The Belgrade Bridge

My childhood was a damaging mix of violence, upheaval, uncertainty and confusion. The confusion has stayed with me for decades on end thanks in part to the passing of all of what some would call elders. The questions remained, but the answers were no longer available. When the kidnapping imbroglio was settled and my Irish-Catholic mom with a bastard in tow was pressured to 'find that boy a father', she remarried rather quickly.

So after being spirited away, after being returned to Wilkes-Barre, and after being whisked away to Bridgeport, Connecticut for my third birthday, there was still more geographical tumult to follow.

It didn't take too, too long to learn my stepdad yearned to return to his family farm in Maine. During the 1960s we had visited the rural homestead a few times whereby I was reminded that I might be remaining there in perpetuity if and when he found suitable employment. He never did find anything even close to his lucrative job back in CT. So here I sit in Culm County, PA.

When his father passed away in 1967, it seemed as if the big move was finally afoot. Or something. I dunno, I was a kid. I will confess to loving the setting. Never forgot it. The virgin forest, the unpaved roads, the WWI cemetery, the spring water, the hand pump in the kitchen sink, the outhouse and most especially the collapsed bridge.

Thing is, while I knew we were in Maine, I never actually knew where. And after my mom was gone, I would never know. Seemed like it. And that always gnawed at me...where did I almost grow up at?

When I snuck onto the internet in 1996, I figured I could go all Detective Google and find that bridge. How hard could it be to find a collapsed bridge in Maine anyway? Trust me, it was hard. Harder than I would have believed going in.

Still unpacking after the big move out of Wilkes-Barre, I came across a cardboard box filled with mostly ancient letters that my mom had saved. Lo and behold, there sat this letter from Readfield, Maine, from people who's names I did not recognize. Car 4! Detective Google! The cold case again!

After much Googling, I had a eureka moment. Finally! After all these years. Google maps provided me with this.

The old bridge is submerged. What we see is a newer expanse.

So I went and got me a phone number and spent an hour talking to the lady that bought that farmhouse and raised her kids there. We are now Facebook friends sharing photos and such. Spring Hill Road, Readfield, Maine. I did it. The cloak is no more.

Thanks again, Mom and Dad and Dad and Dad. Thanks for the oft-confusing journey.

One of my most enduring memories as a youth is wandering down to the bridge with a .22 long-rifle in hand. Oh, and the maple-flavored chewing gum.

Sorry about all of that.

Later

Swytch (do it)

This is the device I used to convert my Hummer into a pedal-assist electric bike. It's amazingly easy to install. It's also unbelievably affordable.

If you decide to go this route I would be willing to assist.

Franklin's (Kidder Street) on WVIA

1988...

The Big EFF: Gone but not forgotten

My grandson Kroy wearing a throwback Big Ben shirt while pointing to a piece of the sign removed from our former location at 41 South Main Street, Wilkes-Barre. Franklin's may be gone, but the management band has recently gotten back together.

Brain-damaged

As some of you know, I suffered a fairly significant stroke some five years ago. It started with a heart attack, then a carotid blockage, then the meltdown. It's not much fun to be immobile, without the ability to speak, swallow, walk or even tie your shoes. Don't go there, you won't like it.

The therapists at John Heinz were as incredibly talented as I am hammer-headed. With that said, a big comeback was my plan from the getgo. I said big, not quick. Here I am five years removed, and I just now feel like typing again. Bad news for the lot of you, but I see it as good.

As for lingering deficits, the muscle memory in my fret hand is all but gone. No more guitar torture. I'm ranging around just fine. The doctors would not allow me to return to my job. Too physical, say they. I have added an electric hub motor on the front tire of my beloved Hummer, so the bikeabouts will soon resume.

The unexpected health emergency put the brakes on my long-sought meeting with my father and that has pained me since I now know his exact whereabouts in Alsea, Oregon. Yeah, that's Oregon, as in 2900 miles away. I"m working on the logistics and the like for the trip. By the way, they like the pronunciation to amount to ore-gun not gone. Nobody's gone.

I now reside in Plains Township. No, we don't miss the drugs, the shootings and all of the other nasty forms of reverse-gentrification that diversity provides us. Quiet works. Yeah, white flight is a workable plan afterall. Hell, I don't even listen to the police scanner anymore.

I would have never believed the end of the world could be so completely entertaining. Save for Putin and Biden, you people are hilarious. Without Sue and Rush, WILK is over for me. Wilkes-Barre is also over, although, not only for me. Thanks to the aforementioned diversity, the cities are losing their tax bases. And when the money goes away, so go the cities.

The core group of five grandchildren have accepted two expansion franchises: Kroy (6) and Koury (3). Like that? Koury Cour? In the past year we've had two finish high school and another finish kindergarten. Gettin' crowded, but I love it. My only regret about having children is that I had too few.

On a brief aside, when I was being placed in the ambulance five years ago, the EMT asked "aren't you the guy with the blog?" Yup, i'm THAT effin' guy. Somehow, I didn't get the cyanide drip. Now I'm just another brain-damaged guy with a blog.

Trump in '24!

Buh-bye

Clearwater revisited

 Plucked from the depths of the Google News Archive...

all the way from F.O.B. Clearwater.

good ole toddlerdom.

2020 handbook

 A socialist is a communist without a gun. Or, a BLM criminal with a gun.

Read it, know it, you are living it. 

Natal calling

NBA players are boycotting their trade. Excellent. Now I have yet another reason to never take note of their existence. They should stick with what they've mastered: Handguns, drugs and nightclubs.

Twin hurricanes? Where the hell is Dubya when they need someone to blame?

What is up with The Center for Voter Information? If these people keep on with pestering me by clogging my mailbox, I'll have to consider Harassment by Communication charges. No matter the con job, I"ll not mail my vote with one of our two political parties having been captured by communist infiltrators.

I don't need help with voting. Never have. I'm over qualified in that I come with I.D. and all. Stupid, white guy, eh? Speaking of being white, when I throw a hissy fit, it never involves looting and maiming. Never thrown a brick at a police officer. I'm weird like that.

Oh, and rioters are still being referred to as "protesters" which is a bald-faced lie. Try militant arm of the democrat party. A militant arm sent into the streets to burn and destroy as part of a political agenda gone revolution. You know, like back home in the surrounds of Natal. Where is Greyhound when we need them? POTUS can nationalize transport, you know. Then he'd be a Democrat, seizing privately-held industry. Commie 101.

I can't wait for  election day to arrive. The next day will see vacuous Joe Blow sent off to the dustbin of the mentally ill in history. More importantly, it will provide us with the vaccine for Covid, or whatever they call it these days. The Trump victory will have talk of  pandemics come to a quick and rightful end. Send the Biden Youth gone Wehrmacht back to their single-parent basements. 

They fu*king belong in a cellblock.

Go Blue

 Not NYG blue...

Christmas 2021 or bust?

Hurricane Izzy-ISIS was a non-event where I'm sitting in very north Wilkes-Barre. Hell, Solomon Creek didn't even use the Barney Street exit/spillway as it often does during any rain event exceeding nine minutes. Boring.

On to the holidays. Rumor has it Governor Wolfie will order all residents to wear a mask on Halloween. No trans-anything will be allowed. Save your transphobic outburst for when some girlie starts waving her penis around.

And what of Black Friday? Can they legally loot the stores by sporting a surgical mask? 

It is this reporter's opinion that the Governor must cancel Christmas in the name of public safety. To do otherwise would be a flirtation with hypocrisy. Sorry junior. No Santa this year, the new Atari will just have to wait. Let's hope they're not all stolen during the next Black B.S. riot, or as the media calls them with a straight face...a protest.

I called 911 a couple of hours back. Seems some abortion escapee went and stole himself a quad. And this street just happens to be his chosen drag lodge. I tried to have him moved closer to Kunkle, where he obviously belongs. LCCF is closer, no?

I'll wait 'til Christmas 2021. 

I want that newfangled Atari!