A Drift

Quiet.

5:30 AM.   Still.  Calm.

My dog, Mrs. Wilson, has to pee.  Relieved, she joins me in the study.  A mug of Keurig dark roast, Columbian, 100%, fair trade, robust, in hand, I hesitate to touch the reading lamp at that first sip.

The room, a shade of black coffee, is bathed in light…..Mini versions.  Red and green spots indicate a satellite on duty, yellow for an always warm Sony HDTV awaiting the trigger, in the corner, a vertical device, its multi-hues flashing; power, broadband, mobile, under an ATT worldly logo ready to re-ignite the tiny blue of an aged, ca. 2015, HP printer.

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One foot away a dozen cords, tangled, plugged, recharging lithium ion molecules. A reminder that the best use of lithium was treating bipolarity.

Black spaghetti.

For a moment, as if the faceless subject of Edward Hopper, an original sketch, the dim light at a lonely intersection, below draped windows

nighthawks-sketch

1942

I turn on the 3/way lamp.  The second stop, 70W.

Reflecting on a recent reunion, sixty leathered, weathered years in the making, drew me toward the bookshelf; Drift, a college annual, 1958 version.  Sophomore year.

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30+, fraternal brothers and loved ones for dinner, in a gilded age mansion, reminiscent of the house we shared, pre-VietNam.  The private club restaurant, an Indianapolis landmark on tony N. Delaware St. long ago, was a proper venue.  Less proper, yet realistic, the ‘hood is a fast growth urban fungus; boarded windows, abandoned buildings, wandering nighthawks, dim streetlamps, pot-holed street, traffic, oppositioned by a 24 hr C-Store incandescence.  Pouring rain.  For hours.

The dinner, delicious, the companionship without peer, the crowning achievement…my wife  having a wonderful time. After a necrology briefing (one revered member, our house treasurer passed away, less than a week before), trips to the bar, and exchange of the secret grip, we embraced time travel for three hours.

Conversation brushed on old memories, most quite accurate, interspersed with aortic stents, PSA levels, titanium joints, HDL, A1C, the big C…..acceptable as we recognize the inexorable decline to the final checkout lane.  The last scan.

How and why we, octogenarians all, were chosen to survive, baffles this writer.  Many of us spent a childhood in northern Indiana’s Lake County.  The cinematic triumvirate, “west side story”, “grease”, “happy days” surely owe us royalties, so help me Maria, Travolta, and The Fonz.

TV, 3 stations, rarely viewed, turned off at midnight, the prayer to Saint Francis of Asissi, and a stoic Indian chief looking reverently skyward in the glow of cathode rays.  With no flouride in the water, most of us had early cavities, filled with mercury amalgam fillings.  Thanks to Baby Ruth, Butterfinger, and Bit -o-Honey.  We had never heard of bottled water.  Drank from any tap, delivered magically through unseen pipes.  Lead, wrapped in asbestos to conserve heat  inside.  In homes  painted with Sear’s Best, or Sherwin Williams, lead based rainbows to “cover the earth”.

Catfish caught in nearby Wolf Lake or the Calumet Sag Canal came off the hook with anomalies: two heads, vestigal tails, or crooked spines.  On warm summer days the aroma of  rendered pig fat drifted south off the Lake Michigan breeze, a wisp of frying bacon, courtesy of Lever Brothers.   Mom bought P&G’s Rinso White, and Ivory, a soap that floats.

Ivory_old_1954

Airborne soot from Inland, Youngstown, USSteel, omnipresent, turned every neighborhood into a chest x-ray; black, white and shades of grey. Whiting Beach closed due to a Sinclair refinery oil spill. The word ecology had yet to make an appearance in Webster’s collegiate, but we had 29¢/gal. leaded gas for the 1952 Nash Statesman.  A uniform attendant pumped, while multi-tasking, cleaning the dirty windshield, adding PSI pressure to bias-plied tires.

We ate PB&J on chemically bleached white bread.   Our mother insisted that the PB brand was named after my older brother’s nickname, Skip.  There was no warning caution : this product made in a facility where traces of wheat, peanut, soy, milk may be found.

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Like our sports heroes, we ate gluten, 100%, straight, covered with 3.5% milk and called it the Breakfast of Champions.  Stan Musial returned a stare, a cardboard smile, over a worn linoleum topped table.

Other brothers arrived from mythical towns, those on wrinkled Shell station maps of Indiana; Evansville, Poseyville, Stewartsville, with names like, Dick, George, Joe Don, and Red.

Smoking…?….almost everyone did.  The RJ Reynolds sales rep passed out free Salems every week in the Campus Club.  Packs of 4.  Take all you want.  Here, have a free lighter…..filled with volatile organic compounds.  Yet, six decades later, no one in this room lights up.

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We view grainy b/w photos, Kodak Instamatic or Polaroid, relishing our unique history, a blink in time, lamenting brothers passed, and best friends unable to attend.  Attempts to revisit our vocal skill, fraternal anthems, once enhanced by Schlitz, Falstaff, Blatz, were rather lame.  Even when provided with crib notes, Songbooks.  Our fresh 1959 vocal cords were much better, contending 1st place in the annual “Spring Sing”. We had tonsils.

940 W. 42nd St., Indianapolis

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Bottom l-r; Lathouse, Mitchell, Generalli, Bevis, Lilves, Anthony, Elliot

Top l-r; Schuetz, Dorsey, Secor, Smego, Siurek, Stevens

Lynn and I were among the first to arrive, and the very last to leave.  Married for 28 years she knew little of her husband’s past life.  We exit the darkened parking lot, drizzling rain, wipers at the 3rd notch.  Driving at night, no longer a welcome task, as I glance past her cheerie smile, merging into the too fast traffic.

“Honey, that was so enjoyable.  I hope the boys plan to do this again next year.”

*****************************

It’s 7:11 AM, EST, the civil sunrise, and Wilson is restless after her morning nap.  She delivers an anxious stare.  She wants her breakfast, our daily walk, a bowel movement, so get the leash.   Now.  

In dogspeak, ‘Chas, you’re no Stan Musial.’

Nostalgia is contemporary.

These, too, are the good old days.

 

Very special thanks to Walt Hap and his wife, partner, and date for 50+ years, Rita (nee Taylor) Hap

♥️ ♥️

Insightout © 2019

 

….the ladies alumni, Ba T, Scottsdale, AZ, 2019

Welcome, too,  the CNBC Disruptor List 2019, through the windshield.

Pre-emptive, yes, however, a synopsis of the qualifications:

  • private companies transforming the economy and altering industry.
  • independently owned, founded after Jan. 1, 2004, are eligible.

0530 hrs. MST, Saturday, the civil sunrise begins to awaken the desert AZ floor. It’s chilly, but not to the bone. Runny nose weather. You won’t stick to a vinyl seat cover before this noon. Not today, a day when my ten lb. companion, Mrs. Wilson, can see her breath in the semi-darkness.

"ride the painted pony, let the spinning wheels turn"
“ride the painted pony, let the spinning wheels turn”

A very quick pee, hardened underside nipples, she doesn’t need a local TV disaster weather a!arm team to tell her the rattlesnakes are too cool to crawl.  The little princess is off to her favorite dogsitters.

Now, time to wake up the queen. “Honey, we’re headed to Scottsdale, get dressed”.

J.Lynn is apprehensive. “a 150 miles to do what…?…an alumni gathering. “Please, not one of those cattle-call, testosterone-laced, endless rat-a-tat_white noise_flashing klieg lights_models in lemon chiffon gowns_parading signs_white gloved, pony-tailed thugs, dressed in black, pushing used cars across a stage….is it ?”

Funny how she can remember 1998, Barrett-Jackson, and her exact words, ‘never again’

"you'll get the fur coat"
“you’ll get the fur coat”

“I’ve seen enough gold chained, cigar smoking, peter pans with hairy cleavage to last a lifetime, and I will not wear a lanyard noose.”

No, no.  This is a gathering of the faithful, alumni of a favorite website, the antithesis of the live auction industry, where we’ll be certain to meet lovely ladies, just like you. Promise.

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Both JanetLynn & myself, virgins in the popular ‘cars & coffee’ ritual, are welcomed by the BaT staff and personnel of the Stables.  A stunning, off the grid, warehouse, a premium facility where  freshly brewed coffee melds with a whiff of 110 octane jet fuel from adjacent Scottsdale airport, the aroma triad completed with a warm poppyseed muffin.  Intoxicating.

"Grandpa, I want a 21 window VW"
“Grandpa, I want a 21 window VW”

Well traveled cars, driven by their owners, sparkle. Who knew asphalt, encircled by meticulous landscaping, could provide a glamorous backdrop ?  Not a single car made in China.  Our task, self-appointed, photoshoot the shotgun seat passengers;

  • a professional model, Knoxville, TN
  • career long distance operator, Bell® System
  • gorgeous 60 y/o, an owner wife, in love with a west highland white terrier
  • dental hygienist, classmate of Hillary Rodham, Maine South HS 1965
  • Biltmore®advisor, a marketing crackerjack in cars and celebrity capital.  And sexy cute.
  • Stay-at-home Nova Scotia mom, 2 MBs, 2 BMWs, one cat, one dog, one husband
  • retired pediatrician, Sun Valley, ID
  • Southwest Air®, corp. head of stewardess services

Unidentified photos; personal privacy prohibits the dissemination of names, addresses, SSN #, credit card, date of birth, body weight listed on driver’s licenses….all remain anonymous.

"Mom, how much longer is this going to take ?"
“Mom, how much longer is this going to take ?”

Full disclosure, this writer has a prior arrest record, perjury/bribery, and currently wears a GPS ankle monitor…not by choice.  A federal judge described the photo below, in only five words,

L-R, "Motion Denied", "Guilty", "Next Case"
L-R, “Motion Denied”, “Guilty”, “Next Case”

below,

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and a celebrity parking lot attendant, who, along with co-founders, will auction ~ 10,000 lots. in 2019, in xs of $250M, from an office in the Bay Area with < 30 employees, and not a single tent, auctioneer, glossy catalogue, or physical venue.

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"Toto, when we get to AZ, you'll get to go"
“Toto, when we get to AZ, you’ll get to go”  
©insightout2019

Ba T numbers crunch III…….Painted Pony

Dateline : Green Valley, AZ

1Jan2018  0730 hrs  MST   58℉

Ba T synopsis, complete for month of December 2017, comprising twenty (20) days results.

note : auctions are limited to weekdays only; weekends and holidays are rest days for the weary staff.

Total number of vehicles auctioned…………430

Sold                                                                     309 (71.9 %)   $ 8,813,423  (avg $ 28,552)

Unsold (RNM, reserve not met)                    121 (28.1 %)   $ 3,638,834  (avg. $ 30,073)

Of note, the %ages are very consistent with Ba T II  and the prior, on being a Ba Tster,

Notable high $ sales; Porsche 356 ( 12/12) $ 325K, Lancia Stratos, (12/20) $475K.

Highest no sale, 356 Speedster (12/29) $ 226K.

It is safe to assume that the 1985 Toyota Corolla sold (12/4) at $2,700, and the Mazda Chantez no-sale (12/12) at $4K, will not become million dollar collectables in our lifetime.

20Dec2017 also established a new one day record, when 17 sold totalled $ 947,800. Too, the December total, if multiplied x 12 would extrapolate to $105,761,076 for the year, an “e gads” number for a small internet start-up.

Any future results will not include motorcycles, competition wheel upgrades, and/or parts, unless it’s a Harley softtail with a sidecar for Mrs. Wilson to ride shotgun.

-1x-1

 

For now, Wilson will have to enjoy our daily walks in the sonoran desert, and the occasional ride on her favorite stud.

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🎼
You got no money, you got no home
Spinning Wheel all alone
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles and you
You never learn
Ride a painted pony 🎵
Let the Spinning Wheel turn   🎶   🎶

Happy new year from Lynn, Mrs., Wilson, and Insightout.

 

©insightout2018