1995 December: Hawaii Trip Part 3

Posted on August 20, 2021 by Mike

Maui and the Big Island. Continue reading →

The third major stop that Sue and I made on our Hawaii trip in 1995 was on the island of Maui. The flight from Lihue to the principal airport on Maui at Kahului took about forty-five minutes. En route our plane passed over the islands of Oahu and Molokai¹. Maui is not as old as Oahu, which in turn is newer than Kauai. Maui has two large volcanic structures, which makes the island look like a large irregular circle and a smaller one that slightly overlap each other. The large mountain is Mt. Haleakalā, which is over 10,000 feet high, almost twice as high as Mt. Waialeale on Kauai. The other mountain is generally just called West Maui Mountain.

Most of the people who resided permanently on Maui lived in the area between the two mountains from the outskirts of Kahului southwest to Kihei. That was also the location of almost all the island’s retail establishments and almost no tourist attractions, of which there were a very diverse multitude elsewhere.

We stayed in a nice but inexpensive hotel in the old port town of Lahaina, which is on the west coast of the West Maui part. The resorts on Maui were (and still are) mostly north of Lahaina or south of Kihei. These areas are very dry, as opposed to the eastern side of Mt. Haleakalā, which is a tropical rainforest. In the nineteenth century a series of canals and ditches dug by the East Maui Irrigation Co. brought water from the east side to the west. The purpose was to improve the sugar cane production, but the main long-term effect was to turn Maui into a mecca for all kinds of tourists.

The roads in Maui were only slightly more complicated than those of Kauai had been. A highway ran all the way around the seacoast. In the northeast corner of West Maui it was only one lane wide in some spots. In the southwest side of East Maui there were unpaved sections that were dangerous to drive. That corner of Maui was (and is) subject to flash floods of biblical proportions. There is also a road that runs along the west side of Mt Haleakala and one that zigzags up to the rim of the caldera.

We rented a car and drove from the airport to our hotel, Plantation Inn in Lahaina. Of course, we had to circumvent the mountain, which meant that we spent roughly the same amount of time on the highway as we had spent in the air en route from Lihue.

Our hotel was about three blocks from the ocean. We stayed for two or three nights. It must have been three. I clearly remember doing activities that certainly would have consumed more than two days worth of daylight. Sue and I both loved the Plantation Inn². It was convenient to everything, it offered free breakfasts, the room was nice, and it was within our price range.

Both Molokai and Lana’i are clearly visible from the northwest coast of Maui. Lana’i is only 16.4 miles from Lahaina.

On our first evening on Maui a person representing several of the tourist spots came to the hotel, made a presentation about them, answered questions about them, and sold tickets at a discount, of course. All tickets sold everywhere in Hawaii are always at a discount. I remember that all the other attendees were jealous when they heard how long our Hawaiian vacation was.

We bought two tickets for the trip in a van to watch the sun rise over the caldera of Mt. Haleakalā and to ride bicycles down. Someone from the tour company would pick us up at the hotel at 3AM. We also purchased tickets for an excursion across the Maui Channel to the island of Lana’i³ on a later day.

So, we did not get much sleep that first night. The temperature can get down to near freezing at the top of the mountain. I thought that I would be warm enough in a couple of sweatshirts and a nylon jacket, but I was wrong. Fortunately, the company that ran the tour brought along enough insulated ski jackets with hoods for everyone.

The drive up the mountain was slow but uneventful. It was, of course, dark the entire way, and so we were not able to enjoy any views. The last few miles on switchbacks seemed to take forever. Nevertheless, we arrived at least an hour before dawn. The tour guides brought thermoses of coffee and cocoa to keep us warm as we awaited the big event. While we shivered, the guides unloaded the bicycles from the vans.

By the time that the sun peeked over the eastern edge of the caldera, perhaps one hundred people joined us on the western edge. I don’t honestly remember the colors of the sunrise. The sky was already pretty well lit because the sun had already cleared the horizon of the ocean several minutes before it appeared atop the mountain. I wasn’t disappointed, and so it probably was at least somewhat spectacular.

I definitely remember the silversword plants near the edge of the caldera. They were unlike anything that I had seen before. The interior of the caldera was also very interesting. There were clouds below us, but below them we saw plenty of vegetation, and hiking trails were also evident. It had not occurred to me that people might come to Haleakalā just to explore the caldera.

Almost as soon as it was full daylight, our bicycle guide asked loudly, “Who are Sue and Mike?” When we identified ourselves, he told us his name (I forget it) and his hometown of Springfield, MA. He said that when he lived there he often came to the stores in Enfield to shop.

We posed like this, but Sue was on the seat facing forward. I had my hands on her shoulders, my left foot on the rear fender, and my right foot raised high. There is a photo of it somewhere.

Here is how the descent worked⁴. About a dozen people were in our group. We each were given a bicycle. One van preceded the cyclists, who were more or less in single file. A second van followed the group to prevent any motorists from trying to overtake us. Pedaling was hardly ever needed; gravity did all the work. The group made several stops to allow the cars to go by and to enjoy the scenery. I am pretty sure that near the bottom of the mountain we stopped at a restaurant for breakfast.

Before we departed out guide explained all of this and said that we would be starting at 10,000 feet and descending to the beach. One cyclist asked him how high we would be at the end. He answered the question with his own pertinent question: “How tall are you?”

The guide assured us that the bicycles were regularly maintained, and a mechanic rode in one of the vans. Sue’s bike was fine. Everyone’s was fine, except mine. I knew bikes. I rode bikes constantly as a kid. I rode bikes in 1973 and 1974 in Hartford and occasionally in the subsequent years in Plymouth. I felt very at home on one.

This bike was possessed by a demon. As we coasted down the road my bike started pedaling backwards on its own! I could not stop it/ It was all that I could do to maintain my place in line. I certainly paid no attention to the scenery, breathtaking as it no doubt was.

I don’t think that any mechanic could have fixed the problem. An exorcist might have had a better chance. Nevertheless, at the first stop I asked the mechanic to check out the bike. He immediately determined that something was seriously wrong with it. They had brought a spare bike, which they let me ride. I found it much easier to control.

However, there was a reason why this bike had not been assigned to someone originally. The brakes, which were activated by levers beneath the handles, were probably adequate for a normal bike ride, but after a few miles of downhill coasting I had both brakes pressed tightly to the handlebars, and the bike was still accelerating.

A few times I actually needed to employ the Fred Flintstone method of braking with the soles of my feet. I am serious.

When I told the mechanic about the braking problem, he said that he could not fix it on the spot, and he did not have any more bikes. He offered to let me ride in the van with him. Since I still had quite a bit of rubber left on the bottoms of my sneakers, I returned to my wheeled mount for the rest of the journey. It was a little harrowing, but I managed.

Every time that we stopped, everyone in our group peeled off a layer of clothes. By the time that we reached the beach and turned in our bikes, it was at least 80°. Don’t ask me to describe the scenery; I was concentrating on my braking. When we finally reached it, the beach was nice. I enjoyed the beach.

The guides drove us back to the hotel in time for lunch. I don’t remember for certain what we did in the afternoon, but I recall that on one afternoon or evening we stumbled upon a live concert in a park. We sat on the lawn for a while and listened to music. I cannot remember for sure whether it was Hawaiian music, rock & roll, or some combination. As always, Sue really enjoyed the music. I soaked up the atmosphere.

On the second day (I think) we decided to drive to Hana. This seemed a peculiar thing to do because the destination, the town of Hana, was a real nothing. However, there is was an abundance of things to see on the way. The drive itself, with its twists and turns and one-way bridges, was sometimes an adventure. There was always the chance of a flash flood, but the weather was actually dry and very pleasant.

I made sure that we left early in the morning. It was pretty important for haole tourists to avoid attempting this trip during the rush hours. The native Hawaiians knew this road very well, and they had little patience with tentative drivers. I remember that we had a plan to pick up some food that had an advertised special, but for some reason this did not work out. I don’t remember where we ended up eating any of our meals that day. We might have stopped at roadside stands.

We did stop to gawk at some waterfalls. By that point, however, we had already seen quite a few fairly spectacular ones in Kauai. So, we were looking for something different. We definitely stopped at the Ke’anae Arboretum. I have never been much of a botany enthusiast, but I was impressed by the large number of rainbow eucalyptus trees with their multi-colored barks.

I am pretty sure that we actually drove a little way past Hana. The guidebook had reported that the Sacred Pools of Ohe’o were worth a trip. So, we stopped there for a few minutes.

I don’t think that we made any stops at all on the return trip. We were rather desperate to reach civilization again while there was still enough light to see the road.

On the way back we noticed Mama’s Fish House, which is on the north coast of East Hawaii, where the big waves are. We either stopped there for supper that evening, or else we decided to eat there later. I remember that it had a very impressive view of the rugged north shore. I have never been much of a fish eater. Catholics who grew up in Kansas when I did think of fish as what people are forced to eat on Friday. When I think of fish, I think of frozen breaded rectangles.

Our other big adventure in Maui was much less stressful. We took a short cruise on a catamaran across the Au’au Channel to Lana’i. There were perhaps twenty passengers on our boat. I am pretty sure that Sue and I were the oldest couple.

The boat had large powerful engines, but it also had a sail. At least once during the trip the captain turned off the engines and raised the sail. This was, I think my first time ever sailing. Few people in Kansas buy sailboats for their ponds, and no yachtsman from the Sunflower State has ever won the America’s Cup.

We definitely saw glimpses of whales from a distance while we were at sea. I have a vague recollection that a few dolphins swam alongside the boat for a while, as well.

At the time most of Lana’i was owned by Dole⁵. Pineapples had been grown there in great numbers, but pineapple production was abandoned in 1992. At the time of our visit the company was trying to find other uses for its assets. It rented out the park at Hulopo’e Beach to tourist groups. It was a nice spot for some snorkeling and a picnic. The boat brought plenty of gear for snorkeling, and the crew gave us a quick class in how best to do it. I did not pay too much attention, and I was reprimanded when I did it wrong.

Snorkeling provided the opportunity to see some very colorful fish and other sea creatures. Unfortunately, no one had taught them any tricks yet, and so I soon lost interest.

I am pretty sure that the crew served us lunch after the snorkeling was over. We then were escorted around in large jeeps tp some of the camps on the elevated parts of the island that were formerly occupied by plantation workers and managers. It was of some slight historical interest, but no one told us the whole history of the island. For Sue and me this was just a relaxing interlude in an otherwise hectic period on Maui.

I might be imagining this, but I have a dim recollection of driving up to the ‘Iao Valley, which is close to the center of West Maui. The rugged scenery there was enough to draw tourists. However, the site actually has more historic interest than esthetic.

During the trip I had begun to become more and more curious about Hawaii’s history. I was surprised to learn that Hawaii did not have a king until 1810, about the same time that Europeans became interested in the islands. The man who united the kingdom was Kamehameha the Great. His greatest victory was the Battle of Kepaniwai, which occurred in 1790 in the ‘Iao Valley within sight of the Needle. A decisive factor was Kamehameha’s use of two cannons supplied by two British subjects who became the king’s closest advisers..

One evening we came up with the idea of having a sunset picnic on the beach. We bought some food from a grocery store in Lahaina and drove south until we found a suitable beach. We were pretty much by ourselves. I don’t think that we cooked anything. We had a good time just spotting whales and eventually watching the sun disappear into the Pacific Ocean.

The flight from Kahului to Kona Airport on the Big Island took about forty-five minutes. During the flight we were treated to a pretty good view of Mt. Haleakalā and, from a distance, the two huge mountains on the Big Island, which almost no one ever calls it by its official name, Hawaii

The Big Island is gigantic in comparison with the other islands. It is bigger than Rhode Island and Delaware combined, and it contains over 63 percent of the total area of the state of Hawaii. Moreover, because of the lava flow from Kilauea, the percentage is constantly growing.

It turned out that this last leg of our time in Hawaii was as much educational as it was entertaining. As on the other islands, we set out just to relax and have fun, but we ended up learning a lot on the Big Island in a short time.

If you go to the Big Island, and you want to explore at all, you really must rent a car. We stayed at the Kamehameha Hotel, which was close to the airport, but we intended to see as much of the island as possible. So, we immediately rented a car.

I guess that you could consider our hotel⁶ a resort—it had a Liberty House inside, and there was a luau every evening on the beach. However, it did not have that feeling of a prison in which the clients are both protected from intrusion by outsiders and actively discouraged from leaving the grounds. That has long been my impression of the big gated resorts.

On the ground floor of the hotel was a fairly large display that narrated in some detail the story of Hawaii’s kingdom, from the great triumphs of Kamehameha the Great not long after the American Revolutionary War through the tragic overthrow of Lili’uokalani in 1893 and her scandalous imprisonment. For me there was one surprise after another: Kamehameha received critically important help from a man from Wales and a man from Lancashire. So many members of the royal family died from Western diseases unknown on Hawaii. In fact, the king and queen both died in London while waiting for an audience with George IV. The Hawaiian royal family then became Christians, dressed as westerners, and had close ties to Queen Victoria and her family.

I found this all to be fascinating, and it ignited a desire for me to discover the reality underlying the Disneyfied stories that have been handed down. I had never really felt this way before about anything historical. Since then I have been inspired to conduct independent detailed analyses about many events.

Sue and I spent most of our time on the Big Island in our rental car. We headed south immediately mostly because I wanted to see just how far south we could actually get. The ultimate goal was the southernmost⁷ point of the entire United States, which we could reach after about an hour and a half of driving.

In the first half of the drive to the south we passed several coastal towns on our right. Most of the “land” to the east looked almost like asphalt. It was lava from an eruption of Mauna Loa that had not yet disintegrated into dirt. Mauna Loa, the largest active volcano in the United States, last erupted in 1984.

112 miles of this followed by a marathon? No thanks.

We were driving through the area that hosted the annual Ironman Triathlon. It consisted of a 2.4 mile ocean swim, followed by a 112 mile bicycle ride, and ending with a marathon of 26.2 miles. I had always considered the participants as a breed apart, but when I saw the course in person I was stupefied. There was no shade! None at all! And it practically never rained on this side of the Big Island. For the participants it must have seemed like exercising in a toaster oven.

On the second half of the journey to South Point we saw cattle ranches on the hills to our left, and a pretty good-sized herd of cattle was grazing there. We had enjoyed steaks from cattle raised on this island during our rain-soaked barbecue on Kauai.

South Point, the whole southern tip of the island (also known as Ka Lae), is a National Historic Landmark, probably because it is where the Polynesians first landed when they discovered Hawaii. It was (and is) extremely windy. However, on the day that we were there, the sea was relatively calm, nothing like the satellite image shown at the right.

When we arrived at the point a couple of people were wading in the water ten or twenty yards from the shore. I took off my shoes and went in. I walked out just far enough that I was two or three meters farther south than either of them. I then turned around and hurried back. So, I can safely state that for a few seconds I was farther south than anyone else on American soil.

This stunt was at least a little dangerous. The Halaea Current has a strong reputation for pulling people out to sea. If the current grabs you, you can try to ride it, I guess, but the nearest land mass to the south is several thousand miles away.

We drove back to the hotel the same way that we came. There was really no choice. I don’t remember what we did in the evening. We again avoided going to the luau, but it was not possible to avoid listening to it.

Our last night in Hawaii was scheduled to be spent at Volcano House, a lodge run by Ken Direction Corporation of Hilo for the National Park Service. It was adjacent to the west rim of the largest caldera of Kilauea, the most active volcano in the United States. We checked out of our hotel and began the long drive across the island. For most of the journey the largest of the mountains, Mauna Kea, was on our left and Mauna Loa was on the right. Their elevations are 13,803′ and 13,678′ respectively.

Once the mountains were behind us, the climate changed dramatically. Hilo and the surrounding area are a tropical rainforest.

The main reason that we even included the Big Island on our itinerary was so that Sue could visit her friend Patty Johnson, who was assistant editor the magazine Dancing USA⁹. Sue had talked with her over the phone but had never met her in person. Patty lived in a small prefabricated home on the northeast side of Kilauea, which, at the time of our visit was spewing red-hot lava on its southeast flank.

Sue and Patty mostly conversed about dancing and the magazine. I remember that Patty mentioned that her son sometimes earned money by harvesting “mac nuts”. I did not realize that macadamia nuts were a cash crop on the Big Island. In fact, I knew nothing at all about them¹⁰.

Patty recommended that we drive to the black sand beach, Punalu’u, on the south shore. Sometimes legally protected sea turtles came ashore there to bask in the sun.

From Patty’s house we drove up to Volcano House, where all forty-two rooms offered stunning views of the caldera and beyond. When we checked in, we received some unexpected news. We had vaguely heard about the folderol about the federal budget that culminated in a shutdown of the federal government, but we were still surprised when we learned that, although we could stay there that night, Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park would be closed for an indefinite period starting the next morning.

The only effect that this really had on us was that we immediately scurried over to the nearby Jaggar Museum, which would be closed on the following day. We found that the little museum was a great source of information about the geology of volcanoes.

We learned that Kilauea was a very active and complicated entity. The chain of islands that we call Hawaii were all generated by the same process, which was (and is and will be) still ongoing. A very hot spot below the bottom of the Pacific Ocean was causing this disruption. The ocean floor was very slowly moving from east to west over this spot. The volcanoes created on the other islands were dormant or nearly so, but Kilauea was definitely still affected.

We saw and smelled steam vents but no eruptions.

At the time that we were there, there had been continuous eruptions since 1983. However, they were, for the most part, not explosive eruptions. Instead lava often flowed down from a vent in the side of the mountain all the way to the ocean where it was very gradually increasing the size of the island as the relatively cool ocean waters solidified the liquid lava.

Fortunately this lava flow was generally on top of lava flows that had occurred a few years earlier. Consequently, no inhabited areas were in imminent peril.¹¹ We heard that it was possible to get quite close to where the lava was trickling into the sea, but we did not have time even to think about attempting such a feat.

At the museum we also learned about the hot spot’s other big project, the Lo’ihi seamount, which is an underwater volcano about twenty-two miles southeast of the Big Island. If it keeps going at its current pace, it could surface in less than 100,000 years. I doubt that anyone from our species will be around to notice it.

Sue and I also made a short visit to the black sand beach at Punalu’u. The sand was, indeed, black. I do not remember whether we saw any sea turtles. If we did, they did not perform any noteworthy tricks.

Our trip back home was not without incident. At some point during our adventures, the zipper broke on one of our suitcases. My recollection is that we tried to hold it shut with a strap at first, but eventually we purchased another suitcase somewhere. However, Sue refused to throw away the defective luggage. In her words, “There are people who fix zippers.”

I was unwilling to pay for an empty broken suitcase to be flown from Hawaii to Connecticut. So, after trying to give it away, Sue finally let me junk it at the Hilo Airport.

The flight from Hilo to Honolulu was fun. From the window I got good views of Maui, Molokai, and Lana’i, as well as the coastline of the Big Island that we had not had time to explore. I remember nothing about our red-eye flights back to New England. I am quite sure, however, that the first thing that we did upon entering our house was to make certain that Rocky and Woodrow, our pet cats, were OK.

1. Although the island’s name is sometimes pronounced as four syllables, it officially has only three. The last one rhymes with “dye”.

2. We liked it so much that we stayed in the same hotel when we returned to Maui in 2018, as described here. In some ways we liked it even more the second time.

3. The apostrophe indicates that Lana’i (unlike the word spelled with exactly the same letters in exactly the same order that means “balcony”) has three syllables: lah NAH ee.

4. This method is no longer allowed. Individuals can still ride bicycles down from the rim of the caldera, but groups of cyclists must start no higher than the entrance to the park, which is 3,500 feet lower. While we were on the island a young Japanese woman who was in a bicycle group lost control, slid into the upcoming traffic, and was killed.

5. In 2012 Larry Ellison, the founder of Oracle, purchased 98 percent of the island from the company that owned Dole. He has subsequently invested a lot of money in the island. There are now two Four Seasons Resorts! I doubt that I would recognize much about the island in 2021.

6. The official name of the hotel is now The Courtyard King Kamehameha’s Kona Beach Hotel. It is owned and operated by Marriott.

8. Part of the answer to the trivia question: Name the southernmost, northernmost, westernmost, and easternmost states. The other three correct answers are Alaska, Alaska, and Alaska.

9. The magazine appears to be defunct in 2021. I also could not find any mention of Patty on the Internet.

10. In 2021 I generally eat exactly one freshly baked white chocolate macadamia nut cookie after both lunch and dinner every day.

11. That changed in 2018, they year in which lava flows wiped out several settlements and destroyed hundreds of houses. The national park was closed on May 17, just before eruptive activity in the caldera propelled volcanic dust 30,000 feet into the air. Explosions, earthquakes, and collapses of structures continued on the mountain for five months.

In 2020 a water lake that had formed in the caldera was suddenly replaced by a lake of lava. A fiery plume then erupted to the height of 30,000 feet. The eruptions eventually dissipated. On May 26, 2021, the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory announced that Kīlauea was no longer erupting. The lava lake had completely crusted over a few days earlier.

2003-2020 The Enfield Pets: Part 2

Posted on July 9, 2021 by Mike

Three black cats. Continue reading →

The story of the pets who shared the house in Enfield with Sue and me begins here. It recounts the first fifteen years of our lives there with, for most of the period, two cats named Rocky and Woodrow. Rocky died in the summer of 2003 after a very full life.

In late 2003 or early 2004 Sue’s sister Betty told us that a friend of hers had a family of cats that were too much for her to manage. Sue went to meet her one evening and chose on the spot to adopt a long-haired black male that was about the same size as Rocky and Woodrow. The woman called him Fluffy, which, of course, would never do. I dubbed him Giacomo after my favorite opera composer, Giacomo Puccini, and Giacomo della Chiesa, better known as Pope Benedict XV.

For a few weeks Giacomo was, to put it mildly, very wary of his new surroundings. We did not keep him cooped up for more than a day or two, and thereafter I personally spent a lot of time looking for him and trying to remove him from various hiding places. I remember that one day he somehow crawled under the dishwasher in the old kitchen. Fortunately, he was just shy, not a bit aggressive or even defensive. As soon as I got a good grip on him he let me pull him out of his hiding spot without much of a struggle.

Giacomo on the chair showing off his thumbs and his anteater tail. Woodrow looks up from the floor.

Finding him when he hid outdoors was even more challenging. He liked to retreat beneath some evergreen bushes on the north side of our house. When I approached him from one side, he slipped over to the other. It took me at least thirty minutes to retrieve him whenever he did this.

Woodrow, who made new friends very easily, took the new kid under his wing. Giacomo followed his lead in nearly everything.

Eventually, Giacomo became comfortable in both our house and our yard. However, he did not seem to comprehend the value of the cat door (described here). It looked like a trap to him.

Finally, one day Sue and I decided to team up to help him understand it. Sue held him on the outside of the cat door and pushed him through. I was in the basement standing on a chair by the cat door. When he appeared on the top shelf of the bookcase, I grabbed him, took him in my arms (which he liked), and walked around the basement enough so that he could figure out where he was. I then returned him to the top shelf by the cat door and pushed him back through it. Sue grabbed him and held him for a minute or two. Then she pushed him back through to the basement again.

All of a sudden I could see the light bulb appear over Giacomo’s head as he emerged into familiar surroundings. The message penetrated through all the fear to his little brain. He finally realized that this little door meant that he could come and go as he pleased. It was no trap; it meant freedom!

Meanwhile, to our surprise, Giacomo continued to grow. After a couple of months he was a good two inches taller than Woodrow and three or more inches longer. He had one broken (or at least shorter) fang that bothered him not even a little. He also had polydactyly on both front paws. Each had an extra toe sticking out on the inside. They looked a lot like thumbs. One other thing was quickly noticeable about Giacomo—he was left-pawed. I called his left front paw “Lefty”. If it came towards you, it generally meant business.

During his first summer in Enfield Giacomo cleaned out the mole colony that had resumed residency when Woodrow retired as master exterminator a few years earlier.

For the most part Giacomo followed Woodrow around the house and the yard. Woodrow habitually came in to the bedroom every morning when my alarm went off at 5 AM. Giacomo began to join us. I was expected to acknowledge both of them, although Woodrow wanted nothing more than a rub or two on his head. Giacomo liked to be rubbed all the way down his spine, but he did not like his belly rubbed.

In the summer the coolest sport for a nap was this sink. Giacomo learned this trick from Woodrow.

From the start Giacomo preferred me over Sue. Whenever I sat down on a chair he jumped onto my lap. If I was seated at my desk (which was really a tabletop astride two file cabinets), he often got bored and went exploring on the table. If I was watching TV, he lay lengthwise on my lap (on a stadium blanket that I always set there) when he was younger and across it when he got older. I don’t know why he changed. Whenever I lay down he walked (he was so long that he hardly needed to jump) up onto the bed and settled himself next to me.

I never teased Giacomo in the way that I tortured Woodrow with that stick and feather. However, I occasionally took advantage of the fact that he allowed me to do almost anything to him. I liked to lift him up over my head and make him pretend to walk on the ceiling.

Woodrow and Giacomo were left “home alone” during our trips to Village Italy in 2005 (described here) and Eastern Europe in 2007 (described here).

Suburban raccoons are too fat for cat doors.

Woodrow was still around for a startling occurrence in May of 2008. The cat door drew the attention of a masked varmint, a raccoon that was too chubby to fit through the opening. Raccoons are known to be very crafty, but this one used brute force to solve the problem. He made short work of my (very) amateurish carpentry by pulling the door out of its wooden frame in the window. Sue and I knew that the rascal had made it all the way into the house when we found the cat bowl empty and water all over the floor. Cats are very meticulous when drinking water; they seldom spill a drop. Raccoons are meticulous in a different way. They wash their food before they eat it; they always spill water, and they never clean up after they are finished eating.

Chick Comparetto let us borrow his Havahart trap, and he showed Sue how to use it. She then put it outside near the cat’s entrance (which we had temporarily closed off) and put some food in it. On the very first night the raccoon got caught in the trap. Sue and Chick then transported the raccoon—still in the cage—in her car across the Connecticut River to Suffield, where they released it in a wooded area.

Sue immortalized the raccoon adventure by recording a video of the release in Suffield. You can watch it here.

I bought a new sturdier cat door and affixed it to the board blocking the window a little more securely.

In the late summer of 2008 Woodrow died. He was eighteen years old, the same age that Rocky was at his death. Woodrow was weak and very ragged looking the last week or so. I stayed home with him on his last day.

Despite my closeness to him, I wasn’t overcome with grief when Woodrow died. The Woodrow that I wanted to remember was the devious rascal and hunter, not the decrepit bag of bones of his last few days. I still retain so many vivid memories of him. He was an immediate friend to everyone whom we let in through a human-sized door, but I think that, at least in his younger years, he would have fought to the death to defend against an intruder trying to get through the cat door.

I buried Woody under the burning bush, his favorite outdoor napping spot. I don’t honestly know whether Giacomo missed him as much as I did. He could not have missed him more.

For about a year Giacomo was our only pet. Then Sue learned that Betty’s friend, who was absolutely thrilled to find out how much we liked Giacomo, told Sue that she could have Giacomo’s litter-mate, whom she had named Frankie. I insisted on elongating his name to Franklin.

Franklin was black, like Giacomo, but he had short hair, and he was not as long and lean as his brother. I thought of them as the anteater and the aardvark. Giacomo was the bigger anteater with his luxurious fur coat. Franklin was the much less attractive aardvark.

Franklin did not share Giacomo’s pleasant disposition and love of human companionship. He never fought with his brother, which we recognized as a big plus. However, Franklin did not especially like either Sue or me. He would only occasionally let us pet him. mostly when he was outside. Once or twice, however, I actually found him up on the bed with Giacomo, but after a couple of strokes he became antsy and departed.

This sturdier version of the cat door was installed with the new addition in 2013.

The aspect of living with us that Franklin hated the most was the monthly application of flea drops. I suspect that he had never been allowed outdoors at his previous residence. He discovered the cat door in the basement without our assistance, and he seemed to appreciate the freedom that it provided. However, he had never learned the fundamental lesson of civics class: with all freedom comes responsibility. In this case, the monthly flea drops were the price civilization exacted for his liberty.

This is the basement side, with a ramp down to the floor.

When the weather was warm Franklin put me through a frustrating and exhausting ritual every month. When I was sure that Franklin was in the house, I shut the door to the basement so that he could not retreat there. I then chased him from room to room trying to corner him. Sometimes he hid under one of the barnboard shelves in the library. When he did, I had to wait for him to move. Eventually I always trapped in the bedroom, where he would take refuge under the bed. I had to remove the mattress and box springs to get at him. I always eventually managed to apply the treatment, but the experience was a gigantic pain in the coondingy¹.

In contrast, I merely waited for Giacomo to jump in my lap. He did not mind getting the drops at all. He trusted me completely.

Giacomo and Franklin stayed home together while Sue, I, and our friends the Corcorans toured Paris and the South of France in 2009 (described here). We also took a Russian River Cruise in 2010 (described here) and an ill-fated tour of South Italy the following year (described here). I learned of no untoward incidents either caused by or inflicted on either cat.

For some reason Franklin insisted on exploring our neighbor’s³ property. The gentleman who lived there called me aside while I was trimming the forsythia bush near his property one day and informed me that he had a problem with our cats. They made his dog bark too much. I told him that I would see what I could do.

I thought of responding, “Oh, you have a dog problem. I thought that you said that you had a cat problem.” After all, in Enfield, although dogs must be fenced in or kept on a leash, there is no law against cats roaming free.

I was pretty certain that Franklin was the instigator. Whenever I saw him near the neighbor’s property, I chased him back to our yard. However, I worked all day, and I slept at night. Franklin had ample opportunities to roam. One day, when I was not home, the dog owner accosted Sue and told her that if he caught one of our cats on his property, he would kill it. I won’t repeat Sue’s precise response, but it was not neighborly.

The situation did not escalate any further. I wrote a letter to the neighbors that explained the situation with our cats and offered to pay if they did any damage. Shortly thereafter the family got rid of its noisy dog, and eventually the man of the house departed as well.

In 2012 Franklin got hit by a car on North Street. I did not dig a grave for him, the only domestic animal that I have ever really disliked.

After Franklin’s death Giacomo was our only pet³ for quite a few years. He went through a period in which he spent a lot of time on Allen Street, a dead-end street that was directly across North Street (the site of Franklin’s untimely demise) from our house. Quite a few outdoor cats lived in the neighborhood and congregated informally. The situation reminded me of the old Top Cat cartoons.

I did not like this new lifestyle, but there was not much that I could do about it without turning Giacomo into an indoor cat. Sue was equally concerned. She came to see me when I was in my easy chair wearing my cardigan sweater and reading a magazine. She said, “Ward, I ‘m worried about Giacomo.”

Although I don’t remember attributing his injury to the evil influence of the other gang members, one day Giacomo came home with a wound that had formed an abscess. The vet who examined him told me that if this happened again, we might need to keep him inside. That was something that we really wanted to avoid. She also told me that he definitely had a heart murmur, but she did not recommend doing anything about it. It made me think, however, that Giacomo would probably not match the longevity records of Rocky and Woodrow.

Eventually Giacomo’s wanderlust subsided. By 2016 he almost never left the property. That was the year that another black cat decided that he wanted to take up resident at the Slanetz house, home of Sue’s siblings, Don and Betty, and their father, Art. Betty and Art were quite fond of the newcomer, a very stocky fellow with an inflexible tail that measured only four or five inches. Betty named him Bob in honor of his tail—bobcats are sometimes seen in the area. The tail reminded me more of a crank or handle.

Unfortunately, Betty’s own cat had a fiercely hostile reaction to Bob’s presence. Betty therefore asked Sue to adopt him, and, needless to say, Sue agreed. Bob moved into our house on December 8, 2016, and for about two or three weeks Bob and Giacomo hissed at each other. They eventually became tolerant and, in time, quite friendly.

Giacomo held down the fort in Enfield by himself on several of our tours and cruises. Bob and Giacomo stayed in the house by themselves while we took the bridge trip/vacation in Hawaii in 2018 (details here).

Bob developed one very peculiar tendency. From the beginning his joints were not very flexible, especially by cats’ standards. Something also seemed to itch him on his spine, and he tried desperately to get at it with his teeth. To do this he rested his weight on one shoulder and used a back leg to spin around furiously. It reminded me of someone breakdancing.

After a while some tufts appeared on Bob’s spine. They looked like matted clumps of fur, but he would not let us touch them at all. They kept getting bigger, and eventually it became clear that they were growths of some kind. Maybe we should have taken him to the vet, but at the time Bob would not let me touch him under any conditions. Sue decided to let him be. Every so often she would say to him, “Oh, Bob, what am I going to do with you?”

Prior to Bob’s arrival Giacomo almost never made a sound unless I rolled over his tail with my office chair. Bob was quite talkative, and he had a pleasant voice. Giacomo began to vocalize, too, but he almost always squawked at a high volume. He sounded just like a blue jay. This was his only bad habit. We just had to put up with it.

Giacomo and Sue sometimes napped together.

Meanwhile, Giacomo was definitely beginning to show his age. Whereas he formerly sprang up to my lap or to his favorite perch on the back of the sofa, by 2019 he didn’t jump at all. He had to climb. He had also lost the ability (or at least the inclination) to retract his claws. When he walked on a bare floor, he always made click-click sounds. His right front paw also definitely bothered him. He never ran, and he walked with a noticeable limp.

This is a rare shot. B0b was seldom allowed in Giacomo’s main napping spot atop the couch. Bob always stuck out his right rear leg when resting.

I spent the week after Thanksgiving in 2019 in San Francisco at the NABC⁴ tournament (described here). Between and after the rounds my thoughts often turned to Giacomo. I really feared that he might die while I was gone. I would not have been too surprised if Bob had died as well.

I was wrong on both counts. Both Bob and Giacomo were still reasonably healthy and active when the Pandemic changed all of our lives in March of 2020.

1. I learned this word while I was in the army. I think that it is derived from a Korean word that sounds similar.

2. Because of the location of our house, we really had only one next-door neighbor, the residents of 1 Hamilton Court. I think that the person with whom I conversed was named Chris Simons. He no longer lives there in 2022, but I think that his wife still does.

3. I am not counting our third rabbit. At some point before, during, or after Franklin’s stay with us at 41 North Street, Sue accepted (without consulting me) another rabbit from a relative or a friend of a relative. She explained that it could live outdoors, and she promised that she would care for it. She neglected it, and it died within a month or two.

4. Prior to the Pandemic three North American Bridge Championships were held every year at rotating sites by the American Contract Bridge League.

1988 TSI: The First Crisis

Posted on June 21, 2021 by Mike

Many factors forced a tough decision. Continue reading →

In retrospect it does not seem like that great of a crisis. However, I have a very strong recollection that Wednesday, August 17, 1988, my fortieth birthday, was one of the worst days of my life.

I intended to to go the office and work all day, but the employees pretty much insisted that I take the day off. I was alone in our new house in Enfield. Well, Rocky and Jake were around somewhere, but cats are seldom sociable during the middle of the day. I don’t remember what Sue was doing.

I also don’t remember what I did all morning. I probably either went for a run of four or five miles—the heat did not bother me in those days—or tended to my vegetable garden.

I fixed myself something for lunch. I always ate early. Then, as usual, I lay down for a nap. I may have dozed off for a few minutes. When I arose from the bed, a crushing wave of melancholy swept over me.

I must have had a book to read; I always did. However; I did not feel like reading.Instead, for the first and only time in my adult life, I got down on my hands and knees in the yard that faced Hamilton Court and picked weeds.

I had been told by our neighbor, whose name was Fred, that both the previous resident of our house and the one before him were professional landscapers. They left us a beautiful lawn of bluegrass on the sides that faced the two streets and zoysia grass in the back. There were almost no weeds when we moved in, and, despite four months of neglect, there were still only a few patches.

While I attacked the invaders into our greensward, I took stock of my situation as I entered my fifth decade on the planet. There were undeniable positives:

I was healthy. Sue was reasonably healthy. She had recently quit smoking, and that was very difficult for her.
Sue and I had a nice new house.
We had two nice pets.
TSI had a real office that was smoke-free.
We were in the process of negotiating a big contract with a client that everyone had heard of—Macy’s. The wooing of Macy’s and the subsequent installation there are described here.
For the first time ever TSI had a salesman who was aggressive and appeared to be competent.

On the other hand, the mortgage meant that our nut at home was higher than ever, and our payroll was considerably higher than ever. IBM’s announcement of the AS/400 (described here) was very troubling. There was no provision whatever for the types of customers that we had been chasing for the last seven years. The new systems were considerably more expensive and less powerful for the models at the low end. I did not see how we could sell them to small ad agencies. The other software vendors could offer much cheaper systems. The alternative was to try to find larger agencies around the country with the budgets to buy more expensive systems. This was, from a marketing perspective, a new business.

Eventually we faced facts and leased an AS/400 model B10.

I could see more unavoidable expenses on the horizon, too. We would almost certainly need to buy an AS/400 for development and support of the Macy’s installation.

We faced a lot of difficult work in the upcoming months. We would need to do the work to assure that our system for advertising agencies worked on the new system. At some point we would need to address the Y2K issue that was beginning to raise its ugly head in the press. Our date functions would not work in the year 2000, which really meant 1998 or 1999.

We did not really have the programming staff to meet these challenges. I could not depend on Sue to help. Denise Bessette was excellent, but she only worked part-time. Sandy Sant’Angelo could help a little, but she could not handle anything difficult. There was no getting around it; the bulk of the work was going to burden my undersized shoulders.

I could not see how the current arrangement could possibly work. Unless we received several surprise phone calls in the next few months, we must depend upon getting a second and third user of the new system that we planned to develop for Macy’s. I did not think that I could possibly get that system as then envisioned to the point where it was reasonable to market it before the company (i.e., Sue and I—the only partners) ran out of money.

I think that at this point I need to address what I call The Curse.

In nearly every respect my parents provided me with an exemplary upbringing. They somehow got me the medical care that I needed to overcome what could have been a debilitating birth defect. I did not have many medical issues thereafter, but they ably and promptly addressed my dental and vision issues. They paid for an excellent education. We had food, clothing, and shelter in a very safe environment. They let me follow my own interests. They let me play tackle football for two years, although I am positive that my mother thought that it was foolish. They did not even make me take dancing lessons after I threw a tantrum about it.

There was one thing, however. I remember distinctly them telling me on several occasions, separately and jointly, “Mike, we don’t care what you decide to do. We just want you to be the best at it.” Not “the best that you can be”, just “the best”. There is no “absolute superlative” in English. Unless a group is specified, it means “better than everyone”. In 1988 the world’s population was around five billion. In any endeavor only one of the five billion is the best.

So, by the standards that they had set for me, at age forty (40!) I was an abject failure. I had never been the best at anything in high school. If you took the worst quarterly grade average that everyone had, mine was the highest, but that counted for nothing. The goal was not consistency, it was supremacy. I was not the best at anything in college either. OK, I was the best debater at the University of Michigan, but I was not even good enough to compete in the National Debate Tournament. After that I was a horrible soldier. I was nowhere near to being the best actuary, if that even means anything. I was not the best debate coach, and, in the end, I could not see any path for pursuing that goal.

I was a really good programmer, but nobody considered me the best at any aspect. In fact, in the area that we had concentrated—ad agencies—we had apparently reached a dead end.

I did not articulate this line of reasoning even to myself as my pile of weeds grew, but it must have burned in my subconscious: At age forty this was probably my last chance to be the best at anything. But how?

From somewhere it popped into my brain that I had to fire TSI’s salesman, Michael Symolon, whose career at TSI is described here. The company had no choice¹. We had to sacrifice marketing in order to get the new product ready. The income from the software maintenance contracts and the big Macy’s check might be enough to cover the payroll without Michael’s salary until I could get the product in good enough shape to sell to other retailers. It just had to. It would take a Herculean effort to accomplish all this, but I resolved to do it.

I felt horrible about this decision. I hated firing people. I only needed to do it a few times in thirty-five years in business. All of those occasions were awful, but this one was the worst. I felt that it was more my fault than Michael’s that we were in this position.

I told Sue my decision that evening. She agreed. I talked with Michael a few days later. I assured him that we would pay him his commission on the Macy’s project as soon as everything was completed. He seemed to take it fairly well.

One of the last things that Michael did was to schedule meetings for me in Chicago and South Bend, IN. In Chicago I was allowed to explain the AdDept system that we were about to install at Macy’s to IBM reps who specialized in retail. I knew that quite a few large retailers—Sears, Walgreens, Montgomery Ward, Marshall Field’s, and Carson Pirie Scott, to name a few—were based in Chicago. I thought that they would be very interested in being able to sell a new application and a (newly announced) AS/400 to a previously unautomated department. I am not sure why, but the reception to my presentation was disappointing. They did not even ask me many questions.

I rented a car to drive to South Bend for a demo of the GrandAd system the next day. I am not sure when this occurred, but my credit card was declined somewhere, maybe at the hotel in which I stayed in South Bend. I had to make a very depressing and stressful call back to the office to arrange payment.

We (or perhaps the IBM office) had done a mailing to all of the ad agencies in the area. Five or six had reported that they planned to attend. As usual, I loaded our software and demo data onto the System/36 at the IBM office. Only three people attended the presentation. They all sat together, paid little attention, and took no notes. After my presentation I talked with them for a few minutes. They were all from the same agency. They already had a UNIX-based system running a product called Ad-Aid. I asked them whether they liked it; they were noncommittal.

As I made the long drive back to Chicago that evening I mulled over what had happened. The more that I thought about it, the more convinced I was that the ladies in the audience were spies sent to learn the strengths and weaknesses of our system. This would ordinarily have made me angry; on that day it just depressed me.

For the next three and a half years I worked a large number of hours per week for fifty-two weeks of the year. We sent out a couple of sets of letters to advertising directors at large retailers across the country, and we received just enough positive responses to get by.

The second installation of AdDept (described here) was even more difficult than the first. Hecht’s, the third installation (described here), was a genuine turning point, but it wasn’t really until 1993 that we could consider investing in another genuine salesman—five years of scraping by with only one break, our short cruise of Greece and Turkey in 1992, as described here.

I think that I made the right decision. I cannot envision what life would have been like if I had chosen otherwise

1. Yes, we could have tried to borrow some money. However, we had no assets to use as collateral. The prospect of going down a path that might well have ended in bankruptcy seemed unthinkable to me. The idea of begging for money from relatives never occurred to me.

1990 A Memorable Fortnight in Search of Camelot

Posted on June 10, 2021 by Mike

Innocents abroad again. Continue reading →

If I had read *The* *Innocents Abroad*, I might have brought a notebook on the trip to London. I definitely brought at least one to Milwaukee.

In December of 1989 I had won a story contest (described here) held by the Hartford Courant. The prize was a two-week trip for two to England!

I should mention at the outset that neither Sue nor I took any notes on the trip to England. I think that Sue must have brought her camera, but I have not located any of her photos. I definitely took no photos. So, all of the following content was based on our memories, and the photos that are include, with the sole exceptions of the tattered notebook on the right, the shot of Rocky perched on the toilet, and our souvenir coaster, were all taken by others.

I might have made a mistake in the dates, but the schedule worked out so perfectly that my confidence level is rather high, especially considering that the events happened more than thirty-one years ago.

My preparation for my first trip across the Atlantic was, by necessity, greatly inferior to my efforts for our twenty-first century vacations. Research was much more difficult in 1990. The Internet sort of existed, but there was no Google or Wikipedia. We had Cox cable in our house, but Cox did not offer Internet services until the last half of the nineties. Even AOL dial-up was still three years in the future.

Moreover, I had no time to research. The installation of TSI’s AdDept system at Macy’s in New York was entering phase two (as described here), and, at the same time, we were desperate to sign up a second large retailer to use the system that we had worked so hard to develop for Macy’s. TSI was in a rough spot. We no longer had a dedicated marketing person, and we were also quite short on cash.

We obtained a guidebook somehow, probably from the library. Sue and I decided that we wanted to see as many famous sights as possible, but, despite what I had said to Lary Bloom at the Courant, on the way we would also try to investigate some places that were related to the Arthurian legends.

Sue worked with the Jameson Travel people that the Courant had hired to handle the details of trip. The newspaper provided enough money to cover all transportation costs (including auto rental) and lodging. We had to pay for food and anything else that we wanted. Our basic plan was to eat big breakfasts at the hotels and either lunch or supper at a restaurant. The other meal would be snacks that we picked up at whatever store we chanced upon.

We had a pretty good plan with four bases of operation:

London for three nights. Starting with our arrival early in the morning on Thursday, February 22, 1990, and ending with a car rental on Sunday the 25^th.
Wells for three nights with side trips to Glastonbury Tor, Stonehenge, Wookey Hole, and Cadbury Castle. We drove through, or at least very near to, Bath (BAHTH) on the way.
Plymouth for two nights with a side trip to Tintagel (tin TAH gehl) and a stop in Bristol on the way to York to enable Sue to shop for miniatures on her thirty-ninth birthday.
York for three nights with a drive through the Dales and, on the return trip to London, a short stop in Barnsley so that Sue could see Locke Park as well as an afternoon stop in Warwick Castle.
Back to London for two nights. Since we gained five hours flying west, we would arrive in Boston at lunch time or even earlier.

The story of my trip actually begins on a February flight from Bradley not to London but to Chicago. It was an early morning United flight on Monday the 19th. For some reason most of my airplane horror stories have involved flights on United airlines. The one to Chicago, however, was quite uneventful.

From O’Hare I took a cab into town for a meeting at One IBM Plaza with some IBM sales reps who specialized in the retail sector. Some really big retailers had headquarters in Chicago. Sears and Walgreens came to mind. Marshall Fields still had its headquarters in Chicago at that point, too. I tried to explain AdDept to them, but they had trouble understanding it. I am not sure that they even realized that retailers had advertising departments.

From IBM regional headquarters I took a cab to the train station, where I bought a ticket on the next Amtrak train to Milwaukee. The schedule said that it was a ninety-minute journey. Unbeknownst to me, this train happened to be the famous Empire Builder, which went from Chicago all the way to Seattle and Portland. Union Station in Milwaukee was its first stop.

When I boarded my car, it was rather empty. I found a seat by a window, lifted my suitcase up to the overhead rack, and sat down to read.

To my surprise, a man who may have been in his sixties approached me and asked if he could sit next to me. Here was my chance. All that I had to do was to utter the word “No.” I, however, chose politeness. This would be a better story if I had introduced myself and asked the gentleman his name, but I was not that polite.

I didn’t say that it was an express train.

My unexpected companion explained that he and his wife were traveling together to Oakland, CA, to visit their daughter. They liked to take trains, but on long trips like this one they soon tired of each other’s company. So, they each sought out other people to sit with and engage in conversation.

The gentleman was certainly friendly. He asked me where I was getting off and, after I responded, what I was going to do in Milwaukee. Nobody could explain TSI’s unique business in just a few minutes, and my activities that day would seem confusing to anyone. I did my best, and he listened politely.

The cars were a little sleeker, but this was still the Milwaukee Amtrak Station in 1990.

Then, without being asked, he told me that he was from a small town south of Chicago. He may have also worked the price of corn into the conversation at some point as I glanced longingly at the mystery novel balanced on my lap.

Somehow the topic worked its way around to his daughter’s marital status, which was evidently “divorced”. She had moved to the west coast and was living by herself “because, you see, he turned out to be one of them gay fellows.”

Fortunately, this revelation came just as the train was pulling into Milwaukee’s Union Station. Some other passenger would undoubtedly get to hear the rest of the story. Actually, probably several unsuspecting people would be subjected to it. In the cab from the station to my first appointment it occurred to me that the idea of sitting with strangers on the train was probably the wife’s.

My destination in Milwaukee was the office of an ad agency, the name of which I don’t remember. I met there with some people to discuss the possibility of the agency purchasing an AS/400 and running ADB, the version of TSI’s ad agency system designed for that computer, on it. The employees at the agency treated me very nicely and seemed quite interested in what the system had to offer.

At the close of the business day I took another cab to the Mark Plaza Hotel in downtown Milwaukee, which was within walking distance of the Boston Store. P.A. Bergner and Company owned that store and a large number of other department stores in the north-central states. The advertising department for the entire chain was located on one of the top floors of the store.

Before going to bed I called Sue and told her about the two meetings as well as my encounter with the long-distance rail traveler.

At Bergner’s I met with the production manager, Dan Stroman, and the loan room manager, Sheree Marlow Wicklund. Their loan room was much simpler than Macy’s. The merchandise seldom was sent to outside photo studios. One person could really run it without a computer.

We had not written a system for keeping track (called “trafficking”) of the status of the various aspects (copy, layout, art, photography, etc.) of production jobs yet. So, what Dan was interested in was a new area for me. I also met with the finance and newspaper people. More details are here.

In 1990 a small restaurant in the Milwaukee Airport sold these delicious brats.

After an entire day gathering system requirements, I left with a lot of notes in my spiral notebook, a folder full of sample reports, and my suitcase. I took a cab to the airport. I bought two Usinger’s brats for supper, spent a few minutes in the airport’s used book store, which, as I recall, had a set of Goethe’s complete works that was short a couple of volumes.

Nobody made this drive in an hour in the evening on February 13, 1990.

It was snowing lightly when I boarded the plane. My journey home went through Chicago. That first leg was always so short that the seat belt light was never turned off.

We had barely taken off when the pilot announced on the intercom that O’Hare Airport had just closed because of an ice storm. So, the plane was being diverted to the nearest available airport, General Mitchell International Airport, the same one from which we had just departed.

When we had landed, an agent proudly informed us that United had hired buses to transport all the passengers to O’Hare. So, evidently the airport itself was still open, even if all of the runways were closed. I was a little fearful of a bus ride in a storm that was ferocious enough to frighten the airport that was a hub for two of the nation’s largest carriers, but I really needed to get back to Enfield to attend a meeting scheduled for the next day.

The rest of the trip went as smoothly as could be expected. The bus that I was on made it to O’Hare. I had to wait in line to speak with a United agent, but I was then booked on a flight to Hartford that was scheduled to depart early the next morning.

Since the cancellation was due to the airport’s decision, United did not offer to put me up at a hotel. I had no credit cards and too little cash remaining from all of those cab rides to pay for a room on my own. So, I snatched as much sleep as I could in one of the seats that were specifically designed to prevent people from nodding off and missing their flights. I had a lot of company.

For the next two decades I was a regular at Executive Valet Parking.

The flight the next morning left on time and arrived in Hartford on time. I took the shuttle to the airport parking lot, ransomed my car, and then drove back to Enfield.

I arrived at our house a little before noon. I called the office and told them that I would take a shower, grab an hour or so of sleep, eat lunch, and then come into work. I did not sleep much, but otherwise I followed that plan.

In the afternoon a couple from New Jersey appeared at our office. I don’t remember the details of this meeting. I seem to recall that it had something to do with our pitch for Paramount, which is described here. These people had experience with UNIX, the operating system preferred by Paramount. “UNIX” had always been sort of a dirty word in our office.

After they left I formalized my notes from my three meetings in Chicago and Milwaukee and sent letters to the people with whom I had met. That is what you had to do in the days before email. Because we were scheduled to depart for London the next evening, I left it up to Kate Behart to follow up on the phone with them.

I did not feel hopeful about the meeting in Chicago and the meeting at Bergner’s. The last meeting in our office was just a flyer. On the other hand, my hopes for the ad agency in Milwaukee were pretty high. If someone from the agency called our references, I thought that we could get it. Our clients loved us, and they always praised our work.

After supper I packed. I remember bringing along several books by Jack Vance. Chick Comparetto¹ had volunteered to take care of our cats, Rocky and Woodrow, while we were absent. It was not a weighty responsibility. They had their own door. I had purchased plenty of Cat Chow. If Chick forgot to give them water, they were not shy about helping themselves to the toilet. If they got hungry, Woodrow was adept at ripping open the bag of food. They probably also had two or three survival tricks that I had not yet discovered.

We must have brought either travelers’ checks or a lot of cash on the trip. I am quite sure that we had no credit cards.

Someone drove us to Logan. I have a vague recollection that it might have been Sue’s sister Betty.

I remember nothing about the experience in the airport in Boston. Our plane did not leave until late in the evening. We must have eaten something in the airport, but it was not memorable.

We lost five hours in the flight across the Atlantic, and so it was rather early in the morning when we landed at Heathrow. We had no trouble with our luggage or with customs. That aspect of travel was much easier in those days.

We also had no difficulty finding the driver who had been hired to meet us. I don’t remember his name or what he looked like, but I recall him being very welcoming in a reserved, British manner. He asked about the contest, and he recommended that we invest £5 each in the double-decker bus tour of London.

I am pretty sure that the Camelot was somewhere on this map.

He drove us right to the Camelot Hotel², our home for the next three nights. It was located on or near Sussex Place quite near Hyde Park. As soon as we entered the hotel, Sue and I had the same thought: “We are staying at Fawlty Towers!” Manuel was missing, and the details were all different, but the feel was remarkably similar. I suppose that at one time there were small urban hotels run by amateurish entrepreneurs in the United States, but by 1990 they were pretty much extinct.

We had to sign the guest registry, which was a huge book lying open on a desk, not a counter. A television was on behind the desk, and—I am not making this up—an episode of Fawlty Towers was playing.

My recollection is that the hotel comprised eight or ten nondescript rooms.We found ours and unpacked. We were both tired, but adrenaline overpowered the jet lag.

The person at the desk told us where we could catch a double-decker bus. We left our oversized key at the desk, walked to the location described to us, mounted to the second level of a bus, and took the tour. It was, as our driver had promised, a good way to get a feel for the city.

I don’t remember where we ate lunch, but afterwards we took a stroll in Hyde Park. It was very relaxing. I was surprised to see that people still used the Speaker’s Corner as a public pulpit. At some point an interesting thought popped into my head. I looked at my watch and then remarked to Sue, “Do you remember that guy on the train to Milwaukee that I told you about? I just realized that he is still on that same train.”³

That evening we walked a few blocks over to Baker St. I don’t remember what our motivation was originally, but when we arrived there we naturally tried to locate 221B. It didn’t exist. Moreover, there was no 221 at all.

We did find a steakhouse near that location, and, although we knew that the English were not famous for their cuisine, we gave it a try. The restaurant had a sound system that played pop tunes. The one that was playing as we walked through the door was “Baker Street” by Gerry Rafferty, which had been released twelve years earlier. The coincidences on that day were truly unbelievable. The food was OK, and Sue and I had fun trying to name the other songs. “Baker Street” never came up on the sound system again.

I only remember one other restaurant that we patronized in London. It was a Greek restaurant⁴ that was a block or two from the hotel. My recollection is that it was in the basement of some building, but I may be wrong. I distinctly remember that the food was absolutely delicious, by far the best of any of the food that we ate in England. I also remember that there were only two other people in the restaurant. They were seated at a table as far from us as was possible. They seemed to be just chain-smoking, drinking coffee (or something in coffee cups), and speaking in Greek. I struggled to hear a familiar word or phrase, but since the only Greek I knew then was thousands of years out of date, the task was hopeless.

In London we walked and/or took the tube everywhere. I thought that London’s Underground system was wonderful. It was so easy to figure out. I was used to the mass transit systems in New York and Boston. They were both haphazard and uncomfortable by comparison. I even bought a tee shirt advertising the London Underground. Here are things that I remember Sue and me doing in London:

We definitely went to the British museum. I was thrilled to see the real Rosetta Stone there. It was right out where you could touch it. They had lots of other stuff, of course, but the most memorable for me were handwritten lyrics by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Those were definitely kept in cases where no one could touch them. I also remember the pigeons on the steps. There must have been a thousand of them.
We spent the better part of a day at the Tower of London. I was very impressed by the armory and the Yeoman Warders in their fancy dress. I had no use for the massive collection of shiny rocks, but others stood in line for a chance to adore them. One of the few souvenirs that we bought on the entire trip was the coaster shown on the right.
We walked to Buckingham Palace, but we did not watch the changing of the guard. It was chilly that day. While we were in the vicinity, we went to Westminster Abbey and were a little grossed out that so many people were entombed there. I guess that they have to put the cadavers somewhere. We also saw Parliament, #10 Downing Street, Big Ben, and the Thames.
Sue wanted to visit St. Catherine’s House in London to look up information about some of her ancestors on her mother’s side, the Lockes and Kings. I didn’t go in with her. I don’t remember what I did, but just looking in windows is quite entertaining in London. I think that I might have found a bookstore.
We were very impressed with the retail on Oxford St., which I found much more exciting and dynamic than the stores on Fifth Avenue in New York.
The ducks in the ponds in Hyde Park were very striking. They had complicated and beautiful markings. Neither of us had seen the like, not even in zoos. I also really liked the coots. Their oversized feet impressed me.
From Hyde Park we could see both Kensington Palace, which at the time was the home of the Prince and Princess of Wales, and Royal Albert Hall. We didn’t visit either one. It probably would not be cool for someone from the Colonies just to drop in on Chuck and Di, and we already knew how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.

We did not find that being a pedestrian in London was too difficult. At the enormous intersections there were usually pedestrian subways. The hardest part for us was remembering to look to our right first when attempting to cross a side street.

On our very last night in England we went to see Agatha Christie’s play, The Mousetrap, at St. Martins Theater. It was very enjoyable. Maybe we should have tried something a little more daring, but I am very happy to say that I viewed this play when it was only in the thirty-eighth year of its record run.

The worst part of our entire trip began when we picked up the rental car. I think that the travel agency provided us with transportation to the car rental agency. It was only then that Sue revealed that she had specified a standard transmission car, and she was afraid to try to drive it. So, I needed to learn how to shift with my left hand on a perilous journey from the very heart of London to the M4 during the morning rush hour.

I made many mistakes. Other motorists even honked at us a few times, probably the only horns that I heard while we were in the U,K. The British seemed more reluctant than their American counterparts to draw attention to bad driving. Embarrassed and frustrated, I did manage to get the car onto the freeway without causing any accidents.

A little west of Reading Sue suddenly announced, “There he is! I just saw a bear!”

Intent on my driving, I dared not gawk. I took a quick peek in the direction that she pointed. I saw nothing. At the time I did not know that bears had been extinct in England for fifteen hundred years. It probably was just an ordinary Bigfoot.

We took the M4 almost all the way to Bristol. Driving on the M roads in England was no more challenging than driving on interstates in the U.S. However, when we exited from the M4, the rest of the drive was on the A roads, which were very narrow by American standards. I remember that when we drove through the outskirts of Bath I was fearful of scraping against the stone walls that formed the border of the road. Fortunately, we encountered very few cars coming in the opposite direction. When we finally reached our destination in Wells, I was happy that the trip was over and more than a little anxious about the next nine days on the road.

In Wells we stayed at the Red Lion Hotel, which is described here. I think that the building at some point was converted to other uses. I remember that our room had a four-poster bed. I had seen them in movies, but I don’t think that I had ever slept in one.

We spent the rest of that first day in Wells exploring the town. The focus of attention was definitely the huge Gothic cathedral that is dedicated to St. Andrew the apostle. Although it is now the see of the Anglican Bishop of Bath and Wells, it was constructed in the late middle ages when England was a Catholic country. It seemed totally out of place. Wells is little more than a village, and the cathedral is actually set apart from the town. I would have expected the town to have grown up around it.

The Bishop’s Palace was equally awesome or perhaps even more so. His Lordship George Carey⁵ evidently was not apprised of the arrival of the esteemed visitors from across the pond. We saw his home from a distance, and we were even treated to the sight of some episcopal long-johns hanging out to dry. However, we were not invited into the palace grounds where, according to Wikipedia, croquet games are rather common. I would have loved to hear someone explain the rules of the English version of the game.

A word about the weather: Although all of England is well north of New England, the weather in late February and early March was much nicer than what New Englanders would expect. It seemed more like mid-April. Flowers were out, and the grass was green. We wore jackets every day, but we were seldom cold. We also were lucky not to encounter much rain.

For me the most interesting feature in the town of Wells was the memorial on the sidewalk to Mary Rand, a resident of Wells who won the gold medal in the women’s long jump in the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo. The plaque measured out the exact distance that she jumped.

What I remember most about those days was the driving. No matter which of us was at the wheel, both of us became irritable. For some reason the roundabouts gave us the most difficulty. It was bad enough to have to remember to go clockwise. The big problem, however, was the signage. The highway numbers were seldom provided at the exits. Instead a sign displayed the name a town that was somewhere on that section of road. This was, I am sure, useful for people who knew where all of those towns were, but they did not help us at all. Furthermore, it seemed as if at least half the time the name on the sign was “Taunton”, and visiting Taunton was not on our agenda

I am not sure where we went on which days, but I am sure that we went to all of the following places:

Our guidebook described a place called “Cadbury Castle”. It was supposedly someone’s idea of where Camelot (or maybe Camalet) was. We had a lot of trouble finding it. Finally we came upon the village of North Cadbury. We asked someone at a pub where Cadbury Castle was, and they directed us down a one-lane road that was actually just two tracks. Those were the last humans that we encountered on this adventure.

We went as far as we could by car. We stopped the vehicle, locked it, and set off on foot.

Ahead of us were two troughs, a lot of thick underbrush, and a formidable grassy mound. We made our way through the underbrush for thirty or forty yards. Sue got attacked by stinging nettles and was forced to retreat in agony.

In those days if there was a hill in front of me, I climbed it. I made it to the top of this so-called “hillfort”, but I saw no trace of a fort. On the top of the hill a dozen or so cows were peacefully grazing. They ignored me. I could also see Glastonbury Tor in the distance. That was something, I guess.

To be fair, I should add that the sun was out. The legend is that on a misty day you can see the Once and Future King and his famous knights.

When we arrived back at the hotel, Sue asked someone what to take for stinging nettles. They informed us that the best treatment was a plant called “dock”, which always grew near the nettles. That was not in our guidebook.

We also drove to Glastonbury Tor, another ancient hill in Somerset. A lot of people think that this is a magical place. it certainly has an unusual shape. Evidently in the middle ages a monastery was there. Legends abound about it being associated with King Arthur, but there is a dearth of evidence.

A paved path now leads to the tower atop the tor. I don’t think that it existed in 1990.

I don’t remember a lot about our visit here. I don’t clearly recall the tower at the top of the hill at all. Therefore, I was skeptical as to whether I climbed to the top. Sue, however, has told me that I did. Evidently I don’t remember the tower because no one was allowed to enter it. Therefore, its distinguishing feature—no roof!—was not visible to me.

Sue also reported that a dozen or so New Agers were busy absorbing Glastonbury’s vibes.

The good thing about it was that the town of Glastonbury was actually fairly easy to find. I can’t say that about most of the other sights in Somerset. We had a devil of a time finding Stonehenge. Surely, there must have been a lot of tourists who wanted to see these big old rocks. Nevertheless, there was precious little signage to indicate their location.

We were not allowed as close to the stones as the people in this photo are.

We did find it, but it was probably the biggest disappointment of the entire trip. At the time no one was allowed to approach, much less touch the stones. I don’t recall that we ever were within one hundred feet of them. I honestly think that we would have gotten more out of a film about the place.

By this time we were getting rather tired of driving around Somerset searching for legendary hills and ancient inanimate objects.

Our last stop in Somerset, however, was delightful. Wookey Hole is a set of caves that are located just a few miles to the northwest of Wells. We knew about the caves from the guidebook, but we were surprised by the fact that there were actually other really enjoyable things to see and do nearby.

The caves were quite interesting. We took a little tour with a local guide. The best part of it was the way that she pronounced Wookey Hole. The first syllable was at least a fifth higher than the rest of the name. Since we had heard no human speech anywhere near any of the other attractions in Somerset, it was nice to have someone explain the geology of the caves.

In addition to the natural formations, someone had constructed a small museum⁶ that emphasized a few diverse elements of the culture in and around Wookey Hole.

The paper-making demonstration was the most educational. Until then I had absolutely no idea how trees and rags were turned into paper. The penny arcade machines were also something that I had never seen before. Visitors could even play the games using old-school pennies that they could buy there. The carousel section had complete carousels (going clockwise, of course), as well as stunning individual statues. I remember seeing a beautiful lion, but I was unable to find a picture of it on the Internet.

Sue and I found our visit to Wookey Hole both fun and relaxing. We then undertook the drive up to Cheddar Gorge. I am not sure why we did not stop here. Sue absolutely loves cheese. In retrospect I have trouble understanding how she could have resisted the temptation to stop and sample one of her favorite cheeses.

Our next destination was Plymouth, which is a genuine city on the south coast. On the way there we took a slight detour to drive through Exmoor, which includes some really diverse and beautiful areas.

Our hotel in Plymouth was not as memorable as the first two. I have a vague recollection that it also had a restaurant. We took a short pedestrian tour of the city, mostly so we could say that we had seen the spot from which the Pilgrims departed.

I remember that at the restaurant I was served some Devon Cream. I had never had this before and remarked about it to Sue. My face must have registered disgust because the waiter rushed over to ask me if there was something wrong. This, by the way, never happens to me in the U.S.

The main reason that Sue and I bothered to come this far west was to have somewhere to stay while we ventured to Tintagel, the ruins of a real castle in Cornwall on the Atlantic coast.

Tintagel⁷ was definitely worth visiting. However, it was a difficult drive from any direction. Furthermore, a fairly long walk was (and evidently still is) required to reach the ruins from the parking lot. We went there in February, and a very cold wind was blowing in off the Atlantic. We did not get as much out of this experience as we might have if the weather had been nicer or we (i.e., Sue) had been in better condition. We did get a look at the castle ruins and Merlin’s cave. The view of the ocean was stunning.

I am not sure about this, but I think that we decided not to drive directly back to Plymouth. Instead we headed to Barnstaple, a city with which we were familiar from playing the British Rails game. All of the cities in this section are at the base of a very high cliff. This accounts for the peculiar fact that all of the rivers flow to the south.

On Sue’s birthday we left from Plymouth with the intention of reaching York by supper time. I asked Sue what she wanted for her birthday. She said that she wanted to shop for miniatures at a store she knew about in Bristol. So, that is what we decided to do.

Somehow we came up with an unusual plan. We drove to a location on the outskirts of Bristol, which in 1990 had about 400,000 inhabitants. We parked the car and took a city bus downtown. Sue somehow knew which bus to take and the stop at which we needed to exit. When we got off of the bus, Sue looked around but could not see any familiar buildings or street names.

She did find a Dr. Who-type phone box (not booth in England). Somehow she figured out how to make it work. She called the store. The woman who answered asked her what she could see from the phone box. Sue told her. The woman merely said two words: “Turn around.”

Sure enough, Sue found herself looking at the miniatures store. She went in; I did not. I had enough trouble—even at that age—dealing with full-sized objects. While Sue was shopping for tiny things, I walked around and looked in windows. If I discovered a store that sold books or games, I probably went inside. I don’t think that I bought anything, but Sue definitely did. Good! It was her birthday.

We somehow caught another bus that brought us back to the car park. We fired up our vehicle and easily found our way back to the M5. Sue received one more present. We got off of the throughway at Cheltenham and drove through the Cotswold country to Bourton-on-the-Water the home of the Model Village. It took about half an hour.

I think that this is the model, not the real village.

I probably would not have made this side trip if I had been by myself. However, Sue has always felt a special attachment to the Cotswolds and particularly its thatched roofs. The Model Village itself is definitely worth seeing once. It was a nearly exact replica of the real Bourton-on-the-Water within which it resides. What I found the most interesting was that the model itself is indeed modeled at the same one-ninth scale. I naturally wondered if that model included a one-eighty-first model of the model and so on. I mean, some people write on grains of rice; what is the limit?

My attitude might help explain why, although everyone likes working with me, nobody ever asks me to go anywhere with them.

The remainder of the trip to York was uneventful. We stayed for three nights at the Royal York Hotel, a huge very old hotel near the train station. In one way I was glad that we did not go any further north. The people in the north spoke perfect English, of course, but the accent was so strong that it was difficult to understand.

The other memorable supper that we ate might have been our first night in York. I don’t remember the rest of my order, but the vegetable was broccoli. It had been cooked so long that it had turned grey. The waiter, who had emigrated from Greece, noticed my horror. He told me that the English always overcooked the vegetables. I conversed with him a little. I told him that I had taken ten semesters of Homeric and Attic Greek in high school and college. He did not seem too impressed. He probably knew that these classes would not have helped me understand him. I later learned that while modern Greek grammar has not changed much through the millennia, the vocabulary and pronunciation had evolved drastically.

I think that Sue let me do most of my exploring of York on my own. While I was out walking around the city I think that she visited the Railway Museum, which was very near the hotel.

I never pass up a chance to walk the walls of a city. York’s were probably the best.

I remember visiting the stunning York Minster, which was awesome both inside and out. It must surely be the most impressive church in England. I am quite certain that I climbed as high as they allowed in the ancient cathedral. The view of the city and the countryside was breathtaking.

I also walked around atop the ancient stone walls of the city. I cannot remember whether I made it all the way around, but I recall thoroughly enjoying this experience.

York was such a delightful old city. It was very pleasant to experience it both from street-level and from above.

Sue and I definitely visited the Jorvik Viking Center⁸ together. This museum emphasized the history of the area before the arrival of the Normans in the eleventh century. Many lifelike displays depicted the lifestyles of the Vikings who inhabited the area. The details were based on archeological excavations that produced thousands of objects.

We also went for a drive in the Yorkshire Dales that we knew from the television series All Creatures Great and Small. We stopped at a house or store for some reason. We talked with a lady there who used the word “fortnight”. I told her that no one in America ever used the word. She asked me what Americans said instead. She seemed mildly surprised when I replied “two weeks”.

After we left York we made two stops on our way back to the Camelot Hotel in London. The first was in Barnsley, where we searched for Locke Park, named after one of Sue’s relatives, a railroad magnate named Joseph Locke. We stopped to ask for directions. We were told that it was at the corner of Locke and Park. Where else? Sue is not a direct descendant, however. Joseph and his wife Phoebe had only one child, whom they adopted.

Our second stop was at the fabulous Warwick Castle. This stop was recommended by one of TSI’s clients, Mary Lee Pointe at Avon Old Farms School. I had mentioned to her that we were going to England and wanted to see at least one castle. She said that sh had visited several of them, and Warwick Castle was the most interesting.

The castle and its grounds made a fitting end to our motoring excursions. I cannot imagine a more awe-inspiring setting that was matched by the opulent displays in the interior. As I recall, we had a picnic lunch together on the grounds.

We made a memorable pit stop on the way to London. The facilities themselves were mediocre at best. What got my attention was a sign at the entrance demanding “NO FOOTBALL COACHES.” A “coach” to Brits was a tour bus. “Football” referred to the game called soccer in the states. So, the rest area actually prohibited busloads of soccer hooligans.

We managed to locate the car rental agency in London. I don’t remember how we got ourselves and our luggage to the hotel for the last two nights.

I don’t remember which of the activities that I listed in the first London section were actually performed on our last full day in London. I am pretty sure, however, that, as I mentioned, Sue and I attended the theater on our very last evening.

“Memorable” is definitely the right word for this”‘fortnight” in England. I can hardly believe how many things we did and how vividly they have remained in my memory and Sue’s—with no notes at all. How times have changed! It is now a titanic struggle for both Sue and me to recall what we did the day before yesterday.

One thing that I cannot remember clearly is what we did about the business. In the course of the two weeks, we must have called the office at least four or five times. I cannot recall needing to deal with any pressing problems.

1, Chick Comparetto was the father of Sue’s first husband. He lived less than a mile from us. He died in 2020. His obituary is here.

2. Alas, there is no longer a Camelot Hotel in London, and I was not able to identify any hotels that might be successors. Perhaps the building was converted to some other use.

3. This is my favorite shaggy-dog story of all time, and it is 100 percent true.

4. I think that this restaurant might still be in business in 2021. A restaurant called Halepi seems to be in the right location, and everything mentioned on its website, which can be visited here, rings true.

5. His Lordship George Carey became Archbishop of Canterbury, England’s ranking clergyman, in the following year. He retired in 2002. Like most bishops everywhere he got entangled in scandals about reporting clerical sexual abuse. In 2017 he resigned his last formal relationship with the church, which meant that he was no longer allowed to officiated at services.

6. Not many people were at Wookey Hole when we visited. I remember thinking in 1990 that this place needed some good old American marketing. Maybe Ambrose could have helped. Subsequently it has been Disneyfied into a real touristy place. Check out its website here.

7. Tintagel has changed in the three decades since we were there. A visitors’ center has been added, a footbridge has been constructed, and someone was allowed to carve a gigantic image of Merlin’s face on the side of the cliff.

8. The Jorvik Viking Center is still in operation. Its website is here.

1986-1987 Transition to Enfield

Posted on June 6, 2021 by Mike

Our own house and a real office. Continue reading →

In the latter half of 1986 Sue and I realized that a serious business required a better office space than our house in Rockville could provide. For one thing we realized that neither of us was a salesman, and the building offered no place for a salesman to work. It was also a little embarrassing to bring in clients, especially since we now had two cats in residence, Jake and Rocky.

Google took this photo of the west side of 178 N. Maple. The large building on the left was already there. Our space was in the addition on the right. The entrance to TSI was the white door on the far right on the other side of the wall.

At the same time Sue’s dad was in the process of converting one of his barns at 178 N. Maple in Enfield, two doors north of Sue’s parents’ house, into office space for the Slanetz Corporation. Sue worked her magic with him to design a headquarters for TSI there as well. The new building also was designed to serve as a headquarters for Moriarty Landscaping¹ in the basement below TSI’s space.

This is the view from the south. The drainpipe in the middle roughly approximates the border between TSI and Slanetz Corp.

Two doors allowed access to TSI’s offices. The first was on the east side, where our space bordered on that of the Slanetz Corporation. The other was on the south side. It was eight or ten feet below the level of the office. From the door a staircase led up to the middle of TSI’s office space

That arrangement meant that a good bit of the space on the west side—between the staircase and the west wall—was essentially wasted². There was not enough room for both a corridor and a work area.

The north and east sides of TSI’s area had no windows. The west side had two sets—the double in Sue’s office and another one in the wasted area. The south side had three windows.

I found some of the partitions in our basement.

Sue bought white wooden shelves that were deployed to create a corridor from the door on the west wall almost to the stairs. The programming and reception/accounting areas were partitioned into work areas with dividers.

South of the building was a parking lot that could hold eight or nine cars.

Sue and I were well aware that we had enjoyed a sweetheart deal in our lodging in the front house of the Elks Club in Rockville. Since January of 1980 we had rented—without a lease—a nice old three-bedroom house with another room that was large enough for an office for three or four people. We paid the Elks, as I recall, $300 per month, we had no lease, and no one ever bothered us. On the first of every month we put the check in an envelope labeled “Rent”, walked it up to the Elks Club bar, and gave it to the bartender. I don’t think that we ever missed a payment.

In October of 1986, Sue received the following letter from the Elks Club:

October 16, 1986
Sue Comparetto
TSI Tailored Systems
9 North Park St.
Rockville, CT 06066
Dear Ms. Comparetto:
This letter is to inform you of several changes which are taking place in the landlord/tenant relationship between the Rockville Elks and you. From now on, all correspondence is to be directed to the Chairman, Board of Trustees. Until April 1, 1987 this is David Mullins³ (address and phone number below), All correspondence should be directed to the Chairman at his personal residence. When a new Chairman takes over, you will be informed and given any necessary address changes. Normally, this will occur every April.
Rent payments are to made as they are now except that the full rent is to always be paid. Do not deduct for anything unless authorized by the Chairman – no other member of the Board of Trustees has this authority.
New rental rates will be taking effect as well (a lease is enclosed). Your new lease will run from April 1 to March 31. For your benefit, we are phasing in the rental increases until April 1, 1987 (when the new lease takes effect). Starting December 1, 1986 your new rent is as follows:
Dec. 1986 – $500/month
Jan. 1987 – $600/month
Feb. 1987 – $700/month
Mar. 1987 – $800/month
Apr. 1987 – $1100/month.
Note that this rent includes the use of 1 garage.
Additionally, you are now responsible for minor repairs and maintenance totalling less than $100. Starting with your new lease (4/1/87 – 3/31/88) you will receive a $100/moth rent credit if you meet the following conditions. First, the rent must be received on time (by the 5th day of every month). Second, all minor repairs and maintenance described above are to be taken care of by you. This credit may be deducted off of your rent payment. If you fail to meet both of these requirements you forfeit the rental discount for that month.
Please sign both copies of the enclosed lease and return them to me ASAP. I will sign one and return it to you.
David Mullins

We did not sign the lease. Instead, Sue negotiated a temporary arrangement with the Elks Club for us to stay a few months until we could find another place. We paid more than $300/month, but nothing close to $1100⁴. Sue has told me that we actually paid them $600/month. Evidently they did not want to try to find another tenant.

We moved all of TSI’s stuff over a weekend in early 1988. I don’t remember if we hired a moving company or not. I don’t recall lifting desks, and so I suspect that we hired some local people to do it. If someone helped us, we might have been able to do it. The Slanetzes had an old grey pickup truck. My recollection is that I brought most of the computer equipment in my Celica, which was a hatchback.

On Friday we were doing business out of Rockville. On Monday our headquarters was in Enfield.

For a few months Sue and I commuted from Rockville to Enfield. Since we worked drastically different schedules—she is a night owl; I am an early bird—we always brought two cars.

This is the view from North St. looking north. Hamilton Court is on the right. The living room is to the left of the front door. The window to the right of the door is now my office. The double window is on the largest of the bedrooms, which is now called (inappropriately) Sue’s sewing room. The other bedroom is directly across the corridor from this room.

Near the office Sue found two houses that were for sale. We ended up purchasing the one shown above situated on a very large corner lot at 41 North St. in the Hazardville section of Enfield. From North St. in 2021 it still looked much like it did when we bought it in 1988. The maple trees were much smaller at that time, and the Burning Bush on the left must have grown to be ten times as large as it was then.

The lawn in 2021 undoubtedly had far more weeds. Both the previous resident and the one before him were reportedly landscapers. Their care for the lawn amounted to an obsession. One of them even installed a sprinkler system. The first time that I mowed the lawn with my new Sears lawnmower, I filled twenty-three large black garbage bags with clippings. It took me over three hours. For the second mowing I set the machine to mulching mode and never set it back.

I undid all of that TLC with a few years of neglect. As you can see from Google’s photo, it still looks fine.

The sidewalk was added on the south side between April 22, the day on which we signed the mortgage for $135,000, and some time in June when we finally finished moving in. On the west side of the house was a fence. Beyond it was a driveway and walkway leading to Hazard Memorial Elementary School, which Sue had attended decades earlier.

So, our lot actually bordered on only one other dwelling, 1 Hamilton Court.

Behind the house was a one-car attached garage. Between the house and the garage was an entryway that was about 10′ by 15′. We installed one of the Datamasters and the daisy-wheel printer on a long table in that room⁵.

The house had a rather small kitchen, a pretty large area for a living and dining area, one bathroom, and three small bedrooms. To that extent it reminded me of the house on Maple St. in Prairie Village, KS, in which my family lived from 1954-1962.

We had accumulated a lot more stuff during our years in Rockville. For weeks I filled up my Celica before I drove to work every morning and emptied it at the new place before I returned home. Even so we had to hire movers to move the big items.

Our bed went in one bedroom and another double bed appeared from somewhere⁶ in another, which was in theory a guest room. The other bedroom became a kind of library. The barnboard shelve were located there. It soon hosted another resident, Buck Bunny, as is described here.

This house, thankfully, had much more storage space—a full basement and an attic. That was only sufficient for a year or two. The garage was soon too filled with Sue’s junk for a car—or anything else—to fit.

This is actually the current door. The old one was fitted inside the square on the right.

We made one important improvement to the house. We installed a cat door in the basement window that was below the guest bedroom. Some wooden shelves were already in the basement near that window. The cats entered on the top shelf. I built a make-shift ramp so that they could easily get down, but they often preferred to walk to the edge of the shelf and jump from there to the washing machine and then the floor.

1. In 2021 Moriarty Landscaping still occupied the basement area of 178 N. Maple in 2021.

2. I wondered why the entrance was placed there instead of next to the east wall, with the steps outside. Sue said that she thought that it might have been a town requirement for two fire exits. My other question was why the staircase could not have been to the immediate left of the door.

3. In 2021 David Mullins apparently lived in Farmington.

4. $1100 might have seemed like a fair price on paper. However, there were at least three major drawbacks to the property: 1) The ceiling in the living room/dining room space was severely cracked. The middle was at least 6″ lower than on the edges. It was a pretty scary situation. 2) There was no shower on the floor with two bedrooms, only a bath tub. 3) The heating bills were outrageous. A great deal of the hot air went right up the staircase to the unused floor.

5. The garage and the entryway were eliminated during the renovation that is described here.

6. Prior to this move I had not realized that Sue was a hoarder. When I met her she had almost no material possessions. Over the decades she amassed so much stuff—mostly of no evident value or utility—that we could not invite people to the house, and when we needed a repairman or cleaner, we needed to scramble to make room.

Wavablog

Memoirs, bridge, popes, travel, and other stuff

Tag Archives: Rocky

1995 December: Hawaii Trip Part 3

2003-2020 The Enfield Pets: Part 2

1988 TSI: The First Crisis

1990 A Memorable Fortnight in Search of Camelot

1986-1987 Transition to Enfield