Driving a Taxi in Honolulu
The summer of 1969 I went over to Hawaii to drive a taxi. I still had a year left to graduate from college and this seemed like a romantic way to spend my vacation as well as to make a little money. I had read James Michener’s book Hawaii and found the opportunity to visit the islands enticing.
My friend Dannie Jaich had graduated the year before and had gone to Honolulu to find a teaching job. For some reason this never panned out for him and he ended up driving a cab. He invited me to join him there and promised to guide me through the process of qualifying as a driver myself. So, with my one-way airfare paid for, and about $50 in my wallet, I flew over.
Dannie was living in a run-down rental house in downtown Honolulu on Liliuokalani Street, not too far from Waikiki and the beach. Oahu then was just as you might imagine; colorful, warm, humid and covered with palm trees and tropical plants. There was also an exotic mix of ethnic groups; businessmen descended from indentured Japanese laborers, Polynesian “Primo Warriors” (named for the local beer), mixed race “Portugees”, American soldiers on leave from the war in Viet Nam, lily-white mainland secretaries seeking romance, handsome, brown-skinned “real Hawaiian” surfing instructors and a few college kids looking for adventure.
Dannie soon put me to studying a map of the city because, in order to obtain a taxi driver’s license, you had to pass a test based upon your knowledge of the city streets and pertinent rules and regulations. The one part of the exam that I remember now was that you were verbally given a hypothetical location where you picked up an ill client and you had to give the examiner the quickest route to the nearest hospital. The test was not easy, especially when you consider all the streets had Hawaiian names that I could neither pronounce nor easily distinguish, one from the other.
Our vehicles were rented from a fellow who charged $15/day for their use. We worked out of the Ilakai Hotel at the far northwest end of the Honolulu tourist area. This meant we waited in an off-site parking lot until they needed to replenish the 3-4 cabs that were stationed in front of the hotel. A good fare for us, where we could make a few bucks, would be to the airport, but too many times, after waiting for hours, we would get a client who just wanted to go to the International Market Place on Waikiki, a two dollar fare. As summer was the low tourist season, many days we would have to work 8 hours in order to make the funds to pay for the use of the cab. After that we would have to come up with the money to pay for gas and, yes, food. In many ways, this was some of the hardest work I have done.
As mentioned before, many of the streets had Hawaiian names and were difficult to distinguish between. I often had problems finding destinations. One memory that still makes me cringe is when I picked up an obviously in-a-hurry businessman at the Ilakai Hotel. He had an appointment in a few minutes at a hotel I had only heard of, but never had been to, although I felt I could find it. After wandering around for way too long, with a very agitated passenger in the back seat, I finally took him back to the nearest standing taxi I could find and admitted to him I could not find the hotel where his meeting was to be. The look on his face still haunts me.
One evening I remember was when the cab owner took Dannie and me, as well as several others of his drivers, out for drinks and a late breakfast on Waikiki (my first Eggs Benedict). We got pretty looped and he ended up racing his car at 120 mph (as I write this 120 mph seems impossible, but that is what I remember) down the main tourist thoroughfare at 2:00 am with a car full of quickly sobering passengers.
Sometimes I was really hungry. I remember one time at an all-you-can-eat buffet when I stuffed a pocket with scrambled eggs for later consumption. It doesn’t make sense now, as there must have been other more portable foods to carry out, but that’s what I did. And I remember eating them later.
Dannie, who was more bold than most, would propose a personalized Oahu Island tour to many of his passengers. For a set fee he would drive them around to the Northshore and back, showing them all the tourist spots and naming the flora and fauna that they saw. Now Dannie did not know their real names any more than I did, so he would just make up names like, Monkey Tree or Island Blue Birds. He encouraged me to offer these tours as well, but I was hesitant, not only did I not know any flowers’ names; I really did not know where the tourist spots were either. But I did propose it to one couple and when they did not readily accept, I was relieved. They said however, that they would think about it and asked for a telephone number where they could contact me. Much to my dismay a few days later they called to accept. I don’t remember much about the trip, but as uncomfortable as I was, I was able to fake my way through it. We did get up to the north side of the island and maybe saw some tourist sites, perhaps I named a few trees and birds. I did receive my fare and a tip but I didn’t try it again.
Other snap shot type memories that endure are:
– This was the year that Neil Armstrong was the first person to walk on the moon. It was a big event in Hawaii, as the return capsule was picked up in the waters just off shore. The triumphant astronauts came to Honolulu to be greeted by large and enthusiastic crowds. I did not see them in person, but remember watching the landing and return on a flickering, black and white TV in the dorm room of Carlyn Hanson, a student at the University of Hawaii that I was dating at the time.
– George Pena was a friend of Dannie’s and mine from high school. He had signed on with the Los Angeles Angels baseball organization and was with their triple A team in, I think, Palm Springs. His team came over to play the Hawaiian franchise and we of course went to see him. I don’t remember much about the game except for my introduction to Saimen which I really liked. This is typical Hawaiian baseball fare and is similar to Ramen noodles.
– Dropping someone off at a house where they had the 1969 College All Star Football team playing the previous year’s Super Bowl Champions (as they used to do) NY Jets on the television. I only saw a moment of the game, but the Joe Namath led pros won in a close one 26-24.
– Cutting Sam Rosseli’s hair, the first and only time I have done this. Sam was another friend from college, who had come over to join us to drive a cab that summer. Sam was a laid-back guy notable for having dated a well-known model, Cheryl Tiggs, before she became famous.
– I remember that black people were always conscientious about tipping.
– The local, year-round, full-time taxi drivers were understandably resentful of we “haoles” who had come over from the mainland to pick up the scant fares.
– I started reading Catch 22 and finished it only recently, close to 40 years later.
– And, I remember thinking that the ocean water was as warm as a bath.
So, after a full summer, exhausted, with an airline ticket in my hand, $15 dollars in my pocket and all debts paid (except for that traffic ticket for driving at dusk on Waikiki Blvd without my lights on that I did not believe I deserved) I headed home.
Thanks Dannie for inviting me. It was great fun.
- Published in Personal Interests
Working as an Usher at Dodger Stadium
I was looking for a part-time job while attending East Los Angeles Junior College in 1964. I had a friend who was working as an usher for baseball games at Dodger Stadium in downtown Los Angeles and I asked him if he could help me do the same. He agreed, so I went down and applied and was accepted. I had to join a union and the rules were that the most senior members of that union had first preference in working the games. That meant if I showed up for a game that had a low attendance, I might not have work that day, because only a limited number of ushers would be needed. If not selected, I had the option of either going home or watching the game from the third deck. I worked the 1964 and 1965 baseball seasons.
There were two shifts, one started two hours before the ballgame and the other started an hour later. I always hoped to get on the first shift because your tour ended after four hours. The second shift stayed until the end of the game, even if it went into many extra innings. I think the pay was four dollars and hour and change. We wore company provided grey slacks, maroon double-breasted coats, clip on ties and straw hats. You provided your own white dress shirt.
The Los Angeles Angels Baseball team was formed in 1961 and played in the same stadium which they called Chavez Ravine. They played their home schedule when the Dodgers were on the road and, as their attendance was low most of the time, except when the Yankees were in town, I did not work as much for them. Having teams from both the National and American leagues come into town, I was able to see all the great players of the era; Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris, Al Kaline, Ernie Banks, Warren Spahn, Willie Mays, etc. Of course, there were all the Dodger greats like Don Drysdale and Maury Wills as well.
One of my favorite fellow ushers was a boxing instructor. I believe his name was Joe Crosetti or something close to that. He worked with fighters down at Los Angeles’ old Main Street Gym. The friend who got me the job (unfortunately I can’t remember his name) and I went down there and did some training with Joe, including some sparing with real boxers. I soon learned that I was not quick, tough or hungry enough to go much further. But my friend was real good and worked at it for a long time. I lost contact with him when I went into the Peace Corps after the second year of ushering. I wonder what happened to him?I did see Sandy Koufax pitch a perfect game against the Chicago Cubs, September 9, 1965 and worked all home games for the Dodgers when they won the 1965 World Series against the Minnesota Twins.
Many of the other ushers were Pakistanis with advanced college degrees, who were working for the same peanuts I was. One evening it was explained to me; they had come over to the U.S.on student visas and as long as they continued studying, they could stay here. Their visas only allowed them to work at part-time jobs, like ushering. Additionally, all of them had a wife and kids back in Pakistan. Their parents would not let them leave their home country without establishing these ties to assure their return.
There were a few venders that I got to know well. They would work their way up from selling the heavy things like soda and beer to the ultimate, peanuts. One peanut seller who really impressed me was a black law student with a big personality. He was wonderful at playing the crowd and worked really hard. He told me once that he could make $300 on a big three-day weekend! $300 to me was a lot of money in 1965.
Most of the time as an usher, after we helped people find their places, we would walk behind the last row of seats and ask people to “please stand behind the yellow line”. This painted line was about a yard back behind those seats and the reason we were required to do that was so that the seated patron would not have some drunk hanging over his shoulder spilling beer.
Many times I was selected to work the Club Level where I saw many of the baseball writers and celebrities who attended the games, like Angie Dickinson with whom I had a stilted (on my side) conversation with in an elevator one time. I always suspected, but never asked, the reason I worked there so much was that I was a clean-cut looking white kid.
I saw a few folks get hurt by being hit by line drive foul balls and flying bats, but nothing really ugly. Of course there was always the mad scramble for loose balls in the stands. When I go to a baseball game these days I have absolutely no interest in having any foul ball come near me.
One day in sunny Southern California, we had an extremely heavy downpour of rain and the game was called off. There was so much water on the field that one of the batboys decided to swim, not wade, between the dugouts.
Fights, drunks, cursing, bad behavior? Yeah, but not a lot, and that’s what the police were there for. It was Los Angeles, not the East Coast, baseball not soccer.
As a member of the union, I had the opportunity to work other events as well. One year I saw the circus 64 times. With this overdose, I have had little interest in going again.
All in all it was a good job and I’m happy I had the opportunity to do it.
- Published in Personal Interests
Seeing the Gorillas in Rwanda or Monnie’s Big Adventure
My friend Monnie Biety shared the following wonderful story with me:
In May of this year, I spent 2 weeks working in Rwanda. Most of us are familiar with this small African country for 2 reasons, the genocide in 1994 and the mountain gorillas introduced to the world by Dian Fossey. I was lucky enough to visit the gorillas in Volcanoes National Park where Dian Fossey did her research. The park is about 2 ½ hours by car from the capital city of Kigali. It is in a very mountainous and lush area of the country surrounded by dormant volcanoes. The park sits on the border of Rwanda, Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo.
In order to visit the gorillas you have to purchase a permit. I was able to purchase one at the last minute only because it wasrainy season. At any other time of year, there is normally a 6 month to 1 year waiting list. In the park there are 20 groups of gorillas, 10 groups are exclusively for research and the other 10 groups receive visitors every day of the year. In total, there are less than 800 mountain gorillas in the world!
Eighty people are allowed to visit the gorillas each day. When you arrive at the park, the rangers divide the visitors up into groups of eight and each group is assigned 3 rangers and 2-3 trackers. You then set off hiking to find your assigned group of gorillas. This sounds like searching for a needle in a haystack but it was all very organized. The trackers locate your assigned group of gorillas early in the morning and then the rangers guide you to their location.
I visited the Agashya group. Agashya is the silverback or mature male and the leader of the group. He weighed 450 pounds. Inthe mountain gorilla world, it is the silverback that holds the group together. There were also 20 adults and adolescents in the group and 6 babies. We found our group busily eating bamboo, their favorite food. We were surrounded by the gorillas; they were up in the bamboo, on the forest floor with us and just going about their daily life. They acknowledged us but we didn’t appear to bother them. The rangers told us that we could not get closer than 7 meters. But luckily, to enhance the experience, the gorillas weren’t aware of that rule. They approached us and moved freely about us. In fact, one ran right into my knee. After you locate your group of gorillas, you are allowed to spend 1 hour with them. It was the most amazing and memorable 1 hour in the bamboo forest, in the middle of Africa, spending time with 27 mountain gorillas roaming freely, gazing at me with soulful, gentle and intelligent eyes and nothing between me and them but bamboo!
- Published in Guest Blogger, Personal Interests
Seeing the Gorillas in Rwanda or Monnie’s Big Adventure
My friend Monnie Biety shared the following wonderful story with me:
In May of this year, I spent 2 weeks working in Rwanda. Most of us are familiar with this small African country for 2 reasons, the genocide in 1994 and the mountain gorillas introduced to the world by Dian Fossey. I was lucky enough to visit the gorillas in Volcanoes National Park where Dian Fossey did her research. The park is about 2 ½ hours by car from the capital city of Kigali. It is in a very mountainous and lush area of the country surrounded by dormant volcanoes. The park sits on the border of Rwanda, Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo.
In order to visit the gorillas you have to purchase a permit. I was able to purchase one at the last minute only because it wasrainy season. At any other time of year, there is normally a 6 month to 1 year waiting list. In the park there are 20 groups of gorillas, 10 groups are exclusively for research and the other 10 groups receive visitors every day of the year. In total, there are less than 800 mountain gorillas in the world!
Eighty people are allowed to visit the gorillas each day. When you arrive at the park, the rangers divide the visitors up into groups of eight and each group is assigned 3 rangers and 2-3 trackers. You then set off hiking to find your assigned group of gorillas. This sounds like searching for a needle in a haystack but it was all very organized. The trackers locate your assigned group of gorillas early in the morning and then the rangers guide you to their location.
I visited the Agashya group. Agashya is the silverback or mature male and the leader of the group. He weighed 450 pounds. Inthe mountain gorilla world, it is the silverback that holds the group together. There were also 20 adults and adolescents in the group and 6 babies. We found our group busily eating bamboo, their favorite food. We were surrounded by the gorillas; they were up in the bamboo, on the forest floor with us and just going about their daily life. They acknowledged us but we didn’t appear to bother them. The rangers told us that we could not get closer than 7 meters. But luckily, to enhance the experience, the gorillas weren’t aware of that rule. They approached us and moved freely about us. In fact, one ran right into my knee. After you locate your group of gorillas, you are allowed to spend 1 hour with them. It was the most amazing and memorable 1 hour in the bamboo forest, in the middle of Africa, spending time with 27 mountain gorillas roaming freely, gazing at me with soulful, gentle and intelligent eyes and nothing between me and them but bamboo!
- Published in Guest Blogger, Personal Interests
Family War Hero
The annual Bolder Boulder 10K race will be run through town on Memorial Day, May 28, 2012. This year, as I have done a number of times in the past, I will be participating. In addition to your numbered bib, which you wear pinned to the front of your shirt, you are given the option of placing another treated sheet of paper on your back with the information about some person “I’m running in honor of………” This year I will be honoring my great-uncle, George H. Mallon. He was the brother of my Grandmother Isabela and distinguished himself in France in World War I. Below see his story which I believe was clipped out of a magazine.
- Published in Personal Interests
My Peace Corps Experience
Early in 1966 I had a decision to make; consent to being drafted into the army or accept a last minute invitation to training for a two-year Peace Corps assignment in Venezuela. I had just gotten my Associate of Arts degree after two plus years of junior college and had no immediate plans to attend a four year institution. About a year earlier I had filled out a 16 page application form for the Peace Corps because the romance and adventure of it appealed to me, but had heard nothing from them since, so I had pretty much forgotten about it.
Although the war in Viet Nam was heating up, and going into the army meant very likely ending up there, this was not as easy of a decision as many would think. The Peace Corps was only a deferment of my service obligation and I knew I’d be subject again to conscription upon my return. Also, I had gotten used to the idea of going into the army and had taken some tests that indicated I might be able to get into officer training school.
Ultimately, I decided upon the Peace Corps because it was different from that which my peers were doing and I thought it would look more interesting on a resume one day. So, in March of that year, at 20 years old, I found myself at the University of Arizona in Tucson, along with 60 others from across the country, to begin a three month training course.
We quickly divided up into our natural groups; the drinkers and non-drinkers, idealist and adventure seekers, married and un-married, men and woman, jocks and non-jocks. Ultimately, it seems to me, that the adventure seekers/drinkers had the better experiences and the idealists/non-drinkers had the more difficult.
Our training consisted of intensive Spanish classes and, as our group was focused on “Directed Recreation”, courses in teaching sports. In the beginning we were tested for language skills and assigned to study groups based upon the results. Most days began with two hours of Spanish study, an hour of
recreation and back for two more hours of “Castellano”. Many of us started speaking Spanish in our sleep. Although I worked hard to learn, my ability in Spanish ended up about average for the group. Afternoons were spent learning how to coach sports, often taught by members of the University of Arizona athletic department.
After a couple of months of this we were all sent down to the states of Michoacán and Jalisco in México to spend a couple of weeks in villages where we were to practice our new language skills and experience living in a third world
country. It was hoped that this trip would replicate that which awaited us in Venezuela and we, and the Peace Corps management, could determine whether it was appropriate for individuals to move forward.
I was assigned the remote small mountain village of Pichataro in Michoacán. In order to arrive there, I had to take a train, bus and finally hire a horse and young guide for the last, overnight segment of my journey. However, I have always suspected that, had I spoken the local lingo better, I might have found an easier way there. The people were lovely and very hard working. I struggled with communication and the isolation, but look back upon it with fondness. Interestingly, many of the villagers did not speak Spanish well, as Tarascan was the native language.
Many long-term friendships were formed during these three months of training and for me it was one of the best parts of my entire Peace Corps experience. At the end about 10 of us decided not to continue and another 10 were “deselected” by the administration. Several of these “deselections” were very unpopular with the remainder of the group.
So, now there were 40 of us off for the big adventure.
We gathered in Miami with another training group of volunteers for a late night flight south to Venezuela’s capital, Caracas. The pilot initially welcomed us aboard and wished us luck in our new adventure. Later he had to come on the speaker several times with dire threats if we didn’t put away the liquor bottles we had smuggled on the airplane.
Once in Caracas, we spent a number of days sightseeing while the administration got us organized and gave us our site assignments. I was asked to
work in a Catholic run elementary school called Fe y Alegria in Puerto Ordaz, Estado Bolívar. The school had a large fenced-in recreation area that included a couple of basketball courts and a soccer field, ideal for teaching physical education, running after school programs and organizing sports competitions. There had been a couple of volunteers there before I arrived who were well thought of.
At that time Puerto Ordaz had about 100,000 inhabitants, but was growing fast due to the many new jobs on offer. The Venezuelan government was investing a lot of their oil revenue into developing the infrastructure of the area, including massive Guri dam, to exploit the large quantities of mineral deposits found in the vicinity, as well as to support the development of heavy industry. Orinoco Mining Company, a subsidiary of U.S. Steel, was already there, along with a number of American technicians and a country club for management level employees.
Puerto Ordaz is located about 400 miles to the southwest of Caracas in the middle of their great plains, the llanos. The city is set at the confluence of the Orinoco and Caroni rivers. As it is only 7 degrees north of the equator, the climate is often hot and humid, especially during the rainy season. The new metropolis of Ciudad Guyana was eventually formed by joining Puerto Ordaz with another city across the Rió Caroni, San Feliz. Combined they now have a population approaching one million.
So, for two years I would open the Fe y Alegria playing fields after school for the children and young adults of the
surrounding barrio to play ball games or just hang out. Occasionally we would have basketball, volleyball and soccer tournaments. We even had a track event. During the day I would teach physically education classes at the primary school and/or walk a mile over to the Escuela Secondaria Catolica and teach a period in third year English. I remember that I would arrive in a sweat for this 8:00 am class, due to the torrid climate.
Evenings would often find me up the hill, towards the center of town, where there were some lighted basketball courts and games usually in progress. Walking home in the evening I would marvel at the stars. With little ambient light to compete, they were brighter and more numerous than I have been able to see in most of my city-based life. At that low latitude, Scorpio and the Southern Cross dominated the constellations in the heavens.
One year I ended up in charge of taking the State of Bolívar’s men’s basketball team up to the national tournament in Caracas. We were hopelessly out-manned and lost all our matches. It didn’t help that I knew little about coaching a real team.
After I had been in Puerto Ordaz for about 6 months another Volunteer was assigned there with me. Although I was looking forward to the companionship, he and I never bonded. He was very enthusiastic and committed to integrating himself into the community. He was also very Catholic and much of his work was centered around and through the church. I certainly respected the effort he put into being a volunteer, but he and I sort of only co-existed without any significant personal relationship. After the Peace Corps I heard he chose to stay in Venezuela and, according to one source, renounced his United States citizenship.
I suppose the most typical plate of food there was carrajotas negras, arroz con pollo y platinos (black beans, chicken and rice with fried plantains). I had this combination countless meals and enjoyed it every time. The brand of beer I drank was Polar. One custom I always found curious was that working-class men there would stop drinking a bottle of beer once it became less than very cold. So, in a bar you would see a group sitting around a table filled with half drunk bottles, this in a country where every Bolívar was hard to come by?
When I joined the Peace Corps I weighed about 180 lbs. When I returned I tipped the scale at 158. And, I wasn’t the only one, as all the men had a similar experience. I suppose it was a combination of work, more basic foods and, in my case, loss of appetite due to the climate. Interestingly, my son Timothy, who spent two years in Bolivia as a volunteer, had a similar experience.
During my time in Venezuela I was able to do a bit of traveling. Fellow volunteer Bob Buffin and I hitchhiked across the Northwest corner of the country that
included the northern most extent of the Andes. I was always a little jealous of the volunteers in these higher-altitude, cooler-temperature cities of Caracas, Maracay, Valencia and Merida. I also was able to travel by motorized launch out into the Orinoco Delta to visit another friend, Doug Stufflebeam, who was saving lives among the Warao Indians with his navy corpsman experience.
I enjoyed a couple of visits north to Playa Colorada on the Caribbean coast where I body surfed and enjoyed oysters for the first time.
Joe Bette was an American working for the Orinoco Mining company in Puerto Ordaz at that time, who had been a Peace Corps Volunteer in India a few years before. He and I flew to Trinidad for Carnival one year. It was one of the great adventures of my life. 40+ years later and I can still hear the steel drum music and taste the dark rum.
I left Venezuela disappointed that I had not put more effort into creating additional activities, programs and events at Fe y Alegria. No excuses, but over time, after an initial burst of enthusiasm, I lost motivation and interest. After the first year, with some exceptions when I would have a spurt of activity, I just went with the flow and did only what was required of me. Towards the end I was counting the days until the completion of my assignment, as it was important to me to finish my two year commitment. As it was, I got a lot more out of my experience than I believe did the Venezuelans. Of our group of 40, that had arrived “in country” 24 months earlier, about 20 stuck it out to the end. I am proud to have done so.
Additionally, I felt I could have put more effort into learning Spanish. I was “OK” at the end of two years, but it was not until long after that, with some serious study back home, that I ever reached a proficiency with which I was content.
In June of 1968 I completed my service and returned to the U. S. via Bogota, Colombia. My first stop back home was New York City where I visited another returning volunteer from our group, Bart Briefstein, who lived there. We ended up going to an off-Broadway production of a new play everyone was talking about named “Hair.” This was the 60’s, and for the last two years we in Venezuela had been hearing continuous reports about anti-Viet Nam war protesters rioting in the streets of American along with the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King. I was not sure what to expect when I got home again. I went through quite a return culture shock that evening, watching this new type, counter-culture play with actors appearing nude on stage. Maybe my country had changed in my absence?
It had, and so had I.
- Published in Personal Interests
Rugby and Me
Rugby has been a very important part of my life. Most of my friends and many of my adventures in life have come from my participation in this sport. I was never particularly good at it, but as the sport most always assured “anyone who came to practice got a match”, I have probably played 450-500 games in my life. Not bad for someone living in the United States, where Rugby is a “minor sport.”
As I was transferred many times early in my business career, I had the opportunity to play for teams in Los Angeles, Portland, OR, Omaha, Boston, Seattle and Boulder, CO. I usually had no problem starting for the “A” side at fullback, wing or, sometimes fly-half, for the mediocre sides I lined up with, but I had to work hard to stay on the first side for the better teams like Mystic River in Boston.
A wonderful thing happened when I was about 35 years old and living in Seattle; the appearance of “Old Boy” or over 35 Rugby. I believe the Evergreens from Vancouver, British Colombia were a prim mover in this development. The Seattle Old Guard (SOGgies) was soon playing 8-10 matches home and away against old boy teams north of the border. Same rules as the standard game, but with an understanding among all players (well most at least) that play was conducted with a restraint consistent with our ages. Men now play this form of Rugby into their 70’s and beyond. As a wise friend and Rugby sage once put it, “98% of the fun and none of the bull&%$#”. Old Boy Rugby vastly extended my playing career until I finally gave it up a few years ago after turning 60.
There is something special about Rugby and those who participate in it. It is a form of combate on the “pitch” that forms a bond between those who play it. I could go to any Rugby clubhouse in the world (and some are quite nice) and feel welcome as part of the brotherhood.
I started Rugby at California State College Los Angeles after returning from the Peace Corps in 1968. I was looking to take a physical education class along with my other studies as a way of getting in shape. I noticed they had a class in Rugby and remembered someone had once mentioned that I should try the sport. So, I signed up for the course.
First practice and it was love at first sight. I was attracted to the uniforms, constant movement, contact without pads, the importance of kicking the ball ( I fancied myself good at that) and the history and traditions of the sport that included, comradeship, partying and singing with the other team after a match. I was hooked and turned out the next week for the school team.
We CSCLA Diablos had an excellent Rugby team, sort of coached by an ex-NFL defensive back and great guy, John Hurdle. The school football team had been very successful in the previous years and, as many of the players had run out of eligibility for that sport, they turned to the club Rugby team. Of all the years I participated in the sport, this first team had the best athletes. Had we had more knowledgeable coaches, we could have been very good.
As it was, in the two years I played for the team, mostly starting at fullback, we won the Southern California Championship of both college and men’s teams in 1971. We had earlier defeated a combined University of California campuses team that was on its way to Australia where they did very well. One of my best friends from that team, Joe Hendrix, recently passed away after surviving a number of years with a heart transplant.
After graduation I played a year with the Pasadena RFC and went to work for Scott Paper Company in sales. In those days the way to move up in a corporation was not only to work hard, but to be willing to take transfers to new locations for higher level positions. Thus began my odyssey of moving from city to city that I mentioned above.
One of the advantages of playing Rugby in those days for me was that when I moved to a new location, I would show up for practice with the local side and immediately have 30 new friends. Not only friends, but many people who spent their lives in the area and were able to introduce my family and me to local experiences we would not have had elsewise.
1969-1972 CSCLA
1973 Pasadena RFC
1973-1974 Portland Oregon RFC
1975-1977 Omaha RFC
1978-1979 Mystic River (Boston) RFC
1980-1991 Seattle RFC
1991-Present Boulder RFC
Another appealing aspect of Rugby is the tradition of “touring” to play matches, often times to foreign countries. It is a wonderful experience to visit strange lands with good friends and team mates.
Some of the tours I have participated in include:
British Colombia (many times), Edmonton, Canada and Acapulco, Mexico with the Seattle RFC
Ireland, Scotland, Wales, England, Holland, Luxembourg, Belgium, Italy, Czech Republic, Hungry and Chile with the Boulder Old Boys.
I also saw some matches in Ireland, England and Wales for the 1999 World Cup. This is a quad-annual event between the top 20 ranked national teams.
My friend Dave Cunningham and I try to make it out to the USA 7’s (a fast paced, abbreviated form of the sport with 7 players on a side) each February in Las Vegas. Last year we flew out to Hong Kong for the world renowned Hong Kong 7’s (well worth it).
Injuries? Yes, but not as many as you would expect. Mine have been mostly limited to cuts that needed to be stitched up and a twisted knee that bothered me for a while. My biggest problem over the years has been pulled hamstrings, which seriously limited my availability at times, especially towards the end. But these were small inconveniences compared to the pleasures the game has given me
The Welsh say that “Rugby is the game they play in heaven.”
And I say, “you are never more alive than when you are on the Rugby pitch.”
- Published in Personal Interests
Jogging versus Running
It’s an old joke:
What is the difference between jogging and running?
Answer: Running is my speed and faster, anyone else is just jogging.
I have been running/jogging on a fairly regular basis since I was 25, so that is 40 plus years now.
In thinking about it, the reason I run is split 50/50 between wanting to stay fit and the internal cleansing I feel after a half hour run through the neighborhood. I have often equated running to taking a shower on the inside.
I attempt to go out four times a week, anything more often and I start to feel run-down and lose interest. I try to augment the running with light weight work outs at the local YMCA, but I have never been able to maintain that for longer than a couple of months at a time. Running is so much easier, just change shoes and clothes and you are out the door.
I go out all year long, but avoid the streets when there is snow and ice as I have taken some falls. On those occasions I avail myself of the YMCA indoor track (16 laps to the mile), but that feels more like work than play.
When I used to do a lot of businss travel, I would take my gear with me and try to get a run in in the evening.
I prefer to run the many fairly smooth dirt trails we have here in Boulder. However, I avoid those steep, rock and root strewn tracks along the foothills. On those, I believe it is not a question of if you will fall, but when.
I think about various things when I run and lately I have done some calculating in my head. I believe I am approaching having accumulated enough distance running to have circumnavigated the earth, 25,000 miles.
So, as I grow older and my pace surely slows, I’ll still be running, while those slower will only be jogging.
- Published in Personal Interests, Personal Observation
Long-term ticket to a Healthy Skeleton
Joint pain is one of the most common ailments that individuals experience as they age. Lack of activity or too much activity without countering the effects of these can lead to dysfunction that determines the stability and mobility of the joint. If a joint moves poorly due to tightness of the connective tissue or inflexibility of the muscles that move it, it will lose its capacity to create fluidity of the body’s skeleton. We are intended to move using sequential patterns of muscle action for functional and athletic activities. When mobility is restricted, these normal patterns are interrupted and what replace them are compensations that are hard on the structure and can be a source of pain.
What is the solution to this aging issue? We can manage the change in function by performing exercises that mobilize the joints and improve the flexibility of the muscles and connective tissue. This allows a joint to move fluidly through its range of motion without undue pressure on anyone particular portion of it which can ultimately reduce the degree of wearing. Flexibility is as critical to the function of your joints as air is to the function of your lungs. Enabling the body to find correct movements by improving posture and flexibility is a long-term ticket to a healthy skeleton. Appropriate physical activity is essential to function.
The best way to identify your areas of tightness and mis-alignment is to be evaluated by a professional who understands postural position and movement patterns and will assess joint mobility and function. In addition to performing stretching and strengthening exercises, learning and maintaining good posture will support the balance of the muscles around the joints. When standing, the feet should be hip width and parallel to one another. Finding weighting in the ball of the big and little toe and center of the heel will help you evenly activate the muscles up the leg and position the pelvis properly. This should allow the hips to have a slight bend in them with the middle of the shoulders lined with center of the hips when looking at the profile. Finally, the middle of the ear should align with the shoulder with the gaze level. This is a neutral stance that you will not hold all of the time, but if you learn how to be stable here and improve flexibility, your movement quality will improve. And this translates to happier joints for life!
- Published in Guest Blogger
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