the surf at the ocean. Listening to it periodically while making a humming sound was supposed to be calming and suppress the urge to smoke a cigarette.

The next day I told Dyer at the morning coffee break that my urge to smoke was occurring less often. “Yeah,” he responded and robbed me of the punch line, “now you’re only thinking about having a cigarette every fifteen seconds instead of ten. Right?” However, both Dyer and Martin claimed that they didn’t have the urge to smoke anymore. I was impressed for it was driving me nuts. I though about having a smoke every fifteen seconds or so. At the lunch table in the cafeteria on the mezzanine Dyer and Martin were still acting calm and cured, then again at the afternoon coffee break. I was really impressed for I was having terrible withdrawal symptoms – stomach feeling upset, dry lips, and overall nervousness.

As the time neared five I was even more nervous and almost panicky. I impulsively decided to go to Dyer’s office and listen to the tape. Maybe that would calm me down so I could live through the night without a smoke. I hurried up the stairs from the 7th floor to the 8th floor and headed for Dyer’s office. His door was closed so I asked executive secretary, Winnie Greene, if Dyer was in. “Yes, he’s in his office with Don Martin,” she replied. I stepped briskly to his door and quietly opened it. There sat Dyer and Martin with their eyes closed and humming while the surf tape played in the background.

“The gigs up,” I said. “You guys are suffering as much as I am.”

“Okay,” responded Dyer, “Sit down and join us in the humming.” I sat down and joined them in the humming foolishness. After a few minutes, Dyer shut off the tape, reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one and put it in his mouth. Then he offered one to Martin and myself.

And that my friends is how Louie Dyer, Don Martin and I almost quit smoking.

END

 

1 Mr. Cheek has written dozens short stories under the general headings of True Stores from the 20th Century at Pacificorp and Digressions of J. Charles. He is also the author of the novel Stay Safe, Buddy – A Story of Humor and Horror during the Korean War,300 pages, Publish America ISBN # 159286631X

Follow the Tea Party Money

Apr 27

Posted by J.Charles in Financial, Political | No Comments 

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