Prose and Poetry Exchange

Many of our classmates have asked for a page on this website for them to exchange and enjoy the thoughts, ideas and writings of others in our class.  Such writings can be in any format. 

Just submit your written work to Roger at rogvicki@msn.com and he will post your material on this page.  He will leave your material here for one year and may remove it only due to space limitations.  Enjoy coming back here to read the ideas of your classmates!  (The latest entry will be posted at the bottom.)

<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>

First Entrant: A Poem by Rod Lazorik     Date: December 22, 2013

On a road I travel frequently
 
August is a month for teenagers
 
On a road I frequently travel,
I have seen two pairs of twin fauns playing tag,
A little black bare cub scurrying across the road,
And a sleeping dog lying in the middle of the road
Most days.
 
I have seen a mother wild turkey teaching her chicks to forage,
Little ducklings in a row behind their mother
On their way to the creek.
 
Numerous young goats live along this road
I see a black speckled white horse
and his black speckled white rooster friend
Eating grain from the same pan most days
And many mares with their colts.
 
The end of September
Bam! De Bam!
Brings black walnuts falling on tin roofs,
Bam! De Bam!


<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>

Second Entrant: Prose submitted by Barry Lazarus, Date: Dec. 23, 2013

Darn, I'm older than dirt !!

 

Someone asked the other day,

'What was your favorite fast food when you were growing up?'
'We didn't have fast food when I was growing up!!'

I informed him, 'All the food was slow.'


'C'mon, seriously. Where did you eat?'
'It was a place called 'home', I explained!

'Mom cooked every day and when Dad got home from work, we sat down together at the dining room table, & if I didn't like what she put on my plate, I was allowed to sit there until I did like it.'

By this time, the kid was laughing so hard I was afraid he was going to suffer serious internal damage, so I didn't tell him the part about how I had to have permission to leave the table.

Here are some other things I would have told him about my childhood if I figured his system could have handled it :


Some parents NEVER owned their own house, wore Levis , set foot on a golf course, traveled out of the country or had a credit card.


My parents never drove me to school. I had a bicycle that weighed probably 50 pounds, and only had one speed, (slow).


We didn't have a television in our house until I was 10. It was, of course, black and white, and the station went off the air at 11, after playing the national anthem. It came back on the air at about 6 a.m. and there was usually a locally produced news and farm show on, featuring local people...

I never had a telephone in my room. The only phone was on a party line. Before you could dial, you had to listen and make sure some people you didn't know weren't already using the line.

Pizzas were not delivered to our home... But milk was.


All newspapers were delivered by boys and all boys delivered newspapers -- my brother delivered a newspaper, six days a week. He had to get up at 5 AM every morning.


Movie stars kissed with their mouths shut. At least, they did in the movies. There were no movie ratings because all movies were responsibly produced for everyone to enjoy viewing, without profanity or violence or most anything offensive.


If you grew up in a generation before there was fast food, you may want to share some of these memories with your children or grandchildren. Just don't blame me if they bust a gut laughing.


Growing up isn't what it used to be, is it?


MEMORIES:

 

My Dad is cleaning out my grandmother's house (she died in December) and he brought me an old Royal Crown Cola bottle. In the bottle top was a stopper with a bunch of holes in it. I knew immediately what it was, but my daughter had no idea. She thought they had tried to make it a salt shaker or something. I knew it as the bottle that sat on the end of the ironing board to 'sprinkle' clothes with because we didn't have steam irons. Man, I am old.


How many do you remember?

Head lights dimmer switches on the floor.
Ignition switches on the dashboard.
Pant leg clips for bicycles without chain guards.
Soldering irons you heat on a gas burner.
Using hand signals for cars without turn signals.

Older Than Dirt Quiz:
Count all the ones that you remember ,, NOT the ones you were told about! 
Ratings at the bottom.


1. Candy cigarettes *


2. Coffee shops with tableside juke boxes *


3. Home milk delivery in glass bottles *


4. Party lines on the telephones *


5. Newsreels before the movie*


6. TVtest patterns that came on at night after the last show and were there untilTV shows started again in the morning. (There were only 3 channels, if you were lucky!)


7. Peashooters *


8. Howdy Doody *


9. 45 RPM records*


10. Hi-fi's records*


11. Metal ice trays with lever *


12. Blue flashbulb*


13. Cork popguns *


14. Studebakers*


15. Wash tub wringers *
 
If you remembered 0-3 = You're still young


If you remembered 3-6 = You are getting older


If you remembered 7-10 = Don't tell your age,


If you remembered 11-15 =

You're older than dirt !!! THAT'S ME !!!


I might be older than dirt but those memories are some of the best parts of my life...

 

Don't forget to pass this along!!


Especially to all your really OLD friends.

 

 Third Entrant: A Nostalgic Poem from Kurt Schleicher: Date, Dec. 24, 2013

HEY, THIS WAS US AND WE HAD THE BEST TIMES!

A little house with three bedrooms,
one bathroom and one car on the street.
A mower that you had to push
to make the grass look neat.

In the kitchen on the wall
we only had one phone,
And no need for recording things,
someone was always home.

We only had a living room
where we would congregate,
unless it was at mealtime
in the kitchen where we ate.

We had no need for family rooms
or extra rooms to dine.
When meeting as a family
those two rooms would work out fine.

We only had one TV set
and channels maybe two,
But always there was one of them
with something worth the view.

For snacks we had potato chips
that tasted like a chip.
And if you wanted flavor
there was Lipton's onion dip.

Store-bought snacks were rare because
my mother liked to cook
and nothing can compare to snacks
in Betty Crocker's book.

Weekends were for family trips
or staying home to play.
We all did things together --
even go to church to pray.
 
When we did our weekend trips
depending on the weather,
no one stayed at home because
we liked to be together.

Sometimes we would separate
to do things on our own,
but we knew where the others were
without our own cell phone.

Then there were the movies
with your favorite movie star,
and nothing can compare
to watching movies in your car.

Then there were the picnics
at the peak of summer season,
pack a lunch and find some trees
and never need a reason.
 
Get a baseball game together
with all the friends you know,
have real action playing ball --
and no game video.

Remember when the doctor
used to be the family friend,
and didn't need insurance
or a lawyer to defend?

The way that he took care of you
or what he had to do,
because he took an oath and strived
to do the best for you.

Remember going to the store
and shopping casually,
and when you went to pay for it
you used your own money?

Nothing that you had to swipe
or punch in some amount,
and remember when the cashier person
had to really count?

The milkman used to go
from door to door,
And it was just a few cents more
than going to the store.

There was a time when mailed letters
came right to your door,
without a lot of junk mail ads
sent out by every store.

The mailman knew each house by name
and knew where it was sent;
there were not loads of mail addressed
to "present occupant."

There was a time when just one glance
was all that it would take,
and you would know the kind of car,
the model and the make.
 
They didn't look like turtles
trying to squeeze out every mile;
they were streamlined, white walls, fins
and really had some style.
  
 One time the music that you played
whenever you would jive,
was from a vinyl, big-holed record
called a forty-five.

The record player had a post
to keep them all in line
and then the records would drop down
and play one at a time.

Oh sure, we had our problems then,
just like we do today
and always we were striving,
trying for a better way.

Oh, the simple life we lived
still seems like so much fun,
how can you explain a game,
just kick the can and run?

And why would boys put baseball cards
between bicycle spokes
and for a nickel, red machines
had little bottled Cokes?

This life seemed so much easier
and slower in some ways.
I love the new technology
but I sure do miss those days.

So time moves on and so do we
and nothing stays the same,
but I sure love to reminisce
and walk down memory lane.
With all today's technology
we grant that it's a plus!
But it's fun to look way back and say,
Hey look,guys, THAT WAS US!

 

Fourth Entrant, A Poem Submitted by Ron Swedlund, Dec. 30, 2013

A POEM WORTH READING
 
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.
 
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
 
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
 
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Joe has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Veteran died today.
 
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
 
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Veteran died today.
 
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
 
Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young,
But the passing of a Veteran
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
 
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
 
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
 
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
 
While the ordinary Veteran,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
 
It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
 
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever-waffling stand?
 
Or would you want a Veteran
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Veteran,
Who would fight until the end.
 
He was just a common Veteran,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his likes again.
 
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Veteran's part,
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
 
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.
 
Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A VETERAN DIED TODAY."

Fifth Entrant: Prose about the Jimmy Doolittle Raiders, submitted by Ron Swedlund on Feb. 4, 2014

The Doolittle Raiders

On Tuesday, in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, the surviving Doolittle Raiders gathered publicly for the last time.  They once were among the most universally admired and revered men in the United States.  There were 80 of the Raiders in April 1942, when they carried out one of the most courageous and heart-stirring military operations in this nation's history. The mere mention of their unit's name, in those years, would bring tears to the eyes of grateful Americans.

Now only four survive.


After Japan's sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, with the United States reeling and wounded something dramatic was needed to turn the war effort around.  Even though there were no friendly airfields close
enough to Japan for the United States to launch retaliation, a daring plan was devised.  Sixteen B-25s were modified so that they could take off from the deck of an aircraft carrier. This had never before been tried -- sending such big, heavy bombers from a carrier.

The 16 five-man crews, under the command of Lt. Col. James Doolittle, who himself flew the lead plane off the USS Hornet, knew that they would not be able to return to the carrier.  They would have to hit Japan and then hope to make it to China for a safe landing.

But on the day of the raid, the Japanese military caught wind of the plan.  The Raiders were told that they would have to take off from much farther out in the Pacific Ocean than they had counted on. They were told that because of this they would not have enough fuel to make it to safety.

And those men went anyway.

They bombed Tokyo, and then flew as far as they could.  Four planes crash-landed; 11 more crews bailed
out, and three of the Raiders died.  Eight more were captured; three were executed.  Another died of starvation in a Japanese prison camp.  One crew made it to Russia.

The Doolittle Raid sent a message from the United States to its enemies, and to the rest of the world: We will fight.  And, no matter what it takes, we will win.

Of the 80 Raiders, 62 survived the war.  They were celebrated as national heroes, models of bravery.
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer produced a motion picture based on the raid; "Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo," starring Spencer Tracy and Van Johnson, was a patriotic and emotional box-office hit, and the phrase
became part of the national lexicon.  In the movie-theater previews for the film, MGM proclaimed that it was presenting the story "with supreme pride."

Beginning in 1946, the surviving Raiders have held a reunion each April, to commemorate the mission. The reunion is in a different city each year. In 1959, the city of Tucson, Arizona, as a gesture of respect and gratitude, presented the Doolittle Raiders with a set of 80 silver goblets.  Each goblet was engraved with the name of a Raider.  Every year, a wooden display case bearing all 80 goblets is transported to
the reunion city. Each time a Raider passes away, his goblet is turned upside down in the case at the next reunion, as his old friends bear solemn witness.  Also in the wooden case is a bottle of 1896 Hennessy Very Special cognac.  The year is not happenstance: 1896 was when Jimmy Doolittle was born.


There has always been a plan: When there are only two surviving Raiders, they would open the bottle, at last drink from it, and toast their comrades who preceded them in death.

As 2013 began, there were five living Raiders; then, in February, Tom Griffin passed away at age 96. What a man he was.  After bailing out of his plane over a mountainous Chinese forest after the Tokyo raid, he became ill with malaria, and almost died.  When he recovered, he was sent to Europe to fly more combat missions. He was shot down, captured, and spent 22months in a German prisoner of war camp.

The selflessness of these men, the sheer guts ... there was a passage in the Cincinnati Enquirer obituary for Mr. Griffin that, on the surface, had nothing to do with the war, but that emblematizes the depth of his sense of duty and devotion: "When his wife became ill and needed to go into a nursing home, he visited her every day. He walked from his house to the nursing home, fed his wife and at the end of the day brought home her clothes.  At night, he washed and ironed her clothes. Then he walked them up to her room the next morning.  He did that for three years until her death in 2005."

So now, out of the original 80, only four Raiders remain: Dick Cole (Doolittle's co-pilot on the Tokyo raid), Robert Hite, Edward Saylor and David Thatcher.  All are in their 90s.  They have decided that there are too few of them for the public reunions to continue.

The events in Fort Walton Beach this week will mark the end.  It has come full circle; Florida's nearby Eglin Field was where the Raiders trained in secrecy for the Tokyo mission. The town is planning to do all it can to honor the men: a six-day celebration of their valor, including luncheons, a dinner and a parade.

Do the men ever wonder if those of us for whom they helped save the country have tended to it in a way that is worthy of their sacrifice?  They don't talk about that, at least not around other people.  But if you find yourself near Fort Walton Beach this week, and if you should encounter any of the Raiders, you might want to offer them a word of thanks.  I can tell you from first hand observation that they
appreciate hearing that they are remembered.

The men have decided that after this final public reunion they will wait until a later date -- sometime this year -- to get together once more, informally and in absolute privacy.  That is when they will open the bottle of brandy.  The years are flowing by too swiftly now; they are not going to wait until there are only two of them.  They will fill the four remaining upturned goblets.  And raise them in a toast to those who are gone.