Time out

 

          Good evening, 919 Gang. We have a trainload of really good stories for you tonight, and it pains me to bail on you, but I am not in great shape and I’m just not up to handling it all. I will catch up tomorrow. Promise.

Tell us, Nick

 

          Good evening, 919 Gang. I have some questions for Nick Canepa. The Chargers played (more or less) in New Jersey Sunday. I am guessing they returned to Los Angeles on a chartered jet. I am thinking there was food on that plane. I am betting it was more than bags of peanuts. I am wondering if there was alcohol on the plane.

          Nick, I realize you didn’t’ make that flight, but you have joined the Chargers on other flights. Please tell us what it’s like. Anecdotes more than welcome.

 

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JONATHAN HELLER writes:

          Thank you to Ernie Cowan for the kind words about my career. I have great respect for Ernie, too. When I was just getting started at the old Times-Advocate in the '90s, I got to know Ernie as an outdoor writer and photographer whose work regularly appeared in the T-A. But just as important, Ernie was kind and generous with his time, answering my questions and providing tons of Escondido trivia and lore to aid me in my reporting. Thank you, Ernie.

 

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          STAN LINHORST writes:

You kindly wrote birthday greetings for me, so I’ll return the favor and write. I still spend my days doing family-history research. Many stories about relatives/ancestors I never knew about start with a discovery in old newspapers.  

For instance: The St. Louis Globe-Democrat reports my Great-Granduncle Anton Goldammer, an immigrant living in East St. Louis, patented a device in 1895 “for registering shaves, hair cuts, shampoos, etc.” He saw the need because his father-in-law was a barber. Great-Great-Granduncle Henry Hesse, another immigrant, survived being shot in the head during the Battle of Cole Camp in central Missouri during the Civil War. Thank goodness he was fighting on the Union side. So was Great-Great-Granduncle Ferdinand Rafert, an immigrant who was a boatman on the Ohio River before the war. He enlisted May 9, 1861, and was discharged June 19, 1864, when he was 20 years old. I don’t think he was wounded, but Ferdinand never really recovered from the war. He lived in a soldiers’ home at Marion, Ind., and died alone Sept. 8, 1907, at the National Veterans Home in Leavenworth, Kan. His personal belongings were sold for $2.30. The money was sent to his brother, my great-great-grandfather farming in Nebraska. 

One of my finds was a headline-grabbing story about my Great-Grandfather William Schulz. He died Wednesday, Sept. 6, 1916, on his 66th birthday, near Hillsboro, Mo. Here’s the account published Thursday, Sept. 7, 1916, on the front page of the weekly Jefferson County Record: 

“Wm. Schulz, a farmer North of town, celebrated the 45th anniversary of his coming to the United States Tuesday. The celebration lasted until late in the afternoon and William left town somewhat intoxicated. He usually drives fast but he drove so fast Tuesday that his young son “Johnny” sprang out of the buggy and his father went on. When nearing home the elder Schulz was thrown from the buggy and it is supposed that one of its wheels passed over his neck. 

“At any rate, he was picked up badly bruised about the face and Wednesday his neck was swollen badly and he was almost wholly paralyzed. Dr. Mockbee was called and the case was so serious that Dr. Farrar was called in consultation. What the final outcome may be no one knows, but it is to be hoped that Schulz recovers and that he profits by his experience. This is not his first adventure and we trust will not be his last, but we hope his future adventures will be safe and sane. 

“Later: Mr. Schulz died Wednesday at 7:30 p.m.” 

William’s widow, my Great-Grandmother Bertha, died of a heart condition 19 days later. 

 

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BRIAN CLARK writes:

These are the photos of my tomatoes in the dehydrator and the end results that I thought I sent yesterday:

 

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          REBER: We close out the month wishing a very Happy Birthday on Sept. 30 to Jeanne Brooks, Ann Jarmusch and Dee Anne Traitel.

          It would be great if each of you gave us a few graphs about your post U-T lives.

Nick knows all

 

          Good evening, 919 Gang. I started my Sunday by reading Nick

\Canepa’s column, of course. He wrote that although the Chargers were undefeated, they had a major problem with the offensive line.

          Later we watched the Chargers lose to the Giants, and guess what their major problem was … yep, the offensive line, just as Nick wrote.

 

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          HAL FUSON writes:

I’m happy to see that 919ers are chipping in at a much better rate than they were a few weeks ago. Perhaps an unfortunate side effect of that trend is that I have a few stories to share. Here’s one from my time on the desk at the Houston Post in 1969 when my day job was teaching journalism in Houston.

          Copy desks, back when there were such things, sometimes became parking places to put people who didn’t move quite as fast on their feet as the average reporter. One of the oldest, who had been on sick leave and had returned to the desk about the time I joined, had one distinctive feature uncommon among rim rats: he was nearly blind. His sick leave had related to the vision problem. He may not have been quite retirement age, and as was sometimes more likely to be the case with family-held businesses like The Post, he was allowed to return to his position. Perhaps a few more weeks on the payroll would qualify him for a better pension.

          Most of us worked late afternoon and evening shifts, The Post being a morning newspaper with pressroom deadlines starting after dinner. Our colleague with the vision problem and a certain deep grumpiness would be handed stories that he would mark up and hand back to the slot. At about six or so, he would pack his bag and leave. The slot would then recirculate some of the marked-up stories to others on the rim and toss the others. The first time I got one of those mark-ups, I was puzzled by the marks, which were incomprehensible and seemed to have no relationship to the typescript. I realized that our colleague couldn’t see to read copy, but was too proud just to sit back and twiddle his thumbs.

 

I learned later that the bag he carried wasn’t just for his lunch. It was a rough neighborhood that the Post was soon to leave for a new building. My colleague was a bit frail and felt vulnerable, so, being a Texan, he took precautions: there was a handgun in the bag, just in case. Fortunately, he never pointed it at me. 

 

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          ERNIE COWAN writes:

I have great respect for Jonathan Heller and his resume’ as both a journalist and a public information specialist. However, we also did surveys on SANDAG and there was huge support for a new, larger, accessible and safe regional airport. 

We all know San Diego’s history of getting voters to approve anything the power elite wants. Just look at the trash vote.  And last, we never wanted a joint use facility. The military had viable options, including Yuma and Camp Pendleton for their aviation needs.  

          And while Jonathan is correct that technically the airport was only closed a few hours, the recovery lasted for nearly two days, a situation not likely to happen if we had a multi-runway facility.  

 

          STEVE DROESSLER writes:

Re. Airport: thank goodness the airport didn’t move. Imagine the mess of excessive commercial & residential development we would have along the bay. And it would allow developers to line the bay with miles of high-rise concrete & glass buildings north of downtown. ALSO, the airport stops building of skyscrapers because of the proximity to the airport. It was the one time developers lost, despite millions of dollars of trying to move the airport. As for the one-runway issue, it’s working out just fine.

 

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          BRIAN CLARK writes:

At every newspaper where I worked in my career, someone would bring in zucchinis from their garden around this time of year, some as big as children's inflated baseball bats. That happens when you go away for a three-day weekend, leaving behind a six-inch zuke and return to find it had stretched to 36 inches. OK, I exaggerate.  Biut only a little. 

          In any case, I did not grow any zucchini this summer. But lots and lots of tomatoes, so many that I couldn't give them all away to my neighbors.  Then I remembered the dehydrator in my basement, where it had been hibernating for more than a decade.  So I dusted and cleaned it up. And then I  sliced my fruit and dried four layers overnight, which left my 1929 abode smelling like some nonna's apartment on Chicago's South Side.  I shall dry more and sprinkle them on salads in the  deepest, darkest days of January or February to remind of these glory days of autumn.  Why, I may even use them in some pasta. Capiche?

 

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          REBER: Before September gets away, we want to wish a Happy Birthday on Sept. 29 to Tom Krasovic and Logan McKechnie.