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Alumni Sandstorm Archive ~ Frank Osgard (63-sorta)
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08/10/98 (Missed '63 Reunion) ~ 08/23/98 (Drag Places)
09/05/98 (Back To School) ~ 11/29/98 (THE "movie")
03/21/99 (Who IS "Big Frank"? ~ 03/26/99 (Box Contents)
04/09/99 (Welsian Fishing) ~ 12/06/99 (Buying the Tree)
12/07/99 ('63 - sorta) ~ 12/08/99 (Server Problems)
12/12/99 (Patrol Boy Xmas Party ~ 12/23/99 (Used Annuals)
01/09/00 (Howard Thomas Nowalk) ~ 01/19/00 (Drum Circle)
01/23/00 (Y2R) ~ 02/03/00 (R2K/Chili Feed Results)
02/14/00 (Valentine's Day) ~ 02/23/00 (Breakfast)
02/25/00 (Sanders Field) ~ 03/05/00 (50s TV shows)
03/08/00 (Newspaper Deliveries)
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8/10/98 Alumni Sandstorm
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>From Jim Hamilton (63)
Received this letter from Frank Osgard
today, thought you might enjoy.
Dear Jimbeaux,
Sorry I missed the reunion. I would love to
attend, but still have trouble dealing with the
clothes I wore to our 10th reunion. I don't know
why I thought a pair of white patent leather
loafers and a matching belt would get folks to sit
back and say, "Hey, Old Frank is doing OK". I
devoted a lot of time to make sure that I would be
looking "so sharp", that people would forget about
my Graduation Night indescretion on the Columbia
Queen, but I was wrong. That initial reunion was
the inagural trip to Richland for my first wife. I
had bought that paisley shirt with the John
Travolta long point collar to wear with my sky
blue Glen Campbell leisure suit. Then as we were
all crowded in the bar out at the "K of C Smoker
Drinker (fromerly known as the post office where
we used to go to see if Stanley Middelton was on
the wanted posters, yet)", someone yelled "FIRE".
I'm not sure if it was really spontaneous
combustion from all of that polyester and
hairsray, but I lost about 4" off my left "huck'a
huck'a burnin' love" Elvis sideburn. That was when
wife number one bolted and ran, never to be seen
again.
On second thought, I think that was probably
wife number two. I don't remember much else about
her, but I do know that number one would have
probably gone up in smoke as she is currently in a
12 step program for polyester, big hair and cheap
jewelry abuse. Number one was from Kennewick, but
spent her formative years in North Richland in the
trailer courts and went to John Ball. When she was
six, they moved to one of those houses up by
Sanders Field and Zeb's Ratiator Shop, that only
had a basement. We first met crawling under the
fence at that Drive-in down by the Y. Me thinks it
was a "buck nite", which should have clued me to
the fact that she wouldn't be real quick with
numbers. Her brother worked at the roller rink
down by Tastee Freeze and always wore black. He
could smoke real cool, and skate backwards with
his hands in his pockets. He still can and he
still does.
Did you ever wonder why our folks always said
the Roller Rink was such a horrible place? It was
Ok to go there if it was a church deal, but no
other time. My sister went there on a birthday
party and with the Blue Birds a couple of times.
If memory serves me right, I think it was over
Chicken ala'King that she asked what has come to
be known at "The Hickey Question". No way I can
recreate the logic, but to Mom, Hickey = Roller
Rink. We never went there again. We had
experienced similar drama over the pool hall at
the "Rec Hall". I guess that is where "Uncle
Sugar's Finest" from Camp Hanford went to eyeball
High School girls. I can close my eyes and still
smell it. I remember it with the same exhileration
that you reserved for the first day of school, or
maybe the ski bus. Pinball machines, Pools Tables
and Bowling Alleys. Probably the place which God
himself would have chosen to put peanuts in his
Pepsi, and learn to smoke.
Gotta rip, the wife is stranded down at
Costco. She locked herself out of the Volarie and
that case of Kid Bars is starting to melt. I'll
run down with a coat hanger and grab her a couple
of those Hebrew National Polish Sausages for a
buck. And she says we never go anywhere.
More later,
Frank
SEMPER BOMBERUS
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8/23/98 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From Jim Hamilton (63)
mailto:waeaux@webtv.net
Another to me from Frank Osgard. He sent another
msg that he meant Pepsi rather than pizza, in his
reference to the "Big Y Tavern", I think Hawkin's
mother was the gray haired lady of which he
referred.
SEMPER BOMBERUS
--------------
Subject: I'm still stuck in let's remember
15 Aug 1998
Jimbeaux,
Jeeze,
I can't believe all the flack over my saying
that the Rec Hall was the best place to put
peanuts in your pepsi and learn to smoke. Is there
ANYONE who doesn't have an opinion? The signal
station below Carmichael got a lot of votes, as
well as the bus station on G.W.Way. There was a
surprisingly large number of votes for Boy Scout
meetings and Church Youth Group meetings.
My mom referred to the Signal Station as the
"Rat Hole". It was inhabited after school by a
bunch of guys in jeans (with tow buckled skinny
belts) and teeshirts with rolled up sleeves. Most
of these guys had (and some still have) "DA's,
Flat Tops with Fenders and an occasional Wally
Cleaver Jelly Roll. No tennis shoes or fruit boots
here, these cats wore "mile high" thick soled
wedgie shoes, some with the soles painted white.
These weren't white buck frat boys. Speaking of
wedgies, that's what you got if you stood too
close to Wally Meyers. He was on Big League Bad
Ass. He's probably in the Rotary Club now, selling
Amway and driving a nine year old Dodge Caravan
with pink dice hanging from the mirror, full of
kids and his third wife, but back then he was some
kind of a serious dirt boppin' Mike Tyson.
I digress
Any of the windbreaks were a great place to
smoke, but there were always a lot of bugs and
irrigation water, so one really couldn't sit down
and have discourse with your friends. Another
negative was no pop machine. Curley's 76 and
Wascher's Mobil have gotten some mention as a good
place, if your folks or their friends didn't buy
gas there. The bus station was cool 'cause it had
pinballs, but the machine to buy smokes was
outside in the sun, so you could count on your
Pall Malls to burn faster than detcord. The good
news was that they only cost a quarter. It also
had a back door, in case your Aunt came in on the
Greyhound from Salt Lake. Quane claims they had a
bar there, and food. It did have a pin ball
baseball game, that's where my lunch money went.
Of course you could always have a heater at Hi-
Spot, and don't forget the library. You could suck
down a Lucky and fine tune your plagerization
skills at the same time. Steal couple of smoke
from the folks, and fill out a couple of dozen 3x5
cards with all kind of minutia about George
Bernard Shaw and his claim to literary prominence.
We seldom needed to go to the library after the
Old Man bought a used set of World Book. He saw
them advertised in the Works News that came out
every Friday. The "Trading Post" was his favorite
part. I remember that there were always pictures
of someones Dad getting a safety prize, a perfect
attendance pin and then a couple of columns of
killer deals on cars, old furnaces, bicycles and
kittens. That parat must have eventually become
the Big Nickle. There was always pretty major
coverage of Fire Prevention Parades and Atomic
Frontier Days.
Back to encyclopedias, the Old Man figured that
all you needed to know was in Volumes 1-13. Even
though they were ten or more years old and made no
mention of Joseph Stalin or television, "Don't
make me get out of this chair, you can damn well
find it if you'll just look".
Heard from some folks that went to the reunion,
that spudnuts are two bits, I can't believe it.
Wife number one, was from Kennewick, but never
developed a taste for those little rings of
grease. Spudnuts and Apple Juice were the main
stay of every Halloween party. She (wife number
one) had an infatuation with Maple Bars from Wild
Bill''s down at the "Y". I think she developed the
taste when her Dad would buy the kids a bag of day
olds and and a couple of pizzas, then leave them
(the kids that is) in the car while de ducked into
the "Big Y Tavern" for a couple of hours to pound
"red oly's" and play shuffle board. Some gray
haired gal who owned the place, whose name escapes
me, would run him off after about three hours. He
would navigate home by landmarks. Up the road past
the Buck Private, turn right after Ray's Grocery
where he bought his crappie bait. Go past Hank's
Auction and then straight through the Mad Turk
Intersection, at what time the old Kaiser he drove
would go on auto pilot. Like an old fire horse to
the barn.
Is it true that they have opened up the old
Fred English as a B&B, that might be a very
appropriate place for our next reunion. That's
another place I really wanted to visit, like the
Ritz Rooms and the Waldorf Hotel in Walla Walla.
But alas, I never made it.
Was watching some drag race shown on TNN last
Sunday, and swear I saw a couple a couple of the
old Columbia Park regulars from the early 60's.
They had a couple more chins, had gained a lot of
weight, but they had the same tee-shirts and
haircuts. I miss the sounds of those friday night
drags. Cecil Howard uncapping his lake pipes
(actually 2" galvanized pipe) and the pulsating
sounds of Duane Eddy out of the reverb unit on
someones '50 Ford. Hearts never beat as fast as
when someone yelled "COPPPPPPS", except of course
when the chant of "ON TO STATE, ON TO STATE"
began.
Gotta check off now, since Wrestle Mania XII is
this evening. I'm pulling for Steve Austin to
crack open a "Big old can of Whupass" and take
care of Hulk Hogan, and that stupid black beard.
What an idiot
Frank
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9/5/98 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Jim Hamilton (63)
mailto:jimbeaux@webtv.net
Me thinks we should buy Frank's fax and put him
into the 20th century. He isn't online at home so
he faxes everything for me to scan or put in
manually.
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3 Sep '98
jimbeaux,
Can't believe I'm still in the "Back to School
mode" after all these years. We have two, count
'em sport fans, two 4th graders this year. My
Grandson from wife number one and "our own" from
me having cashed in a bundle of Oly four dotters
one night with the then soon to be current Mrs.
Osgard. That was another reason I wasn't in too
big of a hurry to make the last reunion. Some of
the "Thick Bank" Cats like Plows are retired and
I'm still looking at another year of coaching "Tee
Ball".
Went down to the Super 99 (nothing over a buck)
to do some shopping for school supplies with the
boys. Would love to say they are cute and well
behaved, but they ain't, not even. I figured, what
the hell, a couple of Pee-Chees, an Indian Chief
Tablet (the one with the hunks of wood still in
the paper) and a couple of no. 2 pencils. An 8 or
16 box of crayons and some of that paste that we
used to eat (it had strange medicinal powers that
countered the effects of drinking irrigation
water, DDT, unsprayed stolen green fruit and
afternoons spent at the George Prout Memorial swim
and pee). I would have bought them one of those
maga crayola boxes with 48 colors, if they had
behaved, but after the crap they pulled with the
slurpies, no way. I had to have my tonsils removed
to rate a box, damned if I'm gonna get them one
for acting like McCoy. Remember when we thought
"Property of US Government" was a brand of pens.
It was those ball point pens that our Dads
liberated from the project, or we stole from the
Post Office when we went to see if Stan Middleton
had made the Most Wanted posters, yet. I had a
blue lip and tongue for the first three months of
fifth grade from sucking on a pen. I looked like
that idiot Hulk Hogan and his stupid new beard.
That coupled with my indiscretion on the Columbia
Queen on Graduation Night, has pretty much kept me
in the no-show column every five years or so. I
spit blue til I worked in the spuds, then I spit mud.
I'll bet that's why Dewey never shows up, even
though he moved away in junior high. He ate
crayons and paste and why they put him in the
front row for that class picture, I'll never know.
I think that's why they made the boys at Christ
the King wear those salt and pepper cords, so
nobody would know when they peed their pants.
Rusted zippers might have been a problem. Haven't
talked to him for a couple of years. He pretty
much squared himself away after he left Richland.
He was very highly decorated as a Marine Corps
pilot after considerable athletic success (maybe
even All-American) in college and went on to
become a Federal Judge. Hard if not impossible to
believe considering he almost drowned in Welsian
Lake trying to poach ducks with a fish net, a
couple of pictures of some loaves of Donald Duck
bread and a large ball of twine.
Recalling the first day of school reminds me of
the drama at Carmichael.
One must remember that this was before the
terms "gifted" and "challenged" were chic. You
would show up for the first day and find your name
scotch taped to the door of some class room. You
would find that you had been designated "7-5".
Now as I recall, 7-1 meant you were in the AM
smart class. Three hours with Gary LeClair, Rosann
Benedict and the like. 7-5 meant you were with
MeDo Smith, Pinhead Stephens and girls in fuzzy
sweaters (with great potential I might add).
Nothing to build up the self esteem of a seventh
grader in the early stages of being strung out on
Clearasil than to be put under the tutalage of
Miss Ruby, first name Luella if memory serves me
correct. Actually self esteem was under the
purview of Howard Chitty, need I say more?
But I digress,
Nothing was below 7-5. 7-6 wasn't, it was the
after lunch smart class. And so we had our first
bite from the the reality sandwich. More so than
we got in the lunch room. Lunches in the 7th grade
were cho-cho ice cream bars and corn chips from
the school store. You could get it all for two
bits, leaving you a dime for a Nehi-Grape at the
Rat Hole from the lunch money you got from your
folks. I always imagined that at Chief Joe they
had cucumber sandwiches and a desert menu, but the
Hyatts clued me in later.
Gonna take the bride and all of the darlings to
the fair tonight. Lots of rides, Pigs (and live
stock too) and not so subtle reminders that the
gene pool could use a little chlorine. Went to the
Benton County Fair once to see Jimmy Lynch and the
Hell Drivers. They didn't do anything that I
hadn't seen Irwin do better. Except maybe their
Dukes of Hazard ramp to ramp jump, through the
ring of fire, in reverse. The sheep always make me
think of "Pitts" and Whitside, the sno-cones
remind me of Frontier Days. Knew a girl once who
won a chicken by dropping a dime into a shot glass
at the bottom of a jug of water. I threw up on the
"Tilt a Whirl" and/or maybe "The Hammer" or
probably both.
Gonna go out and slaughter some Doves this
weekend. I love all of God's creatures, that's why
I shoot 'em. Let me know when you'll be passing
through again. Next time I'll be more diligent
stripping the ears of corn before we eat them.
Honest, no more surprises, or half surprises.
Your Friend,
Frank
SEMPER BOMBERUS
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11/20/98 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard as sent to Jim Hamilton (63)
mailto:rhs63@webtv.net
Thought I would share some of Frank's deepest thoughts
- jimbeaux
SEMPER BOMBERUS
November 18, 98
Jimbeaux -
Can't find the e-mail address for Chico Taylor,
but thought you might have it and could pass this
along. I'm on the horns of a Dalmation, and needed
some help from the master of Sexual
Misinformation.
I think I told you that I've got two fourth
grade boys living with us. My grandson from wife
Numero Uno (all I remember from Senior Maruca,
except for that "Gift D") and the fruit of my
loins, with the current Mrs. O. As luck would have
it, they are in the same classroom and, and have
all the social skills and deportment of McCoy and
Norman Hill. Thank God, for all of the experience
I gained setting in Lyda's office, I'm no longer
intimidated going into the Principal's office. The
Boy's Principal is a Big Gal who wears Big
Glasses, Big Jewelry, Blazers with Big shoulder
pads and is Big on "Focus, Co-Operation,
Consideration, High Self Expectations and Higher
Personal Goals". Have spent a lot of time with
her, these first 67 days of school and now I know
how my Old Man felt. Sorry Pop.
She thinks all of her charges are just this
close to a full scholarship and early admission to
some small liberal arts college. Me, I'm thinking
Back Hoe Operator.
The boys came in all jacked up last night,
'cause they brought home a parental permission
slip, to see the YOU KNOW WHAT VIDEO. "VIDEO", I
said, "All we got was some Dukane phonograph
record and film presentation, and even then we had
to wait until the eighth grade". The fourth grade
action for us boys, was getting to go out and play
kick ball at 10:00am. While the girls went in the
gym to see a film and came out with a whole bunch
of light blue folders and a wide eyed look of
disbelief, not seen again until they got snow
tires for a Christmas gift. I'm sure the boys
think the film will feature Pamela Lee or some
other Baywatch beauty. We can go see the film at a
special PTA showing in the library, but I gave
that a hardy Pasadena. Don't like to think about
sex and those PTA wives at the same time. Last
Summer when we went to Reno for a bowling deal,
the kids ran up a $35.00 bill on movies in the
room. I'm not so sure this one will add a lot.
My question, was what was the BIG DEAL about
the film in eighth grade. As I recall, the girls
watched it in a separate room. As a further
safeguard, Chitty turned off all the hot water in
the showers, and they canceled the sock hop for
that month. They didn't want some hormone crazed
eighth grade boys, loose at mid court trying to
Dirty Bop. Taylor he had about 40% of the
information kinda right, and the rest all really
screwed up. Those summer afternoons at the Public
Library, reading the medical books, gave new
meaning to "a little bit of knowledge is
dangerous". I think he was the reason Hyatt's dog
"Pepper" was a little twisty.
Thanksgiving is coming and so are the
relatives, I call it the "six toe show". You know,
the best turkey dinners I ever had were those
school lunch specials. All of that anticipation
and then you plopped down your little ticket, got
the plate and ended up sitting on a chair 13" off
the ground. I think it was the way all of the
foods ran together and mixed with the melting ice
cream bar. It wasn't chili and cinnamon rolls. Of
course, nothing was a good as Chili and Cinnamon
rolls, but it was great. Remember how when we used
to go to the basketball games out at Ki-Be or
Burbank (to pick up chicks) on Friday night, their
"Cafenasium" always smelled like egg salad. My
mother never made egg salad for us, we had to have
it with white bread at school. Loved that white
bread, don't get it any more, Mrs. Osgard says
it's not healthy and buys Orowheat. I was all for
it, til I found out Orowheat had nothing to do
with Oreos.
Gonna go check myself out on TNN. We went to a
Monster Truck Race that they filmed for Friday
Night Thunder. We were in the front row, so look
for me. Gonna hear my Hoooo-Hoooo-Hoooo on our
surround sound.
Frank
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3/21/99 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard
TO Jimbeaux -
This is one ticked off cowboy.
Wait a minute while I untie this noose from the
plumbing, put my pistol back in the drawer, take
my finger out of the light socket, get my foot out
of this stupid bucket of water and put on a band
aid where I cut on my wrist.
I can't even believe that John Atkins from "The
lost cause class of '62" could deal out all that
tripe about who "Big Frank" was. First they steal
all of our favorite fuzzy sweaters, leaving us
only Pep Club girls, and now they've besmirched my
credibility. For years I told anyone who would
listen, and several who wouldn't, that I was "The
Big Frank". I even told that to the first Mrs.
Osgard, who I met sneaking into a buck night
double feature at the drive in. She was very
impressed, and the rest is history. That might
even have been the night that Hoff, Speer, Howard,
et al, stole the pizzas.
I've decided that to get the straight facts, we
need an investigation. Not just any
investigation, I want an Independent Council,
before they change the law. I think Kenny "The
Uniscammer" Wright, would be my choice. Ken, now
is that a coincidence or what, believes in Truth,
Justice and the American Way. However, he is not a
fanatic, and I'm pretty sure could be bought, paid
off and in my back pocket in a heart beat. He also
owes me, "Big Frank", 'cause I bought a bunch of
his overpriced Popov Vodka in the lobby of The
Camlin back in '63. An interesting aside would be
that none of our classmates named their daughters
"Cammie", or so says the Good Book put out by
Linda Boehning every five years or so. Back to the
investigation, I feel that exoneration is at hand.
Even if I lose, I'll get my 15 minutes of fame
when I'm interviewed by Cousin Ben Roscoe on KALE
radio, between episodes of The Cinnamon Bear.
From all indications at reunions and the like,
the numbers of "Big Frank" members has grown
exponentially over the last 35 or so years. Must
be caused by the same malady, that makes old fat
guys buy Harleys. When they had hair they wanted
a new "Chevy", now they got no hair and they want
a Hog with all the leather and fringe they can
afford to pay way too much for. Might be a common
connection to the Flume, DDT, drinking irrigation
water and wearing those thin soled black tennis
shoes in elementary school.
Oh yeah, what's this Y2K thing. I copied out of
Ralph Lee's chemistry workbook, so I didn't max
the facts that Vic Hubbard put out daily. I
checked the periodical table and nothing makes any
sense. What's your take?
Gotta rip, and watch them Gonzaga Bulldogs on
the tube. Oly goes better with Gonzaga, Duke gets
a microbrew and MSU rates a beer and a bump.
Clear my name,
-Frank
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3/26/99 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard
Jimbeaux -
Have been digging through some crap that my Mom
boxed up when they moved out of the Precut and
into the Mobile home. Could never figure out the
"mobile" part as it didn't have any axles or
tires. They did keep the hitch deal thing, on the
front and I've got the scars on my shin to prove
it. I always thought it looked like an aluminum
"B" house. A velveeta cheesebox, with a carport
and flying ducks and butterflies that go nowhere
in the wind.
Back to the box, some really great stuff here.
The current Frau "O", calls it shit 'cause it
ain't hers, if it were hers, it would be stuff
too. I've got damn near a dozen, make that six,
Green stamp books from Campbell's. I've still got
the glue taste in my mouth, got any idea where I
might cash 'em in? Makes you wonder about whatever
happened to loyalty. My mom was always a
Campbell's shopper. They built that new Safeway,
where you could read comics at a table in the
front, we checked it out, but she always went back
to #1 down at Comstock and Goethals. They would
sell you smokes there, if you had a note from your
parents. You could cash in pop bottles, but my mom
would buy the beer bottles and mixer bottles from
me, so people wouldn't think………. It was right by
Pottsy's (Furman, not that dufus on Happy Days)
Rainbow gas station. The Old Man traded there,
until Pottsy built the new station between Paul's
Hobby Shop and the Village Theater. Later he
shopped around, but never for price.
Found a pencil from Cahoon Motors, Lee at
Stevens where they sold Studebakers. Studebaker
was the only car company to go out of business
while they were still making money. Rob Hills
sometimes drove a Lark, as did Dave Shultz. Rob's
was a real dog, while Dave's had a V-8. I found 27
Olympia four dotters, how many do I need to cash
in for something?
There's a train ticket and a key from the
Camlin, room 614 (they still smell like beer and
cigarettes). A patch from the YMCA ski school, and
the plate from the emergency exit on the ski bus.
A pine cone with some candle wax on it from church
camp at Camp Natches, must have salvaged it after
some last night affirmation campfire.
A super stiff blue and white whistle lanyard
made from that plastic braid crap at boy scout
camp. A wooden duck call with Norman Hill's
initials carved in the side. A Hi-Spot card from
1961-62 (it cost a buck), signed by Dave Pugh. An
orange plastic card with the number 12 that I
ripped off at A&W. There's a dance card from Tolo,
my junior year. I remember that dance, it was
"Camelot". I wore white socks with a dark green
suit. There are a couple of boy scout knives, that
I got for various Christmas's. They're stuck shut
with pine pitch from making Christmas Tree forts.
A well thumbed issue of ADAM magazine, that Chico
or Maulsby liberated from Johnny's Delicatessen.
I found a six inch ruler from Bunch-Finnigan in
Kennewick and a shoe horn from Galencamps Shoes,
where Bobby Chipmunk sold me those cardboard golf
shoes. My Patrol Boy pin from Lewis and Clark
(Twoooo-Ohhh-Sixxxxxxx). A bakelite disk with a
number on it from Ganzells barber shop. A picture
of me and Jim Maulsby, with Tony the Atomic Clown.
A laminated plastic shift knob, with another four
dotter label in the middle. Half a jar of "Lucky
Tiger Butch Wax" from the seventh grade. There's a
Sandstorm picture of the back of my head, taken at
"Bomber Bowl Cleanup". A swizzle stick and and an
umbrella from the Shirley Temple that some "Prawns
ordering Debutante" ordered at the "Top Hat" in
Pasco after the Thanksgiving Formal. A skate key,
for some roller skates that we nailed to a 2x4 for
Irwin to ride down Carmichael Hill. The
certificate from when I passed beginning swimming
at the George Prout swim and pee, signed by Jerry
Dudley (who didn't he teach to swim?)
Gotta go, these green stamps and four dotters
are burning a hole in my pocket.
Frank
p.s. What's the shelf life of a previously opened
bottle of Jade East?
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4/9/99 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard
Jimbeaux,
Fishing season is just around the corner, makes
me remember the early morning "dodge the hooks" at
Welsian. I think the Chipmunks had their picture
in the paper with a couple of those planted six
inch rainbows. Remember, Chitty actually had us go
fishing for P.E. Someone, can't recall just who,
hooked some poor girl in the top of the ear on
their backcast. And this was back when only Pasco
girls had pierced ears. Wasn't that pond pretty
well fished out by about 3pm on opening day?
Spring vacation was spent fishing for carp on the
Yakima with Chico, Pook, Plows, Maulsby and Norman
Hill.
Only thing else that happened down there was
Pook and Billy Joe Pickens, wading around bare
foot and cutting their feet on some glass, and
then Pook going back and cutting them again
showing us where he cut them the first time. I
guess Dewey tried to catch ducks down there with a
fish net, some string and a picture of some bread.
It was a picture of a loaf of Donald Duck bread
from a magazine. And now he is a Federal Judge.
Interesting, you asking me if I remembered the
phone number of Boyle Fuel Company. Do you
remember their number? I thought it was Fairfax
85421. When they sang "When you need Coal or Oil",
I thought they were saying "Kohler Oil". Starlight
Stairway was one of my favorite shows, nothing
like seeing a bunch of little kids making fools of
themselves, a lot like the talent shows at Lewis
and Clark. Spokane was the "Big City" and we
ooohed and aaaahed at the Zukor Building where Dr.
David Cowan, a 1960's HMO all in himself, put his
fingers in peoples mouths. At the same time he
validated parking, didn't discount for Canadian
Money (Hudson Bay Peso), and sponsored Wrestling
on Sunday afternoons and the Song Shoppe with Norm
Tewey on the Haommond Chord Organ. Hell, Walla
Walla was big time, but they didn't have a TV
station, just the Ritz Rooms.
The current Frau Frank has embarked on a new
career, handwriting analysis. She bought a course
at a garage sale, the book was missing, but she
has been listening to the tapes in her current
Volare. She has taken to analyzing the tomes and
tripe in my old yearbooks. It's difficult to
evaluate the "Bubble Letters" from our Sophomore
year, but she is hard after the only person who
was sincere, passionate and "sharing". Hope they
don't meet up in the powder room at the next
soiree for the Gold Medal Class of '63.
The "Player to be named later", in the trade
for the first Mrs. "O", wouldn't have cared. Her
motto of "Eat, Drink and Remarry", couldn't have
been more appropriate. Would love to have had her
handwriting checked, but the only thing she wrote
were checks and Visa slips.
Later, Gotta go watch a tee-ball game get
rained out. It's almost worth getting wet, 'cause
the Mothers are so young.
-Frank
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12/06/99 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
RE: Christmas Tree
Went out to buy a Christmas tree for the first
time in some while, and was shocked, SHOCKED at
the price. If I can be Frank (no pun intended) for
a minute eighty-five bucks is a bit much. I don't
mean to say we haven't had trees, only that I
haven't been privy to the purchases, what with
cable and all. There is a genetic deficiency in or
our family wherein the male of the species can't
pick out or decorate a decent tree. We are however
blessed, with the good sense not to say anything
about the one we end up with. My old man, would
make his own trees. We'd all head down to the Buck
Private and buy a couple of "Charlie Brown trees".
Back then there were only Christmas trees, and the
occasional X-Mas tree. No Ponderosa Pines,
Mountain Balsams or other Boutique species. He'd
tie the trees to the top of our Buick and bring
'em home, like he'd shot a deer. Then out would
come the drill and pocket knife. He'd find the
first bald area and drill a hole in the trunk, cut
a branch off of the "Donor Tree" sharpen the end
and stick the limb in the hole. Of course come
December 26th not all of the tree was equally
fresh. But all the better, ours was always the
first tree for the Christmas tree fort.
One year my Mom wanted to flock the tree, with
some stupid recipe she found in McCalls. We used
starch and food coloring and tried to blow it on
with the vacuum cleaner. Not good, not good at
all. The yard and fence were OK by spring. I think
there was too much wind. Had to make a second trip
to the Wild Bill's this time and buy a couple
more. Mom also got all ticked off one year and
sprayed a tumble weed pink and put little angles
on it (no lights, as those little twinkly jobs had
not yet been invented). Hung it from the ceiling.
The cat had a problem with it, and pulled it down
and tore it up in the middle of the night or so
the legend goes. Never had an artificial one, but
I'm thinking about it.
I do have a question: is it true that they quit
having those Christmas programs at the schools,
when parents quit buying their kids bathrobes? I
thought I read someplace that with no readily
available source of costumes for the Shepherds,
they just started canceling those annual pageants,
where the Kindergartners "Withed You A Merry
Cwithmuth". Maybe I'm wrong, and it was the
popularity of colored sheets and there was no
supply for those sappy looking choir capes made
out of old white sheets, with the big red plastic
bow.
Gotta go, the Bay Watch Holiday Special is
coming on and I want to tape it.
How 'bout them Bombers, huh
-Frank
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12/07/99 NOT published
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63-sorta)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
Due to some overdue library books, damaged (but
unused) textbooks and an overtumped "smoking out
by the autoshop" charge, I didn't exactly
graduate on time, or at all. Would have been in
the Gold Medal Class of 63, but had a little
problem digging up the cash and credits to make it
all legal. Had the school board accepted all nine
(9) credits I had "earned" in Mr. Welches Crafts
class laminating four dot Oly labels onto gear
shift knobs, I'd have been well on my way to
playing pinochle in the lounge at CBC.
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12/8/99 - not published
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
Re: Elvis's Colon
Our server appears to have what got Elvis, that
being an impacted colon. We're not too sure if
anything is coming out, or what, or how much if
you receive my drift. I have seen Elvis a couple
of times. once in concert, last August at Costco
scarfin' down the free samples on aisle 494 and
again last weekend on some Bible Thumpin', Holy
Roller, talkin'in tongues, mascara runnin', skin
tight polyester on women's bodies that are
screaming mumu-mumu, ratted hair waitin' to catch
fire, wearin' a Rolex just like Jesus, talk show
on channel 122. He didn't look bad for someone
who's been dead for 20 years. I had an Army friend
who was an Elivs impersonator. He couldn't sing or
play the guitar, but he died of a drug overdose.
-Frank
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12/12/99 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
RE: Patrol Boy Christmas Party
Put this in when you've got a slow day.
Your faithful servant,
-Frank
---------------------------
Going through some boxes this week, I found a
silver dollar. Might be all I brought back from a
trip to Reno. Kept as a reminder of a weekend best
forgotten. But then again, it might have been the
only thing I ever won. Unless you want to count
the my two year vacation, when that draft board in
Pasco picked my name to be one of Uncle Sugar's
finest. But, I'm pretty certain this is the silver
dollar I won at the Patrol Boy Christmas party on
a Friday, in December of '56.
As I recall we marched over to the Rec Hall
from Lewis and Clark, with the patrol girls who
had the responsibility of keeping order in the
halls. Resplendent in our red jackets, with white
Sam Brown belts (there weren't enough hats to go
around), we were marshaled by our Captain, Jerry
Kern (63). We mustered with all of the other
Patrol Boys from all over Richland in the big
games room where Ernie Curtis normally held court
and passed out pool chalk and ping pong balls.
There were a couple of not very memorable nor
motivational speeches by Officer Lodefink (who we
would all get to know better as time went by) and
Captain Miller. We then had the requisite
spudnuts, peppermint candy canes, watered down,
luke warm hot chocolate and visits from "Tony the
Atomic Clown" and probably Santa Claus.
There were some drawings for door prizes. Maybe
a bike from the hardware store. An extra movie
pass that all Patrol Boys in "Good Order" were
given as payment for daily putting their lives on
the line and raising the flag. Somehow I won a
silver dollar. I showed it to everyone, dropped it
several times, lost it more than once and spent
the rest of the day figuring out how I was going
to spend it. My choice was to buy a bottle of hand
cream at the dime store by CC Anderson's for the
girl who currently owned my heart. No Mary
Margaret, I'm not speaking of you, that was
another time.
During Mrs. Brinkman's noon dances, I'd noticed
her hands a little rough. A nice combination with
my sweaty palms during the Virginia Reel,
Schottische and all time favorite "The Grand
March". Wanting to be sure that a 30 cent bottle
of Evening in Paris hand lotion was the proper
gift, I took my time.
Bobby Chipmunk took the girl, and I've still
got the silver dollar.
Back to the Patrol Boy Christmas party. At the
end of the afternoon, we rendered a smart "Right
Hand Salute" right out of FM 22-5, marched back to
school for our afternoon tour of duty. Two-oh
–sixxxxx (it's a Lewis and Clark thing). I'm not
positive, but I'm pretty sure that's someone threw
up, someone wet their pants and someone cried
'cause they'd lost their candy cane.
For this Y2R clambake, how about a Patrol Boy
Picnic (I'll show'em my silver dollar), and a tour
of Fred English?
-Frank
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12/23/99 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
I kinda don't get it. But then again had I a few
more English credits, and fewer Industrial Craft
credits, not to mention the library fines, I’d
have a diploma and would probably understand. What
I don't get is, “If you buy or acquire a used
annual, do you automatically assume the persona of
the original owner”. This persona would be
identified by the drivel which covers the inside
in bubble letters and hormonally turbo charged
sophomoric cursive.
I don't have all of my annuals. Frau Frank the
First, used them as evidence when trying to peg me
as Frank the Philanderer, some years back. Her
claim that I had shown a predisposition to wander,
was supported by “Hope we can spend some time
together this summer”, “Boy, didn't we have fun in
Mr. Wheeler’s Contemporary World History Class”,
numerous “S.W.A.K.’s”, and the killer “Good luck
to you and ---------, you are a cute couple“.
She failed to include “Best of luck whoever you
are”, that was signed by Eileen, or Ellen or
Elaine somebody that starts with a W., (cant read
it, cause my eyesight ain't so hot, probably
should have listened to Mr. Chitty’s warnings) in
my Sophomore Columbian. That along with “Sorry
about Homecoming, but I really had to wash my
hair”, could have saved me some bucks. The judge
ultimately bought her story, and I ended up buying
her among other things, a Lifetime Membership at
Lady Fitness, a Sony Beta recorder and a red ’74
Firebird with an 8-track and Mary Kay decal in the
window.
Then of course there are those postings, which
you hope your parents or children never see. These
are concerned with damage to automobiles, parents
being away, expropriated cigarettes and wine, body
functions, skin conditions, the Camlin hotel and
are a veritable cornucopia of sexual
misinformation.
If today's schools really want to help kids,
they would teach them that “Annuals is forever”.
Sure as over 10,000 of you saw Darrel Renz that
Saturday night in 1960, someone, hopefully a
stranger will read what you wrote at a yard sale.
I wish someone would have given me that guidance.
It would have had a lot more value than, “Don't
drink out of the irrigation water spigot”. I
shudder to think what I probably wrote over my
much practiced and very distinctive “autograph”
signature (a bit of John Hancock, with Moon Eyes
and flames). Those musings are probably why I
don't get Christmas cards from Pook and Bob Irwin.
As it says on my tee-shirt from the Gold Medal
Class of 63 reunion, “Semper Bomberus”
2 cute + 2 be = 4 gotten
-Frank (63)
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1/9/00 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63 Honorary)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
Lately I've had a rough couple of days. Haven't
been sleeping well, tough to get on track, and
very easily distracted. Seems that my mind was
high centered on the date of January 9th. It kept
coming up (like a Costco hot dog), and I couldn't
for the life of me figure out why. It wasn't
Elvis’ birthday (the 8th), or the Day the Music
Died (Feb 3rd). Thought that maybe is was some
memorable first, though there aren't many of those
and none in January. Pook's birthday was in
December. The Chipmunk’s were February, and
Jimbeaux was September or October. It was too
early in the month to celebrate my “Gift C” from
Senor Marucca in Spanish II. I got my Drivers
License in December and my first ticket in June.
Kobe Choir Day was in April, so that couldn't have
been it. “The Presidents' Day Hatchet Sale”, when
all of the UpTown stores marked down their “Can't
give it away” stock was in February. Won a prize
for best decorated bike in the Fire Prevention
Parade, but that was October.
I was bewildered.
About 3:30 this morning, as I was breaking up a
cat fight out in the yard, I had an epiphany. all
right maybe that's a bit dramatic, but I finally
remembered.
It was back in late ’62 that Ken Wright, or
someone, traded me a Government Drivers License,
for a really bitchin' short sleeved Penguin
sweater. This was essential for me to get an early
start on my life's quest of searching for the
ultimate juke box . This fake ID allowed me to
visit the “Big Y”, “Bruce's Lucky 5 (they called
it the Teen Time Tavern, they wouldn't serve
anyone OVER 18)”, “The Round Up”, and the “The
Frontier”. I was a regular at “Bud & Marges”, in
Kiona or Benton City, I always got them confused.
They had a lot of Johnny Cash, B-9 was my
favorite, "Five Feet High and Rising". “Jackson's”
in Pasco, was for daylight field trips only. That
little card was also my ticket to the cooler at
Dietrich’s in West Richland and that fish bait
place out at the Y. It eliminated the ruse of the
top coat, snap brim hat, three jars of baby food
and personal hygiene products to mark me as a
“family man”, when the cart also had six cases of
Lucky Lager Quarts. It was also very effective at
"Duncan's Market" across from the Camlin for a
couple of March days in 1963. Yep, it made me some
friends.
So to you, Howard Thomas Nowalk, on your 62nd
birthday, where ever you might be. I'm gonna fill
my pockets with quarters and search for a juke
with a lot of Johnny Cash, that is worthy of your
contribution to my life, and not one of them new
ones with cd's either. If I can't find it in the
first place I’ll go look somewhere else, maybe one
that has a long shuffleboard and beer nuts.
-Frank
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1/19/00 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63WB)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
Whatta ya mean, Richland is not a very "Drum
Circle Kind of Place"? I've been away for quite a
while, but if memory serves me correctly, the boys
of the "Lost Cause Class of '62", were quite adept
at sitting in circles and....... Hey wait a
minute, they didn't have any drums.
Never mind
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1/23/00 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63Woulda Been) fosgard@hotmail.com
Gettin' pumped, I'yam (that's how Popeye would
have said it), about this Y2R thing. But I do
have a few questions.
1. What's the dress? Does each class have a
separate look? Like the "No Hope Class of '62" in
their sweat pants with fanny packs and contrasting
pastel BanLon shirts. Or the "White socks Class of
'64" in high water polyester pants, their
signature socks and b'b'b'brown wingtips. I
haven't been back since my white shoes, white belt
and big collar fiasco in '73. I'm a team player,
but I don't want to be too conspicuous.
2. What about the music at the dances. I
watched that John Travolta movie, with him as an
Angel, and have been practicing that really
bitchin' dance that he does in the tavern. I'm
getting better, but it won't play all that well if
they're spinning Chuck Berry and the Sharell's in
the Girl's Gym. I've tried to adapt it, but the
only fifties tunes I've got to practice with is
Richard Simmons "Sweating to the Oldies". I have a
hard time doing my "Angel" thing and at the same
time visualizing a guy with big hair, a muscle
shirt and striped short shorts. Senora Frank
really digs him. She's not a Bomber, but is
looking forward to the drive up and spending a
couple of days finding out which part of my
stories are true.
3. How about some some Drags in the Junior
Parking Lot? Would be pretty cool to see some
"Grocery Getter Van" trying to get some "scratch"
off the line. Red line that Dodge, and then drop
it into gear, RummmmRummmmRummm, KaKUNK, BANG,
"Hello Triple A". Cecil Howard or Jim Stull could
set them up, assuming they've graduated by now.
4. In planning the activities, has the
committee taken into consideration the "Early Bird
Specials" at Sharri's? There are probably some
folks who won't want to give up that buck savings,
at the expense of possibly enjoying themselves.
5. Has there been any thought about an amnesty
program "Ala Jimmy Carter" for attendees with
library fines, shop bills, ding notices for
writing in their Spanish books ("In case of fire,
throw this in first" or "In case of famine, eat
this book it's full of baloney") and other
encumbrances. I don't need no stinkin' warrant
served on me at the game.
I'll let you know when I think of something else.
-Frank
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2/3/00 Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63WB)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
I normally eschew with frivolous suggestions
and unsolicited comments, but this time I think it
is essential for the health, safety and well being
of all attendees of R2K that personal safety be
addressed by the. There have been numerous
challenges to the security of our nation, the last
but not least being the cancellation of New Years
in Seattle, where I can only assume it is still
1999.
Out here, we have school safety standards in
place, and there is a zero tolerance implantation
in place. I have heard nothing of such a program
for The All Bomber Clambake, Sock hop And Hoop Shoot.
My primary concerns are in two areas:
1. With the number of attendees who might be
trying to fit into old pep club, cheer leader and
Letterman’s Club uniforms, the chance of
spontaneous explosions is pretty ripe (see 2.
Below). If memory serves me correctly, the
foundations of the 50’s and 60’s were latex based
and did a dang decent job, dang decent. Technology
has greatly improved over the last 30 or 40 years.
Kevlar and or carbon fiber might be considered as
mandatory. More frightening is the probab-ility of
all those male attendees walking, standing and
trying to look really cool while sucking in and
holding their breath. This could create major
environmental damage were they all breath out at
once. Should one Docker button pop, what are the
chances of the others going off sympathetically?
2. As I understand it, the Saturday Basketball
game, the "Piece de Resistance" of the weekend
will be attended in large part (no pun intended)
by male alumni who will have spent the previous
evening at a Chili feed, and then gone out for a
couple of bumps at the Uppie. Now I know we all
have some implied association as “Down Winders”,
but I can anticipate a rumble of concern, that
should be anticipated and passed on to the
committee.
These both might possibly be best addressed by
our friends on the fireworks committee.
Whatever I can do to help,
-Frank (63WB)
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2/14/00 ~ Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63WB)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
Today is Valentines Day and while it has been
45 years or so, I've pretty much come to grips
with the Valentines Day Party in Mrs. Brinkman's
5th grade class.
As I recall I'd decorated a shoe box with white
butcher paper, red hearts and some crepe paper.
Right after second recess I opened it up. Thirty
some kids, twenty some valentines. The first time
that I realized that not everyone loved me as
much aa my Mom, regardless of what the cards
said. But that's not what this is all about.
There was one card, that was not one of the
dime store punch out kind, this one actually
folded. The message was:
If roses weren't red,
And violets weren't blue,
I would still be your valentine,
Because I love you.
You can imagine the effect this had on me. The
bad part, was it was unsigned. I rubbernecked
around the room to see if anyone was looking at me.
Everyone seemed to be reading those little
hearts on the Room Mother Cupcakes and drinking
red kool-aid. I spilled mine about this time,
receiving a PF Flyer full of sugar. Still I
couldn't figure out who it could be from.
I knew it wasn't from Ann Louise, Mary
Margaret, Judy, Joan Ann, Verbie or Lila. They
had the good form of signing theirs. I assumed it
wasn't from Pook, 'cause someone had wiped their
nose on a card and I've always thought it was
him. Plows was too cheap to spend a dime on a
card, when Pall Malls were only a quarter. I
ruled out all the guys in total.
But now I think I know who it was. It was in
fact a girl, and I'm pretty sure she remembers, too.
You going to be at Y2R?
-Frank (63WB)
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2/23/00 ~ Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63WB)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
Got high centered watching some advertisement
on one of them 3 digit channels last night. Wedged
in between some screaming guy with a bad rug
huckstering cook ware and some old coot taking up
juicers, was this out of work 60 year old long
forgotten teen idol selling cds with songs of the 50s.
Now the Osgard family would never have been
mistaken for the Nelsons or the Cleavers. We did,
however, all eat breakfast together. We gathered
around a yellow chrome and formica table. Steaming
bowls of Mapo, side by each with the crunchy
cereal that was currently giving away the neatest
stuff. The old man sucking on a Chesterfield, was
deep into the Columbia Basin News. Toast was
Donald Duck bread, when they gave away those neat
stickers that glowed in the dark. Biskquick
pancakes on occasion, but not a lot of idle
chatter from the family. We all tried to cut out
before our daily spoon full of Vi-dalun, claiming
we'd heard the "Whistle".
The background music to all of this was KORD or
KALE playing top twenty stuff. Big John, Sixteen
Tons, Beep Beep, April Love, Chances Are, Hot Rod
Lincoln,and My Friend the Witch Doctor. The
Chipmunks (the singing ones not the Hyatts), and
some stupid Martian ditty. My Dad wasn't too keen
on Elvis, so we had to play it cool when his songs
came on. He did like Tennessee Ernie Ford, and my
Mom liked Pat Boone. The rest of er kids were
serious Bill Hailey/Little Richard fans, with some
small attachment for Connie Francis.
As a family we lived for Starlet Stairway (when
you need coal or oil, call Boyle…) on Saturday
nights, so judging talent was not our strong suit.
We did recognize that Snooky Lanson on Hit Parade,
however was a loser.
That morning radio, wasn't all that bad. Not a
lot of commercials as I recall, no Bob Edwards or
Cokie Roberts, an absolute minimum of the FM
repartee we get today, and best of all no pledge
breaks.
Mornings just aren't as much fun.
-Frank Osgard (63WB)
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2/25/00 ~ Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63WB)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
A couple of more "events" held at Sanders Field
that I witnessed, that have not been addressed.
Satchel Paige pitched there against the House
of David. Satchel was with some barnstorming team,
possibly called the Harlem Globetrotters. The
House of David was some religious order, whose
players all had long beards ala ZZ Top (how, how,
how, how).
I had my first exposure to the then unnamed
malady of homophobia. I went to see Gorgeous
George wrestle one summer night. I recall he had
gold hair pins in his platinum locks, and the
natives were indeed restless that night. Also
recall an infestation of June Bugs buzzing around.
The Shrine Circus played Sanders Field. I still
have the little red felt fez they sold. It has a
gold tassel and marks from little fingers sticky
from cotton candy. The guy selling them had them
on a long stick and he kept yelling "Here I is,
Here I yam"
I went to see Roller Derby there once. Charlie
O'Connell was the star and had his arm in a cast.
Of course Charlie always had his arm in a cast,
for like thirteen years. There was Ronnie
Robinson, who was Sugar Ray's son, and was really
fast. And yeah, some big fat guy named Porky
Peterson or Patterson. It was probably a match
between the Bay Area Bombers and the Los Angeles
Thunderbirds. I think those were the only teams in
the league, ever.
Being that the Social Club was across the
street, I'm sure there were numerous events in the
parking lot. I missed them, 'cause I was trying to
find a Kennewick girl to dance with. Sanders Field
will always be "Oh for Saturday Night" to me.
-Frank Osgard (63WB)
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3/5/00 ~ Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63WB)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
It’s not like I don’t do nothin’ but watch TV,
but earlier this week Her Bossiness and I were
watching wrestling. She got the remote again, and
I was no more than putty in her hands.
I had a friend whose Grandparents lived in a
prefab on Adams, about the 500 block. They had the
very first TV I can recall, this had to have been
about ’53. They had Cable, for what it was worth.
My friend Mitchell, that was his name, and I used
to go over and watch what we could, when we could.
His grandparents, who everyone called Uncle Ed and
Aunt Lollie, kept the blinds pulled and the lights
turned down low so the picture tube wouldn't wear
out.
They had a ceramic black panther on top of the
set, with red jewels in it’s eyes and a gold chain
around it’s neck. They always had little dishes of
nuts and hard ribbon candy on TV trays. They later
had the first TV remote control I ever saw, it was
shaped like a potato gun but worked like a flash
light.
Among our favorites, was wrestling on Friday
night. Not that vanilla flavored crap you see now
days on TBS, but “Texas Wrasslin’”. And it was
real. Later we used to watch Shag Thomas and
Luther Lindsey on Sundays sponsored by some
dentist in Spokane. This guy validated parking,
gave terms (30 days same as cash) and no discount
for Canadian money. He also sponsored some guy
singing hymns and old favorites every afternoon,
for his present and future false teeth customers.
I can still remember the afternoon programming,
when we got our TV. School let out at 3:15pm, I
beat feet home to practice piano for 30 minutes,
and then Howdy Doody at 4pm, Pinkie Lee at 4:30.
Mickey Mouse Club was at 5:00p for an hour.
Someplace in there were The Little Rascals on
Channel 6. Your could never show the Little
Rascals today, too bad, they were at least as
funny as Urkel.
Before cable there was antenna TV, with Uncle
Jimmy’s Club House at 4pm on KIMA, I've still got
my membership card (#213). Uncle Jimmy, who seemed
to do everything at the station, was followed by
some crabby old fart called Montana Tom. Tom got
the shoe, none too soon, and was replaced by Bert
Wells. My sister's Blue Bird troop was on the Bert
Wells show, and sang some song in Chinese. At
least they said it was Chinese, and it sounded
like Chinese. I remember watching it, ‘cause I had
this flannel cloth slathered with Vicks around my
neck. To this day, Campfire mints still taste like
Vicks, not peppermint.
I knew I was getting old, when I recognized the
cowboy movies they serialized for 10 minutes each
afternoon, as flicks I’d seen “first run” at the
Village. I used to make my little brother cry, by
telling him what was going to happen. Still do,
but he was a 7-5 kind of kid. Mickey Mouse Club
also had some great serials, Corky and Black
Shadow, Spin and Marty, The Hardy Boys and some
kid named Moochey. The Mousketeers, were as
unfathomable in ’57 as Chief Joe Girls were five
years later. Annette had some great ears for
thirteen, but was the same age as by sister, so I
looked elsewhere. Some girl with big teeth, don’t
remember her name and what was with that Jimmy
Dodd guy and Uncle Roy?
There were some great shows like Topper, Mr.
Peepers, Sid Cesar, Ernie Kovacs and my Pop’s
favorite Tennessee Ernie Ford. The Old Man loved
to laugh, and was keen on the “not so subtle” like
Bilko, The Real McCoys and Jack Benny. Humor was
so much more simple in black and white. They
didn't have fourteen year olds, playing eight year
olds, talking like adults. Being Politically
correct, was at least a man on the moon away.
Don’t know that I want to go back to those days,
but it sure was fun while we were there.
Kids are fighting over the remote, so I gotta
go break it up. Brittney Spears or Bay Watch, I
wish these kid’s hormones would get in sych.
Now it's time to say goodbye..............
Frank
p.s. The person with big teeth was named Darlene,
who it turns out just might have been John Elway's
sister.
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3/8/00 ~ Alumni Sandstorm
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>>From: Frank Osgard (63)
mailto:fosgard@hotmail.com
Perusing the musings of Ken Wright, and his
experiences delivering The Spokesman Review,
brought to mind a question.
Wasn't there a caste system for paper boys?
I mean, I mean, I mean a Tri-City Herald route
had to be the top, and the Walla Walla Union
Bulletin would have to be on the bottom. But where
did the Columbia Basin News, Oregonian, Oregon
Journal, P-I and The Spokesman Review fit in?
I never pedaled up to the Spudnut Shop in the
morning. During the summer we could generally get
our treats off front porches, by following the
milkman. Sometimes we took the whole bottle, other
times we only took a swallow of two of chocolate
milk, and left the bottle. There was also some
bread truck parked over on Delafield that had
sweet rolls, twinkies and other treats. That sugar
buzz at five in the morning, made the transition
to coffee an automatic.
Another form of larceny, was to boost papers
off of people’s porches and then sell them to guys
waiting for the bus. Wonder how many of them paid
for their papers twice? The poor simp who had the
route and delivered the paper, would have to go
back and make it right. I’ve paid for these
transgressions many times in my life, starting
with my social indiscretion on the Columbia Queen,
and including the haircut I got as a divorce
present from Mrs. Frank the third.
Gettin' jacked about Y2R, is there gonna be a
pinball tournament, how much are pepsis at
Curley's? Is there going to be a scripture
distance requirement at the Sock Hop like at the
LDS dances?
-Frank
p.s. The guy who was the “Jeffe” of the Tri-City
Herald paper boys was a very nice man named Ernie
Carlson. And while I’m at it, that guy who was
always picketing the Tri-City Herald was always
reading a book. Anyone got a clue what the book
was. Musta been really good ‘cause he read it for
years and years.
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