LoReeta Baker, 16 year-old daughter of Dr. and Mrs. H. J. Baker, is one of the happiest young Misses in Nebraska City.
She has an orchid lei.
CYN3 Steve Exline, a Navy petty officer and son of Mr. and Mrs. Abe Exline, sent the orchids to LoReeta from the Hawaiian Islands for her birthday.
Her birthday was June 13, but to a sailor away from home, orchids, pretty girls and birthdays happen all year long.
Millie had orchids around our home in the islands, but after living there for a time, we got tired of them and looked for other flowers.
She settled on wood roses, and she had a spray in the living room that was a conversation piece until we got tired of looking at it.
Anyway, when it came time to return to the U.S., Millie and Denise flew to the mainland two weeks ahead of me. Guess who got stuck with the furniture packing job.
I did get the dishes washed before packing them away in boxes. When the packing and moving crews came in, they leaned over backwards trying to be helpful and careful.
But I stopped that one fella when he so carefully wrapped and started to pack the wood roses.
"Aw, don't waste your time on those things," I said.
"But you don't want to throw these beautiful roses away," the brown skinned Hawaiian said.
"Why not," I returned, "they're just an island flower and she won't want them Stateside."
He mumbled something in Hawaiian which sounded like Crazy Horse or Mud In Your Eye, tossed the roses in a trash barrel and went to the next job.
Guess what Millie asked about when I told her the furniture was packed and on its way?
No, not the papaya juice, you ninny, the WOOD ROSES.
The recognition given to Maj. Glen Cohn the other night by the National Guard was well deserving for his services to the guard.
Major Cohn served a hitch in the Army and had no intention of joining the National Guard. However, the guard unit was down in numbers and Don Dammast, then commander, was recruiting.
Once Glen got started, he had a hard time keeping his finger out of the pie of National Guard organization. He was recognized for his efforts and promotions came his way.
"My best years though, were as a sergeant," he told his soldiering friends at the dinner.
Lt. Col. Kenneth Dermann, son of Mr. and Mrs. Bill Dermann, Nebraska City, presented the major with a special National Guard Association award and Maj. Del Broers gave Glen and Shirley a clock for their home.
The years of the Guard have changed a great deal since Glen first served. And just recently, the Guard was put under a new organization.
It's just possible that Colonel Dermann, Second Battalion commander, will move to a higher position and that his command could be taken over by another Nebraska Citian. We heard that might be Major Broers.
Goodby, Mr. Kicker.
D. W. Kicker, 1910 First Corso, died the other night at his home. We've lost a friend.
It doesn't seem too many years ago that we saw Mr. Kicker tossing mail sacks into the back of his truck and heading out on his star mail route to area towns and on west to Lincoln.
He was a good source of information for stories on road conditions during snows and flooding. He was our special reporter on whether Wilson creek was out of its banks at Dunbar.
Mr. Kicker retired several years ago as a star carrier, but we continued to see a great deal of him downtown and visited with him many times.
We've joshed him about his five buckle red overshoes with the white soles. And his witty comeback might be a night telephone call in July wanting to know whether there was any frost damage to tomato plants on the North 40.
He's left us now. And we will miss that pleasant association and greeting.
Goodby, Mr. Kicker, we do remember you.
Bob McKone, manager of Penney's, thinks he's pretty smart because he can get to work faster than me. He rides a white and black J. C. Penney five speed bike and it takes only a couple of minutes to roll down and pedal up North Tenth Street.
Bob enjoys pedaling back and forth. He says the only times he doesn't ride the bike is when the weather gets too rough for cycling.
I was going to keep this a secret from the kids, but I guess the word gets out sooner or later anyway. It takes me 20 minutes to walk from our house to the News-Press and 30 minutes when I add the blocks to the police station.
The kids claim that the rate "is about right for anyone over 30."
Oh, that George Blanda of the Oakland Raiders.
We said last year he was just about the greatest professional football player. Well maybe, next to Lennie Dawson of the Kansas City Chiefs.
The Raiders and Chiefs are my two favorite teams and it was with some reluctance that I left my easy chair the other night when the teams played.
I missed all the excitement, so had to settle for newsfilms and stories in the papers. Blanda, 44 years of age, went in for Daryle Lamonica at quarterback and when the game was over, it was a 20-20 tie.
I couldn't have asked for a better game for my favorites. Blanda got all the glory because of his age and his record-setting scoring. If there's a pinch hitter in pro football, it's Blanda. I like to see the sideline shots of him with his ruffled gray hair. What a guy!
Did you ever notice that when the center snaps the ball to Blanda, it's a rare day when tacklers get through the pocket defense?
Those younger bucks up front take good care of Ole' Dad.
Have you heard the expression "Have you seen my brown cow?" That's what the fella says when he's trying to modestly point out something of which he is quite proud.
Well, the other day we were taking a shortcut down an alley and called to Bob Rawlings who was a few steps ahead.
He rubbed his nose, scratched his head, straightened his cap and I thought sure ole' Bessie the Brown Cow was going to dry up and freshen.
Bob was sporting his new ruby and diamond ring, a gift for his perfect 300 game at V-Lanes. The conversation lasted the rest of the way down the alley. "Gosh, Bob," I said, "you really ought to be walking down Central Avenue not an alley."
He just smiled one more time.