michaeldexterhankins

HAVASU MYSTERIES

“If tiles are the problem — may I suggest going with carpet.”

I’ve been coming to Lake Havasu City long enough to see a big difference in growth over the years. There are far more homes, buildings, and people than when we first visited the city in 1979. That’s to be expected. Some residents see this as bad, but not me, because along with this growth came plenty more new job opportunities along with places to eat.

There’ve been several mysteries over the years that caught my attention. One of them being: Why did Bob’s Big Boy leave? My wife and I frequented the restaurant and liked their food, especially the burgers. No one has been able to tell me why they’re gone. They always seemed to have plenty of customers. I miss the little guy standing outside holding up that big hamburger.

Hussong’s is another mystery. At one time it was a good choice for Mexican food but eventually took a dive. How do successful places like that end up this way?

On top of that, their building caught fire afterward. Why do so many eateries go up in flames when they close shop. Are upset patrons doing this in protest? I’ve seen this happen in every place I’ve lived. Why don’t banks go up in flames when they close?

One of my current unsolved mysteries now involves an unfinished home on Smoketree Avenue and Magnolia Drive. Asking my wife how long it’d been under construction, she thought maybe four. I think it’s more like seven. What is the problem here? My curiosity has gotten so bad — that I drive by weekly just to see how much “hasn’t” been done.

Joleen believes the owner is having difficulty getting floor tiles, at least that’s the rumor she heard. We went through that problem with our home nearly 20 years ago. Hopefully, things have gotten better since then. If tiles are the problem — may I suggest going with carpet.

There’s another place I’m curious about on Bryce Court, more visible driving south on 95 than anywhere else. Someone has been working with equipment in their yard for a couple of years and still isn’t finished. He’s made major progress, and it looks great.

I’ve seen him in a dump truck, backhoe, and skid steer, moving more dirt around than some major construction projects in town. The fellow is doing an excellent job enlarging his yard.

My wife tells me to stop someday and ask him, but I always remember that line, “Curiosity killed the cat!” In reality, what the guy’s doing is none of my business. I’m just curious, I suppose — like hundreds of other people in our city.

Other mysteries in town have me scratching my head. What happened to the double-decker bus that was supposed to be up and rolling years ago. I’m talking about the one parked in front of McCulloch Real Estate, and not the one once in the English Village, used as a food truck. I wonder about that bus as well.

Perhaps the biggest mystery at this time is why a Sam’s Club or Costco hasn’t been built here yet. Our yearly population along with Parker’s would definitely support at least one of the big box stores. My vote of course would go for Costco. I say this not out of DEI or politics. Sam’s Club in Bullhead is miles closer than Costco in Las Vegas.

If this business does decide to locate here, may I recommend the south side of town? We need more traffic this way to even things out. The other day, while driving to Walmart, it took 20 minutes because of all the stop-and-go traffic.

This brings me to one final mystery, what happened to the proposed South McCulloch Byway, designed to make it easier to go east to I-40 from our side of town? I’d bet that guy doing the major yardwork on Bryce Court with all of his equipment, could have that needed road opened up in record time!

SUPERCROSS

“Jeff had turned around and stopped, wondering if he was going to have to kickstart my lungs.”

My wife and I are big Supercross motorcycle fans. We subscribe to the liberal-based NBC Peacock cable channel just so that we can tune in each Saturday evening. I wouldn’t go this route for the NFL or any other sport.

Joleen and I have even more reason to watch because a Lake Havasu City resident is racing and doing very well in the 250SX class. Number #23, Julien Beaumer is in the thick of things and our prayers are for him to stay healthy and finish out the season on top. This sport’s attrition rate seems higher than most, with riders often racing right to the ragged edge — if they want to win.

An Alaskan competed in the 250SX and 450SX classes for several years, with Ben LaMay related to a friend and former co-worker, Bill Yadlosky, from Eagle River, Alaska. Bill’s family grew up on Old Harbor Road in Anchorage less than a mile from where we lived. I knew Ben’s late father, Gene, and his grandfather, Clarence — both of them accomplished drag racers.

Ben LaMay, also known as “The Alaskan Assassin,” semi-retired from motorcycle racing, but now trains up-and-coming students of the sport at Thunder Valley Raceway in Palmer, Alaska. The forty-ninth state has turned out some great professional hockey players, and there’s no reason another Supercross prospect can’t be found to replace Ben.

Practicing in Alaska, unlike Arizona, can be a little rough though — with only so many nice rain-free days in summer. Traveling to the lower states for riding time is a necessity. The cost of such is substantial according to those having done it.

I owned several dirt bikes while growing up and enjoyed riding them with friends. The only time I gave racing a whirl was on a track at Kinkaid Park in South Anchorage. I was more into keeping my bike looking good rather than thrashing it as racers often do. The day that I decided to go for it, I’d put Armorall on the seat and the machine was looking fine, with a glimmering shine.

Riding slowly around the track a couple of times with my friend, Jeff Thimsen, just to get a feel for things, I eventually grabbed a handful of throttle and instantly went flying off the back of my Yamaha. Armorall turned out to be slicker than ice!

Only doing 40 miles per hour or less, the impact still knocked the wind out of my pipes for several seconds. Jeff had turned around and stopped, wondering if he was going to have to kickstart my lungs.

I decided then and there that racing dirt bikes wasn’t for me, although illegally street racing motorcycles was another thing. I kept riding dirt bikes, while our two children were in elementary school, eventually hanging it up — mainly because Jeff had sold his by then.

There was no longer anyone else to ride with so why go it alone. I took up bicycling once again finding it much safer, that is until a Toyota pickup hit me at a busy intersection.

The fellow’s truck fared far worse than me, suffering a broken window and a dented door. The bad thing was that I had to pay for all vehicle damage, including being fined $50, as the accident was deemed my fault.

For those folks who haven’t watched Supercross, check it out. This week the races are in Phoenix. The action is nonstop and the crashes way too many. I don’t know how these guys can continually control a fast-moving bike going over whoop-de-dos and continually flying through the air, some as high as 35 feet. One thing that I do know is that they don’t use Armorall on their seats.

Wanting to keep another dirt bike, my wife has told me, “No!” more than once. She doesn’t believe many older guys ride them. That was proved wrong in Bouse after I met a guy named Dave from California.

I’d guess Dave was in his 60s, and he had the coolest dirt bike, a two-stroke I believe manufactured in Germany. I can’t remember the brand. He wore a tee shirt his granddaughter gave him, saying, “Some Grandpa’s Play Bingo — Real Grandpas Ride Dirt Bikes.”

Showing Joleen, Dave’s bike and his cool shirt, saying that I’d like one of each, her response was immediate and ego-deflating. “I don’t think you can even handle the shirt at this point!”

CELEBRATION TIME

Celebrate good times, come on, let’s celebrate!

My wife and I went on a planned camping trip into the Mohave Desert near Bouse with friends to celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Inauguration Day. It turned out to be an absolute blast!

I’m sure that if Dr. King was still alive, he would’ve been in Washington D.C., as a special guest of President Donald Trump. It’s too bad this special event wasn’t held in Mar-A-Lago. As a native Floridan, born there, I’m a bit partial to that state.

Because we could electronically keep abreast of current events while in the outback, many of us tuned in to a portion of the Inauguration ceremony, including Carrie Underwood’s stunning rendition of “America the Beautiful.”

Knowing that our country is now back in capable hands made this song sung by Carrie even more special. I can proudly say that as an American it brought tears to my eyes.

Kool & The Gang had a hit song in 1980 called. “Celebration.” Certain lyrics fit perfectly with President Trump’s being sworn in. Taken out of context they go something like this,

“Celebrate good times, come on, let’s celebrate!”

I see many distinct similarities between King and Trump, with compassion for their fellow human beings the biggest. Martin Luther King Jr. dedicated nearly his whole life to the Civil Rights movement, lighting the torch for others to follow.

Donald Trump took years away from a successful business career to ensure that our United States Constitution is followed word for word. Some people may not like his rough exterior, but he gets the job done, and that’s what counts.

Sadly, an assassin killed Dr. King while two unsuccessful attempts were made on Donald Trump’s life. Desperate people often take drastic measures to accomplish their evil goals.

Democrat leaders and those people behind them tried their best to keep the man down, yet with God on Trump’s side, they went down to defeat. Hopefully, guardian angels continue to watch over our 45th and 47th President from here on out.

Getting back to my camping experience—there were at least 40 of us in 30 different model RVs, along with 19 dogs, 3 cats, and 2 Amazon parrots. United States flags were flown on tall telescoping poles attached to the rigs. Some of the poles had red, white, and blue LED lights on top—visible for miles away. It was a sight to behold!

At night, we sat around the campfire reminiscing about how good things were in 2017 – 2020. Of no surprise to me, there wasn’t one person amongst us that disagreed.

Joleen and I were among the last campers to pack and leave. Before doing so, I walked around, taking a large trash bag with me to ensure no garbage was left behind.

Seeing none, other than a sun-bleached Sunkist drink container most likely blown in by the wind from miles away, I picked this crumpled box up and hauled it back to camp for disposal.

The conscientious people I was a party of left no trash behind for others to pick up, yet the same can’t be said of the Biden Administration when it closed out its four-year term.

In the last few months in office, Joe and his group of left-leaning ideologues deliberately left a big mess for President Trump to sweep up. The border crisis, releasing violent criminals, and allowing guys to pose as females to play women’s sports naming just a few.

The largest sabotage JB committed was attempting to place our country in an even worse energy crisis. President Joe Biden did this by creating additional moratoriums on offshore drilling for oil in Alaska and other locales.

Thankfully, this “mess” will soon be taken care of in the same way that I disposed of that Sunkist soda container. Immediately after being sworn in, President Trump put on his work gloves and started cleaning house. He was able to drive a garbage truck during the election, so he should be well-versed in hauling Biden’s trash to the dump.

On a parting note, as a God-fearing, American patriot, it’s nice to know that we can once again openly speak our conservative minds, without fear of being arrested or labeled a terrorist. Four years under Kamala Harris would’ve led to that for sure.

The First Amendment is unchained and running free once again!

The final campfire was on the last night.

TODD MOLD

“Some of the stuff we innocently did was bail out of swings when told not to.”

I first met Todd Mold at Reese Elementary School in Lubbock, Texas. This was 1963. We were classmates in 4^th grade and instantly hit it off as friends. Todd’s father, Lt. Colonel David Mold was Reese Air Force Base commander. My dad was an enlisted sergeant, and Lt. Colonel Mold was his big boss.

Todd and I were chummy enough that I was invited to their home several times. He was one of two children, and with his father in the limelight, I often wonder if my pal saw much of his dad. High-ranking officers are always in meetings and traveling places. Todd craved attention and with us paired together, trouble came with each new day. We both had creative minds making for some unusual pranks.

Todd’s mother was extremely nice and their home was spotless. They constantly had get-togethers for other officers and visiting personnel, with Todd having to resign himself to staying out of the way. I was perhaps his only friend from school invited to come over and play. She’d serve us ice cream and cake with Kool-Aid to drink. I remember the dinnerware being much fancier than what we had at our little trailer.

The two of us became such a problem for our teacher, Mrs. Hagan, that our mothers were called in for a conference. Dad was especially worried that my getting into mischief with the boss’s son—repercussions might come his direction. I was told to knock it off or else.

Some of the stuff we innocently did was bail out of swings when told not to. Mrs. Hagan always claimed one of us would break our neck or back while doing so. We’d clown around to get laughs from other students and talk in class on occasion. It was something that some of the other boys did yet their grades didn’t suffer as much as ours. It seems Todd and I put more effort into entertaining than learning.

After unrelenting mischievous episodes at school, Mrs. Hagan recommended to our moms that we be separated. Both parents were in agreement. Todd was to sit on one side of the classroom and me on the other. We weren’t allowed to play together, and I recall that depressing us both.

Lt. Colonel Mold was assigned to another base before 5^th grade started and I never saw Todd again. I always wondered what happened to him, because he was constantly bullied and tormented about his name and weight, mostly by girls. I’m sure as time went on he was more than capable of handling such.

Several years ago I decided to reach out to former classmates and was successful in reconnecting with the majority. I sadly found that one girl who was in Todd’s and my class, Larelia Sadler, was killed in an automobile accident four years after graduation in 1976.

For all of my efforts, I could never locate Todd. It seemed as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth. I uncovered old newspaper articles regarding Lt. Colonel Mold and his celebrated military service, but nothing regarding Mrs. Mold, their son, or daughter, Edith. I eventually put things on hold until this past week.

Poring through newly released archived newspapers I learned that Todd’s first name was David, the same as his father. I never knew this. Evidently, my old friend went by Todd to avoid confusion.

Searching further I discovered devastating news. On July 4, 1972, Todd was in a car with two friends when it went off the road and hit a large tree. The other boys weren’t seriously hurt but Todd sustained a broken neck. He died several days later in a Massachusetts hospital.

The home address where this tragedy occurred was mentioned in a newspaper clipping. I was able to look this location up and see for myself where the crash occurred. A medium-sized tree is in the Google Earth photo in front of this house. It’s probably an offshoot of the original tree should that one have died back then. Nature has a way of healing itself.

Oddly enough, the cemetery where the family is supposedly buried has no record of them being there on findagrave.com. I assume that’s merely an oversight on their part.

It’s taken me many years to finally find out what happened to my friend. I’m not sure it’s any easier learning now than had I discovered things 52 years ago. I realize that I’m blessed to have made it this far while others didn’t. Just why is a question for which I have no answer. I do believe I’ll see my old pal Todd on the other side.

SPECIAL DAYS

“My family doesn’t celebrate Soufflé Day, choosing National Pancake Day instead.”

*a work in progress

New Year’s Day is now behind us with New Year’s resolutions quick to disappear as well. Studies show that only 9% of the people making them hold true to their promises. A total of 23% quit by the first week and 43% by the end of January. At this point in life, I don’t make resolutions finding it an added burden just to find a working pen.

January is filled with other special days that many have never heard of. National Popcorn Day is on January 19, only one day before Presidential Inauguration Day. Is that a coincidence? National Cheese Lovers Day is on January 20. After eating bowls of popcorn and plates of sliced cheese on crackers most seniors will be plugged up by National Hugging Day which falls on the 21^st.

In February, Valentine’s Day always comes on the 14th two days before Darwin Day. For those unfamiliar with Darwin, his first name is Charles, and he’s credited with claiming that humans are related to apes. The movie “Planet of the Apes” starring Charleston Heston can also be attributed to him. I made that up. Close friends called both Darwin and Heston, “Chuck”.

Perhaps my favorite day in February is the 15th when Valentine’s candy can be found for 50% less. Time to stock up. The 19th is International Tug Of War Day with February ending on the 28^th with National Chocolate Soufflé Day. Singer/songwriter Carly Simon made the burning of a soufflé famous with her song, “Coming Around Again.” My family doesn’t celebrate Soufflé Day, choosing National Pancake Day instead.

Day of Prayer is on March 1 with World Plumbing Day on March 11, the same day as my brother’s birthday. St. Patrick’s Day occurs on March 17, with wearing something green being a necessity unless you have a fetish for getting pinched. World Poetry Day is the 21^st for whatever that’s worth. March 27 is my wife’s birthday and the date of the great Alaska earthquake. This quake registered 9.2 on the Richter scale.

April is full of significant dates such as April Fool’s Day, along with Be Kind To Lawyers Day on the 9^th. That also happens to be my birthday. Blah Blah Blah Day is on the 17th. National Pigs in a Blanket Day is on the 18^th with National Animal Crackers Day on the same. Easter Sunday is the 20^th, with National Pretzel Day on the 26th and Honesty Day ending things on April 30.

May has a decent selection. The 6^th is No Diet Day while Mother’s Day falls on May 12^th which is also National Nurses Day. The 16th is Malcolm X Day (I read the book by Alex Haley in 1967). Sunscreen Day falls on the 27^th (no need for Coppertone in Alaska). Learn About Composting Day is the 29th with May ending on National Smile Day (31st).

June 4 is National Cheese Day. Once again, seniors need to be careful celebrating this one for obvious reasons. Father’s Day is the 15^th. National Take Your Cat To Work Day is on the 16th with National Selfie Day on June 21. Please Take My Children To Work Day closes out June on the 30th.

Canada Day is July 1^st. Eh. The Fourth of July is the most important July day in this month, with little-known National Workaholics Day falling on July 5. The 14^th is National Mac and Cheese Day (my favorite) and jumping ahead to the 20^th we have National Ice Cream Day. Ending things on July 31^st is National Avocado Day.

August 1 is National Girlfriend Day for those single guys, with August 4^th Barack Hussein Obama’s birthday. He’s 63. “Happy birthday, happy happy birthday!” The 16^th is Tell A Joke Day. Speaking of jokes: What is the end of everything? Answer: The letter g. World Senior Citizen’s Day falls on August 21. The 31^st is National Eat Outside Day, which is hard to celebrate in Arizona during summer without shade and a mister. Water mister that is!

Labor Day is September 1 while Emma M Nutt Day falls on the same. For those not up to speed here, Emma was the world’s first telephone operator. Patriot Day along with National Hot Cross Bun Day are on the 11^th. My mom was born that day. National Double Cheeseburger Day comes on September 15. National Couple’s Day is the 18th with National Chocolate Pecan Pie Day on the 20th. The 29^th is National Coffee Day with the month ending on National Day For Truth And Reconciliation Day (30th).

October opens up to several special days beginning with Yom Kippur. National Custodian Day is on the 2^nd of October followed by National Get Funky Day on the 5^th. National Plus Size Appreciation Day falls on the 6^th of 2025, with National Pay Back A Friend Day on the 17^th. October ends with Halloween on the 31^st along with National Caramel Apple Day. Back in my “trick or treat’ years caramel apples were handed out as treats. Teeth pullers as I called them.

November starts out with, Day Of The Dead Day, with Marine Corps Birthday on the 10th. Sadie Hawkins Day is the 13th (no relation) and National Macchiato Day the 19^th. Thanksgiving of course is the 27^th. November 30 is National Mason Jar Day in conjunction with National Personal Space Day.

December rounds out the 2025 calendar starting with National Eat A Red Apple Day on the 1^st. National Mutt Day falls on the 2^nd with Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day on the 7^th. National Gravy Day is on the 21st with Christmas once again falling on December 25. National Make Up Your Mind Day is on the 31^st.

In a nutshell, that pretty much comprises some of the more important special days in 2025. I listed only 72. A total of 365 calendar days are special including holidays. For trivia’s sake, the US Government allows approximately 40,000 privileged workers to stay home and celebrate all 365 while still collecting a paycheck. Lucky them. Something tells me this “gravy train” is about to end.

Happy New Year!

LEGACY

“The way we treat people comes under this heading.”

As I’ve gotten older the word legacy has become more and more important to me. What will I leave behind in my life that will positively enhance others? I find different interpretations of legacy in dictionaries and the Holy Bible.

Judaism indicates that legacy can be good or bad, with spiritual or Godly legacy foremost over that of monetary or material assets, such as real estate, stocks, and bonds. A bad father or mother can leave a blemished legacy where children are concerned. Thankfully, my parents don’t fit the bad mold and hopefully, I don’t either.

Godly legacy enriches people’s lives long after a person is gone. The way we treat others comes under this heading. I find evangelist Billy Graham and Mother Theresa fitting this definition more than anyone.

As a Christian—faith, values, and traditions much like the Jewish also take precedence over that of leaving behind wealth. Both religions make it clear that there’s nothing wrong with making sure your family is financially secure once you’re gone. Not everyone can do that.

A spiritual legacy is defined as non-material, such as stories, beliefs, values, and wisdom. That seems to fit with me, although I do strive to leave something of all three. Spiritual legacy can be left behind through videos, tapes, books, and even letters.

Being a writer, and loving to research the lives of people who have long since departed, in certain cases all I’ve uncovered is a decaying gravestone more than anything else. I find that sad.

Some of these men and women were one-time owners of huge companies, with the businesses now long gone and their establishment names no longer remembered. Other than an aging obituary telling more about their business accomplishments than anything, it appears these folks dropped off the face of the earth without leaving any lasting legacy at all. They seemingly followed the dollar more than God. I don’t want that happening to me.

Perhaps the saddest thing I’ve observed over my lifetime is encountering family and friends who’ve said to me, “I plan on letting my children make up their own minds about what religion to choose.” The scriptures don’t recommend this, with that leading me to believe these folks weren’t Bible readers, although they claimed to be. Years have now passed and I see the aftermath of their flawed philosophy. It wasn’t good in some cases although a few of these offspring finally came to their senses and saw the light.

I watch YouTube videos quite often, especially following the life of hobo “Shoestring” Mark Nichols. Mark was a military veteran and has been a hobo traveling the rails throughout the US for some time.

“Shoestring” documented his adventures via a blog he started around 1989, and then began videoing them. He had over 2,000 followers on YouTube. The man was paid well for his episodes and loved by many. In his videos, he comes across as a very caring person. In several episodes he calls out to God for help or thanks him for help received.

Mark Nichols unlike Billy Graham, Mother Theresa, or other noteworthy people still left behind a positive legacy despite his hobo lifestyle. I believe that everyone can do the same as it’s strictly a matter of choice.

Sadly, “Shoestring” suffered through cancer, diabetes, a bad back, and macular degeneration of the eyes, with liver failure believed to have led to his unexpected death. His stories live on through numerous writings and films.

I can only hope Mark Nichols knew Jesus Christ as Savior, and I believe he did, or his legacy becomes significantly dimmer. The Bible says this about legacy where our faith is concerned in Deuteronomy 6: 6 & 7 (KJV). Moses is speaking here about the Ten Commandments:

6. “These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts.”

7. “Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down, and when you get up.”

If parents heed these two verses alone and pass them on as instructed, I believe the legacy left to children and grandchildren far surpasses that of wealth and prosperity.

If I’ve achieved only that much—I deem my life to be successful.

LOL

“Perhaps these clubs brought in DEI counselors to help cure this serious problem?

I read the Orchids & Onions newspaper column first thing like so many others. I’ll shamefully admit I sometimes skip over orchids for the nitty gritty. Nicey nice is good but I prefer the cantankerous submissions best for a chuckle.

Some days there are only a few complaints, yet towards the end of the week, people become cranky. I’m guessing those in a sour mood are the ones having to work with the general public. I did that for at least ten years and it was a trying experience. “The customer is not always right!”

From my analysis of Orchids & Onions, here lately, it seems that social clubs have gotten their acts together. Folks are no longer complaining like they used to about having to breathe secondhand tobacco smoke, so the clubs either changed their policies or those gripers died off. I don’t belong to a club so I wouldn’t know.

There was a time club members complained about the pecking order within their ranks, or that another member had dissed them. When I say pecking order I mean seniority. It appears some of the older members developed an attitude towards newbies. Perhaps these clubs brought in DEI counselors to help cure this serious problem?

Restaurant food is always good for onions and these days I see many more than in the past. A laugh comes whenever someone makes a cliché gripe such as, “I’ll never patronize that place again!” We’ll never know if they did or not and for the most part, most of us don’t care.

A bad meal while dining out is to be expected on occasion—the same goes for home-cooked. I doubt poor folks in Ethiopia complain about what’s on their plates or if it’s slightly overdone.

Bad driver onions are on the rise and those complaining generally peg it on snowbirds coming back to town. I don’t know if that’s true because during summer months Californians are to blame. On rare occasions, a senior citizen behind the wheel is labeled a traffic hazard but I don’t believe there are too many of this type. My former boss always said that experience makes perfect and I assume that means us senior drivers as well.

I’ve been wanting to write an onion of my own for some time but so far nothing noteworthy has come to pass. The other day I was behind someone at a stoplight who must’ve fallen asleep or was on their device. That happens daily throughout town so it’s not really onion fodder.

When the light turned green they just sat there. I gave a slight, barely heard toot just to get them moving. That didn’t work. After I laid on the horn for two seconds this car immediately started rolling, yet rather slowly as if intentional.

By the time it inched through yellow, a red light reached out and grabbed me. I give myself an orchid for keeping cool here although I muttered something unprintable under my breath.

The other morning at a local restaurant I received hashbrowns instead of country potatoes like I “thought” I ordered. That’s not really onion-worthy for a valid reason. Potatoes are potatoes according to Dan Quayle. If you don’t remember Dan Quayle you are indeed not of the Geritol generation. My wife says that when the server asked which type of potato I wanted, I never answered. I don’t recall that but with selective hearing anything’s possible.

I see no need to complain about hungry coyotes prowling at night for a snack nor bright lights in the neighbor’s backyard, as well as those blue rubbish cans standing guard like British soldiers on the sidewalk. Garbage or recycling receptacles left out after pickup merely add to the ambiance of our neighborhood.

Oftentimes, I’m guilty of this. Not that it’s intentional—I just forget to bring them in. There’s no law against it, yet.

Litter in the streets bothers me but not enough to lose sleep over. Sometimes I see stuff worthy of stopping in the meridian and picking up, like new beach towels that blew out of boats or life vests. I’m not the only one.

The folks losing them are heading back to California and have plenty of money so it’s no biggie. One thing I let lie for other road scavengers is their colorful swimwear. How about those onions regarding aircraft noise at the airport written by residents living close by.

I could write an onion about a lack of parking at the Mesquite phlebotomy clinic but on the other hand, sitting there watching customers try to park is pure joy. Onions to baristas seem to be on the rise, yet no one’s complaining about the exorbitant price of lattes and mochas. Go figure.

I have a few suggestions for those cranky ones running low on onion ammunition. Our dog park on the south side has grassy areas for small and large dogs yet nothing for canines in between. How hard is it to fence off one more section?

With handicapped parking areas throughout town, how about creating some designated “senior citizen” parking spots in the second row. Perhaps make the age limit start at 70.

Last but not least, people need to continue complaining about frivolous things to keep readers of Onions and Orchids laughing. They say that laughter is the best medicine. Above all, unlike Dr. Willie Feelgood and Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy’s pills, laughter is free!

FRUITCAKE

“The big joke nowadays thanks to Johnny Carson is that a fruitcake will last forever.”

A recent article printed on 12/22/2024 in the “Today’s News-Herald,” written by Daniel Neman of the “St. Louis Post-Dispatch” struck a nerve with me. Neman’s article was on holiday fruitcakes. He was talking about the edible kind and not a two-legged variety that most of us have encountered in life.

Daniel Neman mentioned how fruitcakes came to get such a bad name, with it lying squarely on the shoulders of late-night television show host, Johnny Carson. Mr. Carson used this traditional holiday dessert in a 1989 joke monologue viewed by millions—criticizing these cakes as being something that people hate to receive as gifts or to eat. Johnny wasn’t speaking for everyone and he almost killed the industry with his baseless comments.

Our family always had fruitcake at Christmas or New Year’s, courtesy of my late Uncle and Aunt Noel McDaniel in Birmingham, Alabama. Mom generally received one as a gift from the various hospitals she worked for. My brother and I could devour a sizable loaf within a few days. I especially loved the green, yellow, and red candied fruit pressed inside.

The big joke nowadays thanks to Johnny Carson is that a fruitcake will last forever. That might be true if they’re frozen, but over time, even covered, they’ll dry out and become inedible. This rarely happened in our household. Dad and Mom liked fruitcake with their coffee while Jim and I had ours with milk or hot cocoa. I’ve been told more than once that fruitcake, like bacon, is unhealthy and plugs the arteries. It’s something about trans fats.

The folks condemning foods like fruitcakes as unhealthy without any scientific proof are the terroristic gadflies of this world. I’ve encountered multitudes of such people over the years—self-proclaimed experts on any particular subject after they’ve read a book, seen something on Facebook, or listened to Doctor Nutcase on an infomercial. For the most part, those offering “free advice” on television end their spiels with an offer to buy pills or books for $29.95.

Erroneous nutrition advice started with friends and acquaintances lecturing me that eggs were bad. This was in the 1970s. According to these armchair nutritionists, cholesterol in eggs was over the top and would turn my veins to stone. I listened to them for a while refusing to eat eggs or drink milk, until hearing later that they’d changed their tune. A three-egg omelet with a glass of 2% milk is now my breakfast of choice.

I’ve been told that red meat will kill me, including soda pop—both diet and regular, decaf coffee, high-fructose corn syrup, prepared frozen dinners, or anything microwaved in plastic. Eggnog is also on that bad list. I even had one person warn me about microwave popcorn with added butter. Supposedly, if the butter aroma is huffed, lung damage will occur. I’ve never been one to huff or sniff popcorn bags. Who does?

The warning I laugh most about regards McDonald’s or fast-food restaurants. More than once I’ve been told after hearing a gasp, “That stuff will lead to a heart attack!” The first McDonald’s came to Anchorage, Alaska, in 1970, and I’ve been eating at the Golden Arches ever since. That started over 55 years ago.

If the food we eat today is so bad, why are people living much longer than they did 200 years ago when vegetables, fruit, and meat were considered free of hormones and preservatives? I try to eat healthy according to what’s labeled healthy by my doctors, and for the most part, I’m successful.

I understand that anything consumed in excess has potential health consequences. Euell Gibbons was a nutritional guru to the extreme. He was a guest on Johnny Carson more than once. Euell promoted Grape Nuts cereal as being healthy and was an advocate of a low-fat high-fiber diet. Gibbons was called a nut cruncher back then by my friends and others. During that time I was a Grape Nuts fan as long as a bowl of sugar was within easy reach.

Euell Gibbons became a practicing Quaker and I have much respect for him due to this alone. Regardless, he fits the fruitcake mold where handing out bogus advice regarding nutrition is concerned. Euell evidently felt that totally foregoing certain foods would keep him around a few more years. Had he stopped smoking cigarettes that might’ve been worth another decade or two.

Gibbons died in 1975 at age 64 of a ruptured artery. Perhaps had he consumed a bit more eggs, pork, and beef he would’ve stayed upright a while longer? We’ll never know. What I do realize is this—somewhere down the pike—we all leave this world. Just because a person is vegan or doesn’t dine at McDonald’s isn’t going to stop such things from eventually happening.

The most important thing to remember here is that it isn’t what we eat, but the plans we’ve made on where we’re going after our ticker stops. John 3:16 tells us how to do that in 25 easy-to-understand words. As a Quaker and a believer in Jesus Christ, Euell Gibbons made that wise decision and so have I.

Before turning out the lights, there’s one last slice of fruitcake left in the fridge. All I need is a tall glass of cold eggnog to wash it down. Partaking of these two delicacies once a year hasn’t killed me yet!

“JERRY”

“They were nice to me and on Christmas always left a sizable tip or present.”

Looking back at folks I’ve met along the way, several stand out tall amongst the rest. Two of these were special people that I didn’t entirely know the history of. It was only after they passed away and I began writing, did I unearth their backgrounds through old wedding announcements and obituaries.

Alan and Muriel Girardet I first met as customers on my newspaper route in Anchorage. They were nice to me and on Christmas always left a sizable tip or present. When I say sizable I’m talking at least $5. The couple lived in a small but well-kept trailer in an older section of Alaskan Village Trailer Park.

Muriel and Alan were especially kind to neighborhood children, and this was especially true on Halloween. They were known to hand out the largest amount of candy of anyone in the park. There was a reason for them being so gracious to us kids that I didn’t know back then.

Alan went by the nickname of Jerry and I still don’t know the reason for that and probably never will at this point. His middle name was Newton. Mr. Girardet and his wife owned Lock, Stock, and Barrel gun shop, with a few of us kids who owned rifles purchasing .22 ammo from him. We’d been taught gun safety at Clark Junior High so it was nothing out of the ordinary.

The school had a small “take down” shooting range for the Clark Shooting Club. It would be set up in the gym and then taken down when not in use. For competition purposes, we’d go to an indoor target range on a local military base.

At home, sitting behind the gun shop was a hill that we could safely shoot into. A wrecked car sitting in front of it was riddled with holes. It was quite common to find several locals back there on a Saturday morning firing away.

My father eventually purchased the building that housed Lock, Stock, and Barrel Gun Shop, and I came to know Jerry even better. The man had a German Shepherd dog named “Heidi” that he brought to work every day. At lunch, Jerry would toss a ball and Heidi would chase it. You could tell by the excitement in her retrieving it that it was the highlight of the day.

Jerry became friends with my father-in-law and I learned from Herman that Jerry had also been in the United States Navy. Both men saw duty in WWII so they had something in common to talk about. Jerry served on the aircraft carrier USS Maine before retiring in 1959. His wife, Muriel, was also in the Navy. Being a member of the WAVES (women accepted for voluntary emergency service), Muriel remained on active duty until the end of the war.

Sadly, Jerry’s brother, David Lloyd Girardet, was killed in the crash of a Grumman Hellcat airplane during WWII. Not once did Jerry ever mention this to me nor tell my wife’s father, Herman, about the tragedy. Ensign David Lloyd Girardet attended the Naval Academy with a presidential appointment courtesy of Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Hanging on a wall in the gun shop was a Brown Bess musket and powder horn dating back to the 1700s. I often visited Jerry just to check out this weapon. He eventually brought it down for me to inspect. I knew it was one of his prized possessions just by the way he handed it to me. The gun was long and heavy.

Because of my fascination for this Brown Bess, thirty years later I purchased one in Scottsdale, Arizona. I always wondered what happened to Jerry’s musket believing that it’d been sold after he passed away.

A couple of important things were learned about Jerry and Muriel along with that Brown Bess in writing this story—one of them quite sad. I never knew during the time I first met them in 1967, that they’d lost their only son in a motorcycle accident just three years prior.

David Lloyd Girardet was struck by a drunk driver in 1964 and killed. I can’t imagine the heartbreak of losing a child, and I suppose this was a reason for them seemingly “adopting” some of us neighborhood kids. David was without question named after Jerry’s late brother.

The other thing I came to know is not so tragic. The beloved “Brown Bess” was donated by Jerry and Muriel to the Lake Ronkonkoma Historical Society Museum in New York. A picture of it on their website shows the musket and powder horn in a place of reverence. A brass tag identifies it as being donated by the Girardets.

Interestingly enough, Jerry was born and raised in Lake Ronkonkoma, with the family living on Hawkins Lane. That street name was eventually changed to Hawkins Avenue, now considered the city business center. The Girardet patriarch came to America from France, where he also served in the Navy. Jerry, Muriel, and David are buried in the Lake Ronkonkoma Cemetery.

Some might ask what does this story have to do with Lake Havasu City? The answer is simple. There are thousands of seniors living here from all parts of the country. Undoubtedly, a good many have backgrounds much like the Giradets. In most cases, we’ll never know until they’re gone!

“HAPPY JACK”

“Thanks to Deana, Karon, Renee, and Starr for helping me with this project.”

On the way to Kingman from Lake Havasu City, a little-used byway crosses over Interstate 40, named Happy Jack Road. A sign identifying it is visible on this overpass. Access to the Happy Jack Road bridge or overpass is via the Santa Fe Ranch Road exit, and then one must head east for approximately one-half mile on a side road that follows alongside I-40. This side road is a remnant of old Route 66.

I’ve been on Happy Jack Road numerous times, following it until hitting Happy Jack Wash and Sacramento Wash. A BNSF railroad bridge back there has quite the history. A story could be written about it alone. Loose sand and a steep rocky incline make getting to this bridge a bit tough unless you have a four-wheel drive.

Approximately one mile west of this railroad bridge is an abandoned railroad stop named Haviland. Today, trains park there, but they only remain in place for a short time until the tracks are clear. The area is popular with meteorite hunters.

I’ve often wondered who Happy Jack was. The Jacks I know for the most part are all happy individuals—at least the ones still living. This fellow must’ve been someone special for a road and a wash to get named after him.

I presented that question to a Yucca forum site and ended up with several valid answers. One individual thought that Happy Jack was a train engineer, with two others saying that he was a former rancher in the area who owned a large section of land. A forum member said that she had an old newspaper article dictating such. It took some digging, but I eventually found several articles. Thanks to Deana, Karon, Renee, and Starr for helping me with this project.

Henry Jack Bowman is the real name of “Happy Jack.” Moving to Yucca from Tombstone in 1881, he came to the area at the same time the railroad was being constructed.

Henry owned The Yucca & Signal Stage Line in Yucca and provided service to and from the mining town of Signal. This business also hauled the mail. Henry was also a successful ranch owner and miner, along with keeping burros either to be sold or leased to other prospectors. Signal is now a ghost town.

Newspapers paint a vivid photo of Henry Bowman. He had a partner in this stage and freight operation, Charles Wilson, but the two men eventually had a falling out and went in separate directions. Meeting on a trail one spring day near Yucca in their wagons—neither gave way to the other.

“Happy Jack” was shot in the arm by his former business associate and survived, with Charles Wilson eventually turning himself into Sheriff Robert Steen.

Seven years later, Bowman went on a mining expedition into the surrounding mountains, only for his burros to return to his Cienega Ranch without their owner. Charles Wilson was one of the first men to help look for him. Two weeks later “Happy Jack” turned up a bit weathered from the experience yet alive. He was definitely a tough old buzzard.

Having researched and written this short story, the next time I drive under Happy Jack Bridge on a sweltering 120-degree summer day in an air-conditioned vehicle, with a large Coke within easy reach, I’ll think of Henry “Happy Jack” Bowman sitting on top of his stagecoach with sweaty passengers inside.

How he and others survived back then is a testament to their strength, grit, and tenacity!