Suspenders/II

II
Personal ads filled the classified sections of various publications.  From the literary periodicals like the New York Times Review of Books to the New Republic to the free local alternative publications in every major city, these attempts at reaching out to find a friend, mate, or just a temporary romance, flourished.  They could be a fascinating read.
People who would never answer an ad made a point to read them.  They offered a full exercise in fantasy.  Who might this person be?  Could there be someone out there I'll never know? Often the challenge and attraction of the ad were in the voice and word selection.  An example would prove useful here.  From a published collection of personal ads from New York city comes the following:

Within a few square inches, lies all that is positive and negative about these ads.  Their unpredictable truths and falsehoods lie ready to be revealed.  And, all the while, whether that slim, attractive, highly sensitive person is male or female, or has equal parts of both, there is only one way to find out.  Most people reading the ads never did follow up.  The stigma of having to depend on a personal ad to get a date prevented many people from doing anything other than reading the ads.  But read them they did.  Often first.  Eventually the opportunity to take a workshop or class on composing the perfect personal add appeared.  For a small fee, a talented writer would work with people seeking to put their best qualities and true soul into that small square of print that would lead to an exciting new romance.  These tutorials helped would-be lovers find just the right voice to sing their praises.
Speaking of voice, I was listening carefully to the voice on the other end of the line and considering a reply to the question before me.

Suspenders

A story in 5 parts

I.
"I want you to do something for me," said Martin on this rare telephone call.  Those words have never been easy for me because the foretell something either secretive or a request that leaves me little choice in the matter.
The last time I heard those 8 little words was when my sister converted to Catholicism.  I was to answer all questions from the Monsenior who would soon call.  "Do this for me and please don't question my motivation," Donna said.  "I'm doing this for my husband, can I count on you?"
She could.
But there was Martin, my Berkeley friend with his New Jersey accent asking me the same question.
"What is it you want from me, Martin?"
"I want you to go on a date, not with me, but yeah with me and some women?"
This couldn't be simple, but I was intrigued.
Martin explained that he'd answered a personal ad in the East Bay Express.  3 women were looking for 3 men to join them for dinner.  The three men need not be friends but that wasn't out of the question either.

Point of historical clarification:
In the years immediately before the personal computer changed the social order in this culture, there were various attempts that well-meaning people used to meet other well-meaning people.
A brief survey of those methods would be useful here.
(to be continued)

Sitting on Pins

It's like going to the dentist or sitting in a waiting room waiting
   to discuss blood tests with your doctor,
Longing to hear about the health of your car,
   Only the only dent is in your checkbook.

I don't want another vehicle, I don't mind
   walking, only it's raining today.
It's like receiving a Dear John letter,
   wondering how much is true and how much an
air sensor really costs and how long it takes to
install one.
It's not my heart or my blood sugar,
maybe it all comes out even some day.

A neighbor once gave me a large grocery bag
of Chanterelle mushrooms he'd gathered in the woods.
$28.00 a pound; does that help balance the books?

Lots of ways to weigh it up,
   even more when you appreciate trading smiles
nobody gets hurt, nobody dislocates
their attitude

This car dealership is a plantation,
   social justice can't be deducted from anything
worthwhile.

Pitching Forever

I first read about Satchel Paige when I was in the 10th grade.  Through the Scholastic book club, I bought a paperback copy of his autobiography aptly called Maybe I'll Pitch Forever.  I'd heard of Paige because a kid in my neighborhood once traded with me some baseball cards from the early 50s and I recall a Satchel Paige card when he was with the St. Louis Browns.  Wish I had that card now, but that's for another time.

Paige was a legendary player from the Negro Leagues when apartheid in America was called Jim Crow and athletes with promise and potential had to play in separate leagues that somehow managed to fund their existence from year to year despite all the obstacles against that.
Paige was always the stuff of folklore.  Stories abound about the speed of his fastball, the "hesitation" pitch he used to fool some of the game's greatest hitters, and the times he called his outfield in after they committed too many errors and then proceeded to strike out the side.
Now there is a new biography simply titled Satchel by Larry Tye.  Impeccably researched, this current volume puts the era and the man in perspective.  For those that appreciate the game of baseball and have wondered about the mythology surrounding Satchel Paige, this read is a must.
If anything, Satchel was a barnstormer.  His reputation for jumping contracts that would tie him down to one place and one pay rate was the true forerunner of free agency.  He simply did not want to be owned by one team or one owner.  Because the media was so different back in the 1930s, Paige was seldom covered by the mainstream press.  Ultimately his ability to draw crowds, especially hen barnstorming against teams of white major leaguers, led to his discovery.

Paige was no Jackie Robinson.  In fact, he was in his 40s when Jackie first broke the color line.  The mystery of Satchel's feats and his demeanor which could be Stepin Fetchit like did not make him the ideal choice to integrate baseball.  Sure, his chance came...eventually, but by that time the saga continued with the addition of a rocking chair in the Cleveland Indians bullpen for "Satch" to rest his aging body.  When I see these multi-million dollar contracts that today's ballplayers command, I can't help but think of the times that the front door was taboo and they were often forced to sleep in their vehicles.  Our history, while often painful, must be preserved to get an accurate picture of who we are and where we've come from.
Today, we have a person in the White House who continually defends his ideas and intelligence, yet shows no knowledge of historical perspective.  As I recall, he had trouble discerning if Frederick Douglass was still alive or not.  One would think that the unbiased, factual history of our country would be imperative in our curriculum.  I know it was always in the material I taught.  But then one has only to look at the current Secretary of Education to realize that won't happen anytime soon.  I'd love to see Larry Tye's book Satchel placed on the national reading list.  It's time.