Surprise, Whoopie Landis!
What started out to be a quiet evening at the Whoopie Landis home at 419 North Eighth Street, turned into something else.
Whoopie was the honored guest in his own home. His wife had invited a few friends over to help celebrate her husband's 43rd birthday. There was food and drink for the family and friends.
Then, it happened. No one admits who did it!
The fire telephones rang. Well, Whoopie is a volunteer fireman and that meant he had to answer the call. The fire-operator telephone volunteers said only this: "Fire call 419 North 8th, fire call 419 North 8th."
"Hey, Lois," Whoopie said, "It's our house."
Tiny Schmitz rode a bike to the scene; Chief Otto Berthold was wearing his heavy rubber boots and when he arrived, Larry Bodle left a fried chicken dinner and Assistant Chief Bill Berger was in the bathtub, dressed and made it by the "second" fire call.
Well, the firemen did arrive and they took along a few refreshments of their own, and they helped Whoopie celebrate his birthday. If the neighborhood thought there was some sort of party going on at the Landis home, they were right. It was a grand group of men who just wanted to show their friendship for a guy they really like.
Happy Birthday, Whoopie.
Ben Kohout says his son, Chris, a Navy pilot, has completed survival training. It's a type of training for pilots who might be shot down over enemy territory.
Ben says the training is real-life and the pilots are hunted men. Chris fared very well against the "enemy" in the training in his survival effort.
Dad Kohout admits that he couldn't take training of that sort, too much huffing and puffing. That's why the military wants the YOUNG men, ole' Dad.
Old Glory and what it means.
Mrs. Chas. Gude, Sr., inquired about how the name Old Glory got attached to the flag.
Hub Ogden of the World-Herald answered.
"Old Glory was first applied to the American flag in 1831 by William Driver, a sailing captain from Salem, Mass., who daily flew the flag from the window of his home in Nashville, Tennessee.
"During the Civil War, he hid the flag. When the Union Army appeared in 1862, he took the flag from its hiding place and hoisted it over the State Capitol.
"The members of the Union Army seized upon the name Old Glory and popularized it."
Something happened at our house the other day: the sewing machine was removed from my bedroom.
"Holy mackerel, Millie, where'd the sewing machine go?" saith the king of the house.
(The only reason I know the sewing machine was removed from my bedroom, was because lately there have been no Little Miss visitors in my room to "whirrr . . . whirrr whirrr" on that blamed machine while I'm trying to sleep.)
"Be calm, Ivan," comes the reassuring voice of the better half, "we moved it into that room you built downstairs for Denise."
"Oh . . . oh that's why you wanted all those extra electrical outlets in that room. Now, what about that big, floppy chair that belongs to No. 1 daughter . . . you know, the chair she just HAD to have . . . and it's been in my bedroom for months?"
"Now calm down," the queen bee says, "you can't have everything just so-so be patient for awhile until we get the room-moving done and the furniture shifted."
It's really been a delight to have the sewing maching in my bedroom. After all, where else can a father carry on a one-sided conversation with his daughters and be so-o-o-O comfortable at the same time?
It has also been a hazard.
I swan, the carpet in our bedroom has had more pins in it than there are in the pin cushion. Just call me ole' Eagle eye because I can spot those little devils and do a tippy-toe across the rug picking them up.
But there have been instances.
Our telephone is in the kitchen. The other morning it rang before the alarm went off and I bolted out of bed. It's 40 feet, two doorways and one hallway from my bedroom to the telephone and I can sprint.
But that morning Z+O+W+I+E!
I stepped on a pin. Guess what I did? I calmly plucked it from my big toe, releasing such words as "oh goodness," "my, my," and hobbled to the telephone to say "Good Morning."
Well, it wasn't quite like that, but you can use your imagination.
(Snicker, snicker, snicker. Now, the "pin" room will be in No. 1 daughter's bedroom.)
Mother Bear has been getting things ready to ship off No. 2 daughter, Clarissa, to Los Angeles to visit with grandparents. At first Clarissa thought she was going to get to fly, but then an aunt and uncle sent word they were en route to Nebraska City and would take a passenger back with them.
So, Clarissa, the girl with the empty pockets, has been pinching pennies, and taking all job opportunities. She has picked cherries, worked at the Pioneer Theater (her regular job), done babysitting, typed a term paper and has been collecting on her brother's paper route while he's at camp.
The reason she is hustling is not so she can go to Los Angeles; it's so she can have money to spend when she gets there.
Once at a family breakfast, a traditional fun event, granddad passed the plate for tips, then gave the plate to Clarissa because she was the only one "who is always broke!" [illegible] you can see now that granddad is on top on her list.
Clarissa and I have been going around a bit. I've been teaching her to drive—no, I've been riding with an expert who already knows the art and science of motoring as taught by Jim Brockhaus.
But, that's another story.