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THANKSGIVING & EVERYBODY’S DANISH
By fred | November 26, 2009
Chipping from the rough – Thanksgiving – November 26th, 2009
Will it never end? We are in our third week of rain, daily rain and a few days of gale winds, it was so bad it was like the house would be moving from its foundation. The weather report says maybe by next Tuesday we shall see some sun. Wow, maybe for a day we will see sun. Welcome to the fall weather of the great Northwest!
Happy Thanksgiving everyone – when you get this you will likely be stuffed with turkey. I just got back from Linda & Scott’s home, my son and his lady’s home where Linda always makes sure her father in law has a full tummy. Daughter Jennifer and husband Rex and kids were there. It is so much fun watching them get bigger and bigger soon they will be adults and have families of their own. Amazing how the years fly by!
What I always feel sad about in the holidays – especially days like Thanksgiving and Christmas is those of us – all of my buddies that have lost their lifetime mates. My beloved Janet, Jack’s wife, this will be her first Thanksgiving without Jack. Others like Ed Saraffian, Alcene Cain, Jean Hall, Ray Toohey, Ray Marshall, Lorraine Brewer, June Stevenson, Bev Lampshire, Roy Ito, Dale Martinusen – many have been alone for years. To them I hope that there is family to share the day with. It must be sad to think back on all the Thanksgivings that were such happy times with their beloveds.
Back to business, improving our health has been a subject of our discussion the past few weeks. It looks like we are back to zero on health remedies – I finally gave up on Roy’s ‘cinnamon & honey’ the only thing that was expanding was my waistline. Do you know how many calories are in a tablespoon of honey? – A lot!
The onions to cure all remedy works if you want you entire home to reek of onions, I have had an unpeeled onion in every room of the house for almost two week, HOWEVER since I still have my three week cold, nothing has improved on that front – my invalid son Rick, that lives with us, one of those scientific types told me that the onion one is a lie also, but what does he know, had to try it and see.
Sally will not allow me to cut slices and put the onion slices on my feet to cure stuff like it said — for once I have to agree with her. So we are running out of ideas — any of you got any more home remedies to cure everything – hey, I will try em all, just send em in!
In ‘Everybody’s Danish’ we were going into the army, you were to be with me as I was processed into the army back in 1948, however I noted a chapter about my departed best buddy Jack Anderson was first. Next week we will begin your old buddy Fred’s army life, this week it will be about Jack. There are so many getting this letter that knew him from grammar school on for so many years of his life – what seems like a billion years ago.
Again – I wish that your Thanksgiving be Blessed – and may you and yours be loved forever!
Uncle Fred
CHAPTER (My brother-in-law Uncle Jack – Family tales)
Friends, buddies, how those words are abused – I have heard of many guys saying in one breath that the guy is a true friend, a real buddy, then in another breath stab him in the back, either verbally or otherwise. A friend, a buddy, I think not. This is someone you know, this is not a friend, don’t be confused. Be very carefully with this kind of ‘friend.’
In my life I have had hundreds of so called friends. Oh, I am not saying that they would stab me in the back or anything like that. They were people you enjoy for the moment. Someone that was fun to be around, but certainly not someone that you could completely relax with, often that kind of friend takes a bit of time, time to mature, time to know more about them and they about you.
A real buddy, a real friend is the kind of person where you do not have to care about what you say in his or her presence. You never have to fear that if you told him or her some deep dark secret it would be blurted out when he or she was a little ticked off at you. If you need help with anything, no matter how stupid, you go to a best buddy. He or she will not tell the world what a stupid son of a bitch you are.
As a freshman and junior in High School there was Ed Bravo, — another friend and I used to compete for his attention, Ed was really sort of a big brother, keeping Johnny Brewer and myself in line. Ed was a roll model, a very reserved guy, but always with that dignified reserve that you may crack now and then but you never could completely break into. Ed’s mouth was like a steel trap, never would he betray a friend, they don’t come any better and the Ed Bravo’s of this world.
During my senior year of High School and the couple of years in that time frame, it was, and thank God still is – Hugo Valesquez. We were a team. Most weekends when we were in high school he was either at my house or I at his. A real friend never betrays a confidence. Never, would he hurt you by pulling out some deep dark secret of yours, and laying it before someone to get back at you for some slight. If you have this kind of buddy you have a real friend. I still consider him one of the ‘best buddies’ I ever had and ever will have, a guy that you can relax with, put your hair down with, lay it all out with, that’s the kind of guy a best buddy like Hugo is.
I have probably said it before and will say it again, real friends are harder to find than diamonds. If you have a gal or a guy that is a best buddy treasure them more than anything you have in the world, they can not be purchased at the corner store. Best buddies happen, if you are lucky you will have one in your lifetime, I have been lucky enough to have several – Hugo is one. There are a couple others that for a number of reasons guys are also the kind you know damn well will back you in anything, just because they are that kind of guys.
Eddie Saraffian is one super buddy – we sure as hell do not agree on everything still if I was in a corner and would need help – old Ed would be there, you can count on that. Another that I have been close to as an elder is the Fuzz, Arnold Fazekas, for some weird reason we always think alike, another stand up guy when you are feeling down and bad things happen.
But then, I guess I have to take all this to a higher level and throw family in the best buddy mix – put the best of the very best in a pot and mix in – a best buddy AND a member of the family and you have the finest, the best, the very closest friend I ever had – Uncle Jack, my brother-in-law – Jack William Anderson.
The first I ever heard or saw of my future brother-in-law, life long friend, fishing buddy, and companion, was during High School football practice. At John H. Francis Polytechnic High School, then in the middle of Los Angeles on the corners of Figueroa and Washington, there was only one football field. No practice field. The varsity practiced at one end and the ‘B’ football team at the other.
It was hot as hell, and the sweat was pouring off. My senior season. We were just getting ready, not all of us in perfect shape. In this day and age, the shoulder pads, hip pads, thigh pads, are all made of some extremely lightweight material. Not so, in the old days in the middle 1940’s, you carried a lot of weight with all those pads, and at the beginning of the season, especially on the hot days a price was paid in a lot of sweat and aching muscles.
The coach had a little practice that anyone that ever handled the ball had to go through. He would line up at least two of our biggest, meanest, defensive linemen about ten yards down the field and then give you the ball. The coach would say “go through em!” You would see the defensive guy grinning like crazy. Their time to really whack those big shots carrying the ball.
Anyway, on this particular day when I was getting up for about the tenth time, spitting dirt, aching all over, and wishing there was some other way of getting the girls attention instead of playing football – another football came down bouncing on the ground. “Where the heck did that come from?” I asked my buddy Hugo. “Oh, that’s Sally Anderson’s younger brother Jack, he is one heck of a kicker” he replied. Whoever kicked that ball was way in the hell on the other end of the football field, a heck of a long way away! I have to say here that we all knew who Sally was – she was about the cutest, best looking gal at Poly High and that is saying a lot as Poly had some of the most beautiful ladies in the world – just my opinion!
Jack was a heck of a lot more than a good kicker, he was really all everything. His first year of High School he was a little light for Varsity so he played ‘B’, and they won every game, as a freshman, he was first string, just starting high school, he kicked, played end, and could do it all -a star of the team
The next year as a Varsity player he played quarterback, halfback, end and fullback, this besides being a defensive halfback. He never came out of a game, one of the original ‘iron men.’ He could throw a football just about perfect. His only fault was he would put too much steam on the ball and the guys on the team could not always hang on. In one game he threw three touchdown passes. He ended as a senior – as a first team All-Northern player on the All-City honorary team. He was the only player selected from Poly High to play in the state All-Los Angeles City team against the All-State team in San Diego after graduation.
While I am telling you how great a player he was I might as well tell you that I know of no one male or female at Polytechnic High School that did not like the guy. He had two thousand, three hundred plus fans. He was voted co-captain of the team, Letterman’s Club president, Senior Class President and awarded just about every scholastic award and leadership award known to the high school world. With it all he was just a regular guy, Jack had absolutely no ego, he knew his worth, and to him it was no big deal.
To the average high school ‘jock’ a ‘letterman’s sweater’ with a Poly ‘P’ and a football on that ‘P’ denoting your excelled in football – was the ultimate goal. It was for me — I guess when I first came to Poly I noted some seniors with their football letterman sweaters ‘and’ some beautiful girls on their arms. In my mind that sweater and that letter equated to the girl, get the letter and you get the girls. I know this is a weird logic but one that afflicted a heck of a lot of guys besides me.
Also becoming a Poly ‘Knight,’ the scholarship and leadership honorary club at Poly, if a guy was a member he damn well purchased himself a sweater immediately so he could show the world he was a ‘Knight.’ Jack was a member of both and he NEVER bought sweaters in either group, never even thought of it – it was not because he couldn’t afford it. He had a super leather jacket that had to have cost him a few bucks of his summer earnings, far more than the cost of a letterman or Knight’s sweater. Again, Jack had zero ego, I guess he figured everyone knew who he was and what he did, so why did he need a hot sweater or couple of sweaters to wear? When as president of one of the clubs like the ‘letterman’s club’ he had to have a sweater of the club for a photo he was president of – he would have to borrow one from a buddy.
Why am I bringing this up? Because it gives some insight to Jack, the kind of guy he was then and the kind of guy he was all of his life. He just didn’t have anything to prove to anybody. Just about all of his close friends he knew from grammar school and Berendo Junior High, by the way, at Berendo the entire student body elected him Student Body President.
He played touch football at Berendo, he played ‘sand lot ball’ on the side streets with his friends, so coming to Poly and playing football and going to school was just a extension of being with his buddies. His friends knew he could play ball, they knew he was a hell of a ball player – they knew he was a good buddy and loyal friend. Jack just had nothing to prove to anybody that meant anything to him. Why did he have to wear a hot itchy sweater just to show off? Heck, in Jack’s mind all his friends knew he played football, worked his ass off to get good grades, so why did he have to advertise it? He was right, the reason he was elected co-captain of his team, letterman’s club president, and the ultimate honor as the president of his senior class was that Jack never asked for it. Jack never ran for any of that stuff, his friends made it happened because they couldn’t think of anyone they wanted to be their leader better than their buddy Jack.
Here I have to insert the same deal applied to Sally, my now bride, lover and lifetime companion for almost 60 years. She never asked for all the honors at Poly High, in fact she was embarrassed at Poly for being made the May Queen, same with all the scholastic honors and being elected Student Body Vice President. Jack and Sally were two ‘peas in a pod’ two very much the same, just I got to marry the best looking one!
Jack hated to lose, he was probably the greatest, most competitive guy I ever met. If you beat him, he would shake your hand, but he sure as hell didn’t like it.
Jack grew to just about six feet, his dark brown hair got prematurely gray hair, very early. Jack has always was a friendly guy, good sense of humor, but put a tennis racket in his hand, a golf club, or get him in any competitive game, and you have a steely eyed bastard of the first water. Jack never got a pot like the rest of us, it was just not allowed. He would run five miles to work off a party from the day before. Well, you get the picture. A nut!
Jack became a terrific golfer. He was always trying to get Sally and I to learn to play. After we were married he would take us to a local school practice field and make us practice our swings. Sally and I never could get the hang of turning yourself into a pretzel and trying to hit the ball at the same time. We were one of Jack’s few failures!
WHO GOT THE BIGGEST FISH
Jack married a great gal, Janet. The four us, and usually a few friends thrown in, like Bob and June Stevenson, or the Arlich’s had some wonderful parties, which always included dinner. Many times dinner the family dinner was fresh Albacore steaks fresh from a days fishing. Which gets us to another problem – who catches the biggest fish, the most fish, and so on. With Jack’s competitive spirit, it was war on the high seas.
Jack and Ray Cain had a small open, eighteen-foot Breachcraft fiberglass boat, with twin thirty-five horse motors. I swear, we almost got killed in that boat a few times. Mainly because we were too damn dumb to get off the ocean and back to a safe harbor fast enough!
The wind would come up, and the choppy waves would start slapping at the boat. Now any darn fool that fishes the ocean will tell you that when you start getting strong winds and chop, and you are in a small boat, get moving, now, not later! The fishing would be just too good, and Jack would say, “We’ll leave as soon as I bring in the next fish.”
One day I will never forget, Jack, I and Ray Cain were coming back to San Pedro harbor from fishing off Catalina Island, we could not see a darn thing but huge waves. We were trying to hit land by compass and the compass was flopping around so much you could hardly read it. In a small boat with high seas, you are in a trough and look up, and the next wave is way over your head, the boat will carry you to the top, and down like a roller coaster for the next one. Do this for a few hours, besides being soaked and cold, you are scared, major scared! If you get out alive, you figure there has to be a God looking out for fools like you.
That time we ended up way down the coast from San Pedro harbor, and saying “never again.” Of course, a month from then, Jack would hear the fishing was good, and off we went, our prior, near death, adventure all but a forgotten blur.
Our partner in these adventures was Jacks old High School buddy and fellow football player, Ray Cain. Ray also was Jack’s best man at his wedding to Janet. Ray was about six feet, with a tough exterior, but actually a real pussy cat, always a lot of fun to be with, and a terrific mechanic, a former Marine, and as bad a die hard fisherman as Jack and I were, I have to add here that Ray left us years ago, another friend that you could always count on. They say “The good die young!” it happened with Ray, a super friend. Jack, Ray, and I and various and assorted friends or family members had some adventures fishing off Catalina and on week trips to Lake Mead.
This particular day it was just Jack and I. We told the girls we would come in early and meet at Jack and Jan’s house. Sally said she would drive the kids over and we would have a fish dinner there.
We launched the boat inside San Pedro harbor, got some bait at the bait barge, and headed down the coast a few miles to an area called the ‘horse shoe kelp’. This is a huge bed of kelp, about a half mile off shore, a very famous and productive fishing spot. Smaller fish just love to hide out in the seaweed and the bigger fish are in there looking for dinner. This area was a fisherman’s paradise.
It was a beautiful day, Jack was in good spirits. That is until he saw me rigging up a light fresh water spinning pole, “Oh no, your not gonna start that stuff again!” He yelled. Now Jack was a technician when it came to everything, especially fishing, you had to match the pole, hook and line to what you were going to try and catch. Big fish – you need a big strong line and pole, made sense. His fishing adventures with his casual fisherman brother-in-law, me, are endless he could tell a million stories about me screwing up. His stories about fishing with me, in his mind were never as funny as others would think. Many times Jack had sworn that only one of us would return.
I love catching big fish on light tackle, very ‘light’ tackle. The problem is in a small boat, once you hook up, whoever else is in the boat might as well stop fishing. With a light fresh water bass spinning pole, and a small reel, six-pound line, I was ready to fish. It happened about an hour later. Bang, the pole bent almost double! “Albacore, and a big one” Uncle Jack shouted. Now when you have a twenty-pound, very upset fish on a six-pound test line, you let him do anything he wants. You give him all the line he wants because the only way you land a fish like this is tire him out, you can’t “horse” him in as pulling too hard will break the line.
Pull the line hard and he will break it off in a second. That fish went deep, so I gave him all the line he wanted, he would come up topside and I would reel in a fast as I could to get line back on the reel. The fish and I went around the boat again, and again, it had me climbing over Uncle Jack, the tackle boxes, gas cans. Around, and around we went.
For almost two hours the battle was fought. Near the end, the fish would be right on the surface, but the minute he saw Jack with the net, down he went again. We had told the girls we would come in early, we had at least an hour ride in, then had to get the boat on the trailer, clean it up and drive home. Jack was facing zero fishing time!
Pissed off, is the nicest thing that can be said about his attitude. I really think that the only thing that saved me from becoming fish bait was his love for his sister. Not wanting to leave her with two young sons to bring up all by her self.
Not only had I completely screwed up his whole day but I caught the biggest fish, a twenty pound beauty. This was a dark day in Jack’s life.
We got to Jack’s house at about five in the afternoon, and decided to Bar-B-Q the fish whole on the rotisserie. We had done twenty-pound turkeys why not a twenty-pound fish! The girls were told to leave the kitchen, this did not take any persuasion at all. Jack started mixing the drinks, he was in a hurry to forget my transgressions. He said “Fred, you got to solemnly swear to never, never, use light tackle on an ocean trip again.” “One more time and you don’t come back!”
Now Jack and I and both the girls are darn good cooks. But, nobody had the vaguest idea on how to stuff a big Albacore for the Bar-B. It got into one hell of a discussion. We stuffed that fish with everything but the kitchen sink. Chopped onions, celery, some garlic, I think even a bit of chopped bell pepper. We pulled every kind of spice off Janet’s shelves, sprinkled him with white wine, lemon juice. I was drinking rum and remember spilling a little on him just for the hell of it. We were arguing about what would be too strong a spice and what too mild. We finally got some strong thread and tied him to the bar on the rotisserie. We cranked up the coals and dinner would be ready in a couple of hours.
Janet and Sally had a heart attack when they saw the kitchen, we got thrown out fast. A few other things had to be fixed for dinner before the fish, which by this time was in grave doubt, at least by the girls. They decided to fix the kids hamburgers to be on the safe side, as it was getting late.
It has to be said here that in our younger days, Jack and I could handle the drinks well. He was a top aeronautic electronic sales engineer, and I was in the food, beer and wine importing business. Alcohol was something you had to handle no drunks aloud in either business. But, after a hard day under the sun on the high seas, and the earth shaking decisions made in preparing our trophy fish we were both flying high.
We took our prize off the Bar-B-Q at about eight P.M. That was the best tasting fish any of us had ever eaten in our lives. You may say “How do you know, being three sheets to the wind, in your drunken condition!” Just hold on now, the girls were very sober, Sally never has much to drink, Janet neither. Also Sally knew it was up to her to drive Dad and the kid’s home that night, like it or not. When the girls said it was the best fish they ever had, you can take it to the bank!
We have tried to duplicate that recipe for years, never came close. I guess the conditions just never were the same. We have had hours of discussion trying to remember just exactly with what and how we fixed that Albacore, never with a solution.
There are few words that could scare me in those days, but when Jack called on the phone and said-“Come on over, Kathy and I are fixing chili,” that was certainly one of the things that could scare the hell out of me. My stomach would start to burn just thinking about it. I would cover the phone and whisper to Sally, “It’s Jack, wants us over for Chili again, what should I say?” I remember several times with hope in her voice, Sally whispered back, “Calm down they may tone it down some, you know Janet wasn’t to awful happy last time.”
You could hear the excitement in Jacks voice, “You guys get over here fast, this is going to be great.” This was a command, and so Sally and I and our two boys Rick and Scott would get in the car with our pockets packed with Rolaids, praying that they would tone it down for once.
One day I actually saw them making the vile stuff. Jack’s beautiful feisty little daughter my niece Kathy and him peering into a big pot filled with ground beef, beans, onions, peppers, sausage, and other stuff, ready to add the final touch. Hot ground chili spice. Now the recipe would say three heaping tablespoons. Only, if you like it very, very, hot!
Jack would look at Kathy and put three in, then with a nod from her, drop in three more. They would stand there like rocket scientists watching the color and texture. “Better put a couple more in for the pot Dad,” my niece would say. And another couple of spoonfuls would be added.
Dinner would be served. Janet is a Chardonnay wine fan, and so we would have plenty of ice-cold wine and huge glasses of ice water ready. The salads Jan makes are always great. Fresh rolls. So you stick your spoon in the stuff, the chili and if the spoon doesn’t melt you figure it’s safe.
The first mouthful doesn’t seem so bad, so maybe we can eat the stuff tonight. And then it kicks in, fire all the way down. My sons Rick and Scott could handle it – lets say they would have died before they would let their Uncle Jack think they couldn’t eat his chili. I guess that is when I realized my little boys were tough little men, I gotta say I was awful proud of them. Sweat would be poring down their faces, but they were going to eat Uncle Jack’s Chili or die. Jack’s two girls Kathy and Julie had to have cast iron stomachs like their father.
Sally, Jan, and I gulping gallons of water, cold wine, anything to fight the fire, was another story.
One night Janet said, “That’s it, never again!” “Don’t ever, ever do that again, this is just too hot!” “Sally, don’t you think this is too hot!” My always a lady wife, gave her brother a look and said, “Well maybe, just a little.” Now if Sally ate anything those nights it was usually salad and rolls. Jack would have her dish piled high with his famous chili, and she would say, “I’m really not that hungry, we had a late lunch.”
The next time we were invited over for Jack Anderson’s world famous chili, Janet got on the line and said “I watched the whole thing Sally, we ought to be able to eat it this time.” It was so good, chili from heaven, topped with chopped onions and a dash of cheese, the perfect meal.
Jack and Kathy were bitching the whole evening about the tasteless stuff. I could care less, for Jan, Sally, and I it was perfect. I didn’t notice my sons, or Jacks younger daughter Julie, urging Janet to let Jack go back to the ‘old’ recipe either. My buddy Jan, when she finally put her foot down, she got their attention.
If anyone is lucky I have to be the one. I was born into a wonderful family, I cannot imagine anyone having a more loving wonderful bunch of aunts and uncles, my uncles married some wonderful ladies and my aunts married some great guys. I have never had to bitch about my cousins, oh, I guess I was closer to some than others, but that was mainly an ‘age’ thing. I never remember any family fights, jealousy, back stabbing, nothing like I have heard of from others with large families. Being spoiled by the support of my family, I doubt if I could have been able to handle anything less in the family I was to marry into.
Yes, you got it, I lucked out again, I married into a family that was the nearest thing to perfect that you can imagine. Sally’s mother had seven sisters—you heard me–seven! Of all those ladies, only three were married, besides Ann, they were Helen, Valborg, and Dagney. The girl’s maiden name was Thirstrup – you guess it, a very Danish name – all very lovely ladies, independent as hell, and that’s maybe why so few married.
Don’t get me wrong, I did not marry my wife because she was half Danish, or that her brother was a great guy. My Dad, being from Denmark, loved the Danish part, but it sure as hell never entered my mind or it being the reason I was determined to have Sally share my life. Sally was just a catch of a lifetime, my God she was beautiful, still is to me. I still can’t believe she was nuts enough to marry me. Very petite, her only fault was probably in the guy she married. She is very reserved and if she reads this she will kill me. After almost sixty years of marriage I still worship the ground she walks on. They say opposites attract, it was certainly true in this case.
My mother-in-law (Grandma Ann) was a sweetheart. She never seemed to care too much about clothes. She usually wore a black skirt, and a white blouse. That must have been the dress code at the phone-company where she worked then. She was maybe five and a half feet tall, about average. A little gray was starting to show through her hair. I loved my mother dearly, but my mother-in-law was right up there.
I would mention that she was going to throw a poker party for my birthday to friends, and they wouldn’t believe it. “Your mother-in-law is going to throw you a poker party?” they would say. “Hell, my mother-in-law just wants to throw me out!” another would say. Sally’s mother and father had broken up, one of those things, I never really knew why. Out of the seven aunts you would think there would be a ton of kids. Sally and Jack were the only offspring.
Ann raised Sally and Jack by herself. Her small flat was the vocal point of the family. The coffee-pot was always on and racing forms on the dining room table, with a bookie at the corner, the girls were always figuring the odds. Running in a wet track, dry track, it all took a lot of discussion. Ann was really good at it. She never bet big money, only what could be spared. At one time she couldn’t get a bookie to take her bets because she just won too often!
Jack won a football scholarship to the University California at Berkley. The first year he played they decided to make a defensive back out of him. I guess they figured he wasn’t tall enough for quarterback. I can’t believe it, with his arm, they make him a defensive player.
Jack played defensive corner back, and he played it like he did every thing else, to win. A two hundred plus fullback would get through the line, knees kicking high, and Jack would go for him. He always tackled Head first, aimed for your gut. Now you can stop a lot of big men this way fast. You can also take a hell of a beating. With the third concussion the doctors said, “One more and you may be on the funny farm.”
If you did not play in those early 1950’s at a University, you could not keep the scholarship, and Cal yanked his scholarship. Fortunately the fraternity that Jack had pledged too had a lot of football guys as members and they said Jack could stay without paying, as long as he helped out in the kitchen, so Jack washed dishes for his board and room.
There was still the tuition to be paid, books to be purchased, and some money to get around with. He worked at the fraternity for board and room, at nights at a gas station for a few bucks to spend. Tried to study between customers. Jack maintained a ‘B’ average, how did he do it? – he said, “Without sleep!” Summer vacation was working on a pipeline laying heavy pipe to start saving money for the fall tuition all over again.
The summer before his last year at Cal wasn’t a good one, at the end of the summer his mother and Jack could see that they were just not going to make it, there was not enough money. I remember we had kicked in a few dollars to help but it wasn’t enough. It looked like the game was up. He had struggled so hard to get back to Cal and wasn’t going to make it. I am quite sure if my father had been asked he would have gladly helped out. I even wanted to ask Dad for the money but Jack would not let me. There is a lot of pride in the Anderson’s and I doubt Jack would have accepted my Dad’s money even if offered.
A couple of days before Jack would have left, Ann said to heck with it – off to Santa Anita racetrack she went. She had been studying the horses very carefully. She waited till the second race, and put up all the college money they had been saving so carefully, on the nose! The horse came in. Now, for a real pro to have won a bunch of money, it’s usually just the start. You have ‘their’ money! Now let’s really place some bets!
Grandma Ann said there was eight races. As soon as she collected her winnings from the second race, she headed for the parking lot. She sat in the parking lot for hours, through six more races, before the buses came to take every one back to the city. She said she almost cried. She knew she could win more, but for once in her life she just could not take the chance. Jack’s future depended on it, she had the money for his last year in her purse she had to get it home.
That is the true story of a wonderful lady, with a lot of guts. They did not have enough for him to go back to college, she did the only thing she could think of, took the one chance that would help him, and she won!
Andy, my Dad, was a very good poker player, very lucky poker player. But when my father played with my Sally’s family, Sally’s Uncle Gilligan and mother, it was for real. You better have em! There was no bluffing, you had to show em! Dad loved playing poker with my new family, “real people” he called them.
In his ‘old age,’ Uncle Jack had his second heart operation. He was a little slow to recover. He said all the guys he golfed with were calling, wanting to know when he would be able to play.
Jack said they were like sharks, circling a minnow. His golfing buddies figured maybe once, just once, they could have a chance to beat him. He said his first game wasn’t so hot, but from then on he killed them.
My life long buddy, my best friend, my brother-in-law, would give you the shirt off his back, help you in any way, always be there for you, but in a game, watch out, he would beat the pants off you if he could.
I miss him so very, very much!
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