Life in a broken bottle

Everybody out there wants a piece of me.

Every section of my body from my brain to my knee.

My brain they want to pickle it for science,

My blood for its cholesterol in analysis.

 

My eyes so a blindman can see,

My remaining ashes to be thrown out to the sea.

My bank account to be hammered by IRS,

My accomplishments to be examined like a test.

 

My car will sit there to rust and eventually crumble,

My legacy written on the gravestone, not ornate but humble.

All my possessions to be distributed to my relatives who acted like a vulture,

A blip on the screen of life, a smear on the concept of culture.

 

And in time no one will remember that I even existed,

The truth of my life distorted by time and so twisted.

 

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Christmas Ornament and Tradition: A Christmas story for you

It was in the family for over one hundred years. A statute about one foot tall of Santa carrying a bag of toys. It was old and the paint was fading. It had a few chips in it. It had originally come over from the old country when our original ancestors had come to America. Now there were generations of their offspring. The Santa was given to a family for a few days at a time during the month of December. Some families got it the next year or the year after that. To have it for December twenty-fifth was a high honor.

We had it for the week before Christmas Night. It was at the base of our tree. Mother was so proud to have it. I did not understand the fuss around this glass reminder of the past. Big deal.

And then while fooling around with my younger brother, he was ten, and I eleven, well the ball we were tossing around bounced funny. We did not mean it. I swear it. But it hit Santa square and he busted into a hundred pieces. My brother and I were scared. We were afraid we would be beaten or at least thrown out of the family.

We went into the kitchen to tell Momma what had happened. Dad was still at work but coming home soon. She was rolling the pie crest with a rolling pin. My brother was crying like a baby, I wiped away some dirt that was at the corner of my eye. She turned a shade of white and her hand on the rolling pin seemed to squeeze and her veins in her arm stood out. Then she sighed.

A release of some sort occurred and she said for us not to be upset.

She went into the living room and with a broom and dust pan gathered all the pieces. She dumped them into a paper bag and then told us to go to our room.  She would explain the situation to Dad when he got home.

Dad came home an hour later.  We heard the door downstairs. Then in a few minutes he was out again. We cautiously went down stairs and asked Momma where he went. She explained he was going to Uncle Roberts factory where he made dishes. And that was it. No yelling, no fuss, no end of the world.

The next day was Saturday and we piled into the car and went to Uncle Roberts factory. There we saw many of our relatives. Uncle Robert had made ornaments for the Christmas trees of the many families that were our relatives. In each clear ornament was a  piece of the original Santa. Now instead of a Santa passed around from one family to the next, we all had an ornament for our trees.

It happened so long ago. Now many years later, I have my own family. I take out our ornament with our piece of Santa in it and hang it on the tree and explain the significance to my children. My wife says that when I do that I wipe my eyes, the dust you know. And then again, I think of my departed Momma and the wisdom she showed on that day so long ago.

Publishing books

Finally, I took the time and published two books.  They are both on  Amazon.com

Go to Amazon, go to books.  Type in Short Stories and other stuff and my second book will come up.  It is a compilation of material I used on my blog for the past five years.  I kept the price low.  It is a great read for people on the go.  Short stories are only one to three pages long.  I hope you guys like it.

The other venture I did was a serial killer novel with a twist.  It is only a hundred or so pages.  If you are into serial killers give it a try.  Finally I am in the pursuit of doing my third venture.  It is a trilogy on the birth of a Jew and the history he goes through from 1900 to the birth of Israel.  I figure it will take me the next six months to do it.  If you do buy one of the books please let me know if you liked it.

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I would appreciate feedback and can be reached at awax@tampabay.rr.com.  I look forward to hearing from you.  If you want to know how I published the books please let me know.  It is not hard and you can do it easily and for little money involvement.

 

Almost finished with the third book.  It is called The Wandering Jew and is about the birth of a Jew in Russia and his forced exit to America.  It has Rasputin, the tsar, and American gangsters in it.  It has taken me over eight months to get it down on paper.

Big question.  I am looking at putting my work on Kindle.  Anybody have any suggests on doing that?  Is it worth it?

Saint Valentine and the massacre

February 14, 1929 was a cold day in Chicago.  People were moving  around in the four inches of snow which had been deposited the day before.  But in the North Side Street garage there was enough chill that the men still felt the chilly air.  This was the lair of the Bugs Moran Gang.  Barry knew of them by reputation.  They were the thorn in the side of a rival gang that most everyone dreaded.  The Chicago mob of Al Capone.  Barry sure knew of them for his Purple gang did work for Al.  He never met the man but knew others who had.  He had on one occasion met a man named John Scalise.  He had been imported by the Purple Gang to eliminate a minor rival.  Barry paid him for the job.  Scalise said nothing.  He did not even count the money.  I mean who short changes a mob hit man.

But it was his eyes.  They were deep.  They penetrated into you and there was a strange intensity to

them.  He was dapper but not flashy.  He went back to Chicago and it was rumored that he was part of the squad that entered the garage.

The group that entered the garage was not that impressive.  Just four guys, two dressed as cops and two who came in after the fake cops. They  placed the seven people in the garage against the wall.  The other two men came in with machine guns and blasted away.

Against the wall was:.

  • Peter Gusenberg, a frontline enforcer for the Moran organizations.
  • Frank Gusenberg, the brother of Peter Gusenberg and also an enforcer.
  • Albert Kachellek (alias “James Clark”), Moran’s second-in-command.
  • Adam Heyer, the bookkeeper and business manager of the Moran gang.
  • Reinhardt Schwimmer, an optician who had abandoned his practice to gamble on horse racing and associated with the gang.
  • Albert Weinshank, who managed several cleaning and dyeing operations for Moran. His resemblance to Moran, including the clothes he was wearing, is what allegedly set the massacre in motion before Moran actually arrived.
  • John May, an occasional car mechanic for the Moran gang

Within a few minutes the damage was done.  There was a lot of murders in Chicago in the wars between rival gangs but none had been so savage as this one.  And seven in one shot.  This demanded action by the public and backfired on the gangs trying to stay out of the limelight. A statement was made which illustrated this point.  “Only Al kills this way”

 

Even Barry was aghast.  This was the last draw for him.  He knew he had to find a way out.  A way which would not put him on a list to be eliminated.

Barry saw the above picture and even he was terrified by it.  Not only were these men shot up by machine guns ripping them apart but then to be on the safe side they were shot by shotguns close range.  The illusion that there was something grand about being in the mob went out the window.  Now escape was Barry’s main concern.

 

Island in the sky at Cypress Gardens and Lego Land.

  • This is the island in the sky.  It was put into Cypress Gardens in Winter Haven, Florida.  Born in 1983 and died November 2917.  I was a ride operator in both Cypress Gardens and Lego Land and operated this ride many times.  I probably did a thousand rides.  I went up in the sweltering heat and the chill of winter.  I loved this ride.  I loved the people who were awed by this ride.  And now it is gone.  The parts had been used to the point that the ride was old and breaking down a lot.  I personally was on this ride when it malfunction.  Got stuck up there at one hundred and fifty feet.  People freaked out.  I had to calm them down.  One passenger asked me, “Are we going to die?”  I responded, “not today.”

Things change.  I once did not have wrinkles and now I know them on a personal basis. But I miss the ride.

A trip to Epcot and almost the end of my teaching career.

English: Temple at Epcot China in reflecting pool.

English: Temple at Epcot China in reflecting pool. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Spaceship Earth at Epcot at night.

Spaceship Earth at Epcot at night. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was one of the first to organize the trips to Epcot by a school. I hired five buses and took the entire school minus the students who got into real trouble from December to the day of the trip. It was considered a behavioral modification tactic. I also took on this trip ten teachers and five parents.

My name was on the trip and I guess if it went wrong my career would go down the tubes. So I stayed on my toes for the entire trip.

I had one student, I will call him John. John came to me and begged to go on this trip. John was held back two years for constantly getting into trouble. If the behavioral modification program needed a poster child it was John. I am a little on the crazy side. I told John I would consider it if the Principal okay-ed it. To my amazement he did with two provisos. There were two other students in the same situation. If the three of them got into no trouble from December to May he would allow them to go. Second point they had to walk around with me. I figured there was no way that they would contain themselves. They did. I figure how would they get up the money needed. They did. I figured there was no way they would wake up four o’clock in the morning and catch the bus. They did. I found the cigarette butts where they stood and waited across the street for the busses. They were there at two in the morning. I made them ditch the cigarettes. They did.

The three boys were a mixed lot. A huge White Kid, a Spanish Kid, and a Black Kid. And then there was me. We were a weird group walking around Epcot. We almost did not go. John showed up wearing a tee shirt with words on it. This was a Vietnam shirt, political in nature, It stated, “Kill a commie, for your mommie!” It certainly was not a good selection. I could have sent him home, I should have made the shirt inside out. But I allowed it.

We got there and it went well. Outside of the classroom the three boys acted like real good children. There were looks and stares but they handled everything well. Until we entered the Chinese store. John walked around by himself and the staff, maybe from China read the inscription on the shirt and followed him around like he was a criminal. The other two boys were on the other side of the store. We left within five minutes and that was that.

We were on the way home. Since it was a pretty good distance from Epcot to Pompano Beach the buses took a break at the service station on the turnpike for a thirty minute break. It was during the break that the three boys took me to the side.

They commented that I was the one teacher who they really appreciated. No one else would have taken a chance on them and they wanted to show how they felt. They gave me a bag.

Inside the bag was an object they had gotten from the Chinese Pavilion.

I should have known there was a problem. First it was not wrapped. Second the sticker of how much it cost was still on it. The sticker read 1.500 which they had interpreted as fifteen dollars. A nice gift.

It hit me as I looked at it. John was the decoy and while the store employees were watching him the other two boys purloined this object. They had just given me a stolen object. I saw my career going down the drain. Add to this that they had misinterpreted the number and the real price was a hundred and fifty dollars just made it worse.

I teared up and the boys misinterpreted my wiping my eyes. They stated that if they had known I was so happy about the gift they would have gotten something more. I did not say that any more would get me a berth in a jail cell. I said instead how we would have to keep this a secret because the other teachers would be jealous. I realize that these three were eight graders and soon would be gone from the school. I prayed they would pass.

When I got home I wiped off the “gift” and mailed it with no return address back to Epcot. I went to a distant post office. I do not know if they ever got it. For the next few months I feared all phone calls and any mention of going to the principals office. But I got away with it. It was over thirty years ago so it is over the laws governing disclosure of a theft.

I continued the trips to Epcot but I was always a little more on my toes.

Washing the dirt out of my mind with a Q tip. Those gray cells are getting old.

tit for tat

Tit for tat is really more like “blow for a blow.” If you give someone a cupcake and she gives you one back, that’s not tit for tat, that’s just sweet. Tit for tat is meaner — it’s when someone does something like hit or steal something from someone, and the other person does something equally nasty back. This phrase is related to the saying “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

A cats in the cradle so where is the baby?

A woman lives in a shoe with many kids?  Where does she go for footwear?  I bet there is foot odor galore.

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet?  I prefer to sit on a sofa.

Along came a spider and sat beside her.  I have never seen a spider sit.

Little boy blue has a depression problem.

Ariel blows bubbles.

I never saw a buffalo with wings.

A footlocker should be where you put your feet.

Mob violence is anti-gang

Honey do melon is not made by bees.

The frog croaks and is never buried in the pond.

Does one scream in outer space?  Is your helmet on or off?  Who is there to hear you?

I went to subway and asked for a sub.  They gave me a periscope.

Kentucky Fried Chicken is so greasy they refer to it in Allstate Insurance Commercials.  The good hands people can never pay a claim because the claims slip through their fingers.

If time is in a bottle and one lets it out what time is it?  Does anyone know the time in Chicago?

Somewhere in the world a man is thinking.  That is strange for no man can think.

Woman can roar and therefore should be lions.

Who stops for menapause.  Should it not be femalepause?

I am constantly missing my period said the woman who lives in a shoe and has so many kids she did not know what to do.  I suggest birth control.

Note population has pop in it and not mom.  You need two to tango.

Congress recently installed a mute button in the halls so no one will say dumb things.