Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
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When I was a kid — a period that hung over my head willy-nilly until I was 60 — Don Winslow of the Coast Guard was an icon of American patriotism. During World War II he spent many colorful Saturday matinees chasing Nazi submarines off Catalina Island. I’ll bet you didn’t know the Germans had submarines off the West Coast in those days. It wasn’t exactly a secret, because Winslow zoomed all over the silver screen each week in cardboard airplanes and tinfoil destroyers, dropping depth charges on Axis heads. His antics se...
In my relentless quest for award-winning journalism, I often explore the zany world of “kidspeak,” which is teacher jargon for stuff kids write on test papers. My wife Marilyn’s all-time favorite is, “I just love Tommy Buford. He’s tall, dark, and on probation.” So for my in-depth report today I’ve selected a whole raft of real live quotes plucked from sixth-grade history test papers and Sunday school notes. Those of you who grumble that our present-day educational system has gone to hell in a hand basket can finally sit b... Full story
One of my scholarly pursuits is the care and feeding of one-liners. I get most of them from my wife Marilyn who seems to have an endless supply and loves to toss them out to brighten my day, as follows: • “You may think you’re still young, but you need your false teeth and hearing aids to ask me where you left your glasses and you need your glasses to find your teeth and hearing aids.” • “I hesitate to say it, but the gleam in your eyes is the reflection off your bifocals.” • “There you go again, making promises your bod...
There’s a conspiracy in our house. It blossoms every day when my wife Marilyn and our dog Cody put their heads together. (Ironically, “Cody” is short for “Co-dependent.”) Don’t think I’m paranoid, but sometimes when I hear them whispering in the kitchen, I feel obliged to sneak up and take notes in award winning, journalistic fashion, just to be on the safe side. Most of the time it’s girl talk, but often the conversation goes like this: Marilyn: As long as we’re on the subject of global warming and its effect on the Eur...
Thirty years ago, a prominent outdoor writer in Idaho put together a collection of hunting and fishing stories, and to spice up these yarns he included a batch of woodsy recipes like green hash and juniper tea. His theory was outdoor books don’t sell well, but recipe books always do. His book was not a great success, but it did awaken a sleeping giant. Since then several literary categories have spewed forth specific gourmet delights along with their genres, and in the publishing game, that’s called a landslide. Don’t get m...
Now in these dog days of summer, folks are looking in a mirror to decide if they ever want to go swimming again in public. Which brings up the subject of dog days, and why we even pay attention to them. Dog days occur from about July 3 to Aug. 11, and were named by ancient guys in peaked hats who thought midsummer heat was caused when the sun came up each day accompanied by a couple of dog stars — Sirius, the Greater Dog Star, and Procyon, the Lesser Dog Star. Those old-time science guys didn’t realize that hot summer day...
Now in these dog days of summer, folks are looking in a mirror to decide if they ever want to go swimming again in public. Which brings up the subject of dog days, and why we even pay attention to them. Dog days occur from about July 3 to Aug. 11, and were named by ancient guys in peaked hats who thought midsummer heat was caused when the sun came up each day accompanied by a couple of dog stars — Sirius, the Greater Dog Star, and Procyon, the Lesser Dog Star. Those old-time science guys didn’t realize that hot summer day... Full story
When I was a kid, the end of July was a time of the jitters. Summer was waning, and already I could hear the forlorn tolling of school bells. I mentioned that fact to my friend Smooth Heine one morning as we smoked grape leaves in snakeweed pipes behind his father’s barn. “It won’t be long before school starts,” I said. Smooth lowered his head and sighed. “That’s just like you, Huber. The light at the end of the tunnel is always a train.” “Well, it’s true,” I said. “It’s already too late to build a submarine or a rocket s...
When I was a kid, the end of July was a time of the jitters. Summer was waning, and already I could hear the forlorn tolling of school bells. I mentioned that fact to my friend Smooth Heine one morning as we smoked grape leaves in snakeweed pipes behind his father’s barn. “It won’t be long before school starts,” I said. Smooth lowered his head and sighed. “That’s just like you, Huber. The light at the end of the tunnel is always a train.” “Well, it’s true,” I said. “It’s already too late to build a submarine or a rocket s...
It’s time once more to celebrate the invention of the typewriter, the little machine that enabled us old-time newspersons to write more and say less. It was patented July 14, 1886, by three guys from Milwaukee named Sholes, Glidden and Soule. It’s not clear from my scholarly research why three men were needed, but this invention probably employed a different keyboard. Sholes: I’ll take the consonants in F sharp, you guys come in with the vowels. Glidden: How come I have to play vowels all the time? I always play vowel...
Hey, you fun-loving, glassy-eyed, patriotic young squirts who each summer evening toss empty beer cans on our lawn. You’re in deep doo-doo. If you have any sense at all, you’ll get out of Dodge before sundown, because you’ve made my wife Marilyn mad. I’ll tell you, guys, when she gets mad, the entire world and a dozen galactic time zones are in jeopardy. I had hoped never to see her in this mood again. The last time was after a thunderstorm ruined one of her flower beds. A three-year drought followed. Mother Nature was no...
Hey, you fun-loving, glassy-eyed, patriotic young squirts who each summer evening toss empty beer cans on our lawn. You’re in deep doo-doo. If you have any sense at all, you’ll get out of Dodge before sundown, because you’ve made my wife Marilyn mad. I’ll tell you, guys, when she gets mad, the entire world and a dozen galactic time zones are in jeopardy. I had hoped never to see her in this mood again. The last time was after a thunderstorm ruined one of her flower beds. A three-year drought followed. Mother Nature was no...
Whenever summer rears its heated head, I always recall an ancient ritual of a vernal equinox variety called Indian Maidens, invented in the same era as bagged manure, potted plants, dandelions, and Ben Gay. You’ve never heard of Indian Maidens? I’m not surprised. I’ll bet you also didn’t know fathers could sit cross legged on the floor for an hour as their knees melted into mush and their teeth ground to nubbins, whichever came first. It all began one spring day when my daughter Tracy came home from the third grade and made t...
Whenever summer rears its heated head, I always recall an ancient ritual of a vernal equinox variety called Indian Maidens, invented in the same era as bagged manure, potted plants, dandelions, and Ben Gay. You’ve never heard of Indian Maidens? I’m not surprised. I’ll bet you also didn’t know fathers could sit cross legged on the floor for an hour as their knees melted into mush and their teeth ground to nubbins, whichever came first. It all began one spring day when my daughter Tracy came home from the third grade and made t... Full story
When I was in my mid-youth crisis, Burma Shave signs on America’s roads were as common and comfortable as old shoes. Whenever a new one cropped up, we repeated its rhyming couplets over and over from bar stools to pulpits. For you younguns, Burma Shave signs were little poems obligingly spaced line by line along highways so they could be read aloud as you whizzed by at 50 miles an hour, the speed limit in those good old Depression days. Burma Shave signs were everywhere, and most often they had nasty things to say about bad d...
When I was in my mid-youth crisis, Burma Shave signs on America’s roads were as common and comfortable as old shoes. Whenever a new one cropped up, we repeated its rhyming couplets over and over from bar stools to pulpits. For you younguns, Burma Shave signs were little poems obligingly spaced line by line along highways so they could be read aloud as you whizzed by at 50 miles an hour, the speed limit in those good old Depression days. Burma Shave signs were everywhere, and most often they had nasty things to say about b...
Comparing Father’s Day to Mother’s Day is like weighing Saturday night in Sundown, Texas, to New Year’s Eve at Times Square. No one says, “Let’s go watch some paint dry in Sundown for Father’s Day this year.” But they might as well. I’m convinced this lowly status of Father’s Day is because years ago certain pronouncements became popular that kept papas in a rumble seat compared to mamas. Such as: • A father is the kin you love to touch. • A father is a man who is working his kid’s way through college. • A father is...
My wife Marilyn nagged me into writing a funny, poignant, offbeat family story in 100 words or less so she could win a Luxury Edition SUV the size of a Sherman tank. The contest advertisement stated that the SUV had all-wheel drive, a premium sound system, a wide load permit, and an option to buy shares in an oil company. I told her the last thing I wrote in l00 words or less was a note to the bug man who came once a month to stir up insects in the house, but she wouldn’t listen. “Face it,” she said, “you just don’t l...
June always reminds me of Stephen Duck, the favorite poet of Queen Charlotte the Illustrious, wife of King George II of England, circa l683-1760. I don’t know why Duck sticks in my mind. I suppose it’s his name. Duck was a self-made bard who wrote “The Thresher’s Labour,” which caught the eye of Queen Charlotte, who brought him to London, gave him a yearly pension of 30 pounds, and encouraged him to write even worse poems, which he did, and that’s probably why you’ve never heard of Duck. And that takes care of that. But June... Full story
June always reminds me of Stephen Duck, the favorite poet of Queen Charlotte the Illustrious, wife of King George II of England, circa l683-1760. I don’t know why Duck sticks in my mind. I suppose it’s his name. Duck was a self-made bard who wrote “The Thresher’s Labour,” which caught the eye of Queen Charlotte, who brought him to London, gave him a yearly pension of 30 pounds, and encouraged him to write even worse poems, which he did, and that’s probably why you’ve never heard of Duck. And that takes care of that. But June... Full story
June always reminds me of Stephen Duck, the favorite poet of Queen Charlotte the Illustrious, wife of King George II of England, circa l683-1760. I don’t know why Duck sticks in my mind. I suppose it’s his name. Duck was a self-made bard who wrote “The Thresher’s Labour,” which caught the eye of Queen Charlotte, who brought him to London, gave him a yearly pension of 30 pounds, and encouraged him to write even worse poems, which he did, and that’s probably why you’ve never heard of Duck. And that takes care of that. But June...
Now that Mother’s Day is just a tumbleweed on yesterday’s fencepost, it’s time to light the big bonfire under Father’s Day, which is June 16. (Lots of bells and whistles here accompanied by more prize-winning metaphors.) Anyway, why should the distaff side of parenthood get all the hullabaloo each year? I mean, isn’t it enough we gave them the vote and the Miss America Pageant? Gee whiz, what more do they want — a national holiday celebrating Marie Bobbit? What I say is let’s take a much-needed paternal look at these holiday...
Now that Mother’s Day is just a tumbleweed on yesterday’s fencepost, it’s time to light the big bonfire under Father’s Day, which is June 16. (Lots of bells and whistles here accompanied by more prize-winning metaphors.) Anyway, why should the distaff side of parenthood get all the hullabaloo each year? I mean, isn’t it enough we gave them the vote and the Miss America Pageant? Gee whiz, what more do they want — a national holiday celebrating Marie Bobbit? What I say is let’s take a much-needed paternal look at these holiday...
This is a good day to brush up on your natural camouflage, otherwise called selective coloration by guys in white jackets who are picky about descriptive terms. My own invisibility is a case in point, but also a nuisance for my wife Marilyn who insists I could be arrested if I rely on it. You see, I’m convinced that at times I have total anonymity or camouflage, whichever the case may be, and that no one would ever guess what happened if I walked nonchalantly into a bank and out the back door with gobs of money stuffed in m...
This is a good day to brush up on your natural camouflage, otherwise called selective coloration by guys in white jackets who are picky about descriptive terms. My own invisibility is a case in point, but also a nuisance for my wife Marilyn who insists I could be arrested if I rely on it. You see, I’m convinced that at times I have total anonymity or camouflage, whichever the case may be, and that no one would ever guess what happened if I walked nonchalantly into a bank and out the back door with gobs of money stuffed in m... Full story
