Silly Philly drivers

I have heard many complaints about driving in California.

Freeway drivers, some people say, are crazy in the Golden State. And urban traffic is terrible, I have heard.

No one who complains about driving in California has driven in Philadelphia. The traffic on the highways in this town fit well with every description I have read of the start of the Oklahoma Land Rush, except today’s cars are faster than the horses the pioneers had. It’s wild here. I feel nervous without a roll cage. Heck, I’d feel nervous with a roll cage.

And city driving? Wow. Signal lights here are largely decorative. They serve little purpose because many drivers and virtually all the pedestrians you see ignore them.

“Oh look,” the locals seem to say as they step off the sidewalk in the middle of the block. “The light is red. How quaint.”

A driver here needs a video camera with a point-counting application. How else can you keep count of every accident you avoid?

An up-dater for some previous blogs:

Puffball, the feline vampire, passed away this week. He was 18 human years old.

We knew his time was coming and I spent about 45 minutes with him the day before he died. I kept petting him and telling him that it was okay to let go. True to his nature, he waited for me to leave town, then died in the middle of the garage floor. Amy had to take time off from work to call the city animal control officer.

Yes, I am aware that my pick for the winner of the Indianapolis 500 was wrong.

That said, I thought the race was terrific. It looks as though the new car design is a very racy piece of work.

I think it should be said that the broadcast of the race was well done, too.

Thanks for reading.

Fast women

            I’ve been fortunate in the course of my career to have interviewed a number of very interesting individuals. Since the change from journalist to PR rep, I’ve met still more people that I want to call amazing.

            And I am very proud to say that I have met and/or interviewed the first three women to have raced in the Indianapolis 500.

            Janet Guthrie, Lyn St. James and Sarah Fisher helped bring the sport of racing to the point where we have three women entered in this year’s field for the 500 and it is not a major story. Women race and the world has grown accustomed to that fact.

            It is important to note that the sport of drag racing reached that point long ago. Shirley Muldowney was the real pioneer in the National Hot Rod Association and now every professional class in the NHRA has women racing successfully. I’ve blogged before about Melanie Troxel, but there are lots of other women in the major drag racing categories. More importantly, there are lots of other women in other categories who are aiming for the top tier of the sport.

            But today’s thoughts are about Indianapolis. The 500-mile race. The Greatest Spectacle in Racing. Indy.

            I recall very well how I tried to follow the practices and qualifying activities at Indy during the era when Guthrie was breaking the gender barrier at Indy. Every year I searched the LA Times for any piece of news from the Speedway, watched everything I could find on TV in the weeks leading up to the race and listened to a daily roundup on an LA radio station. I loved Indy and couldn’t get enough news about the race.

            I thought then, and still think now, that Guthrie’s first attempt at making the field for the 500 was an extraordinary moment for auto racing. A year later she made the field on her second try. There had been other women drivers in racing before Guthrie arrived at Indianapolis, but Indy isn’t like any place else or like any other form of racing.

            Bulldoze a barrier at Indy and you’ve made a difference in the sport. Janet Guthrie did that.

            St. James was next. A sports car racer like Guthrie, St. James was the first woman to be named the Rookie of the Year at Indianapolis.

Fisher was different, a graduate of the open-wheel dirt school of racing, where it’s all about car control.

            There have been other women racers at Indy since the first three. Danica Patrick is the best-known of the new bunch, although she’s a fulltime NASCAR driver now and has not been at Indy this month.

            Women have won at the biggest drag race in the world, the US Nationals. They have won sports car races (Amy Ruman became the first female Trans Am winner last season) and women are winning sprint car races now. I firmly believe Patrick will be a winner in NASCAR.

            I am waiting for the first woman to win the Indianapolis 500. It would be exciting if that happens tomorrow (the odds are not too good). Women racing at Indy is one thing but women winning would be something else, as great step forward as it was when Muldowney won her first major race and then her first world championship.

            Guthrie is retired from racing. Her book, Janet Guthrie: Life at Full Throttle, is a good read.

            St. James is still very much involved in racing. Her foundation, The Women in the Winner’s Circle Foundation, helps women racers learn how to prepare for the business and racing sides of a racing career. She is also an author. Her latest book that I am aware of is Lyn St. James: An Incredible Journey.

            Fisher recently put away her steering wheel, but she remains a fixture at Indy as a car owner. Her team, Sarah Fisher Hartman Racing, has two cars in the field this year.

            Guthrie, St. James and Fisher have contributed mightily to the history of their sport and to society’s recognition of women as athletes. Someday I hope they get the credit they deserve.

            By the way, are you asking? I think Helio Castroneves will win this year’s 500.

            Thanks for reading. Enjoy your weekend!

Real estate tales

          Some day I’ll sit down and write a pamphlet about buying real estate.

          It will not read normally. What fun is that?

          We’re looking for a home now in anticipation of our move this fall. We’d like to have everything lined up so that the new dwelling is ready for us when we arrive with the moving van. Yep, we’d really like to have that happen. Then again, that would be the normal approach.

          This devotion to real estate began with a simple conversation one Sunday morning when my wife declared that we would be unable to live in California after her retirement. We’d have to give up eating, she said.

This was an excellent point and it began a long process wherein we selected the site of our future domicile. We eventually selected a city and state that fit our requirements and then began our unconventional career in real estate.

          The first time we bought a house, my wife and I searched some neighborhoods with our realtor, failing to find a house we really wanted. But, a few weeks later, a very dear friend located a good candidate and the realtor looked at it for us, giving the thumbs up.

          Making a long story short, I made the trek across the country, liked the house enough to make an offer and finished the negotiations after arriving back home in California again. We arranged a temporary power of attorney for me to complete the deal in my wife’s absence (she stayed home to work) and I flew east again. After signing both names to about 200 documents (that’s about 400 signatures, try it yourself sometime), we had the house.

          That’s right: My wife bought a house without seeing it.

          I thought that was odd until someone I work with regaled me with the story of how he bought a home he hadn’t seen, his wife hadn’t seen and even his realtor hadn’t seen. It’s a great story, but until he starts his own blog, I am sworn to secrecy.

I’ll never forget the bank’s loan officer for our first real estate purchase. Before the signature circus began, he attempted to convince me to agree to an adjustable rate mortgage instead of the 30-year fixed plan we had already negotiated. The conversation went something like this:

          Loan guy: You’d have a lower payment.

Me: No.

LG: You’d save money.

Me: No.

LG: I’m trying to help you.

Me: No.

Finally, my realtor asked the loan guy, “Are you trying to blow this sale? This guy’s about to walk out of here.”

She was right. My wife and I had an agreement that if I didn’t like anything about the agreement I would stand up and walk away. I was preparing to stand up when our realtor made the banker see sense. He shut up, I signed the paperwork and we had a house a while later.

          Nowadays, things are different from the way they were when we bought our first home. The loan programs are different and the application process is a lot more involved. The bizarre method we used for generating a down payment last time would not work now.

          The methods we use to choose real estate seem simple but the rules we’ve developed are the result of experience. In the interest of giving first time swimmers in the real estate pool a chance to survive against the sharks, I offer the following rules to live by:

         

Don’t fail to find a high-quality realtor.

Don’t buy a house in which the previous owner kept pet snakes.

          Don’t buy a house with a massive hole in the basement floor.

          Don’t buy a house in which the basement’s walls are crumbling and imploding.

          Don’t fall in love with a property until you are certain all of your furniture will fit inside.

          Got kids? Be sure to check the performance of the schools in the area of any home you consider purchasing. Even if you don’t have kids, the schools are important because they can impact the resale value years down the road.

          Don’t buy a house for which you can’t afford the monthly payment.

          Don’t take a loan that is better for the bank than it is for you.

Don’t be afraid to say ‘no deal’ if you can’t afford to buy the house. Really, it’s better to continue to rent than to get into a mortgage you can’t handle.

         

          These rules work for us. I hope they help you as well.

          Thanks for reading.

It simply can't happen

          Those of us who live out west have heard the expression, “Yeah, but it’s a dry heat,” a comment frequently attributed to Arizona residents. Having lived in California’s low desert, where the heat is terribly high and the humidity is worse, I can understand what the Arizonans mean about dry heat.

          The lack of humid air makes heat easier to cope with. We all get that, right? Sure we do.

          But what I do not understand is the phenomenon of warm rain. I’ve experienced it several times in recent weeks and it simply isn’t logical.

Warm rain? Can’t happen. Look, rain comes from storm clouds. Storm clouds come from a cold place somewhere. Don’t ask me where this cold place is, that stuff is above my pay grade. I just know storms start out cold and should drop cold rain drops on the earth, turning the ambient conditions on the planet surface cold. That’s cold, not just cooler.

It is therefore counter intuitive to walk out into a gathering storm wearing warm clothing and then feel uncomfortably warm as the rain pours down. This simply can’t happen. If it is raining or pouring, the old man should be cold when he is snoring. The old man should not awaken during a rain storm and turn his air conditioner to a cooler setting.

Warm rain is an oxymoron, sort of like World Champion Los Angeles Clippers.

Here in California, where all things are logical (go with me on this), we really don’t have much rain at all. But when we do endure our annual moment of rain, the conditions get cold. California cold.

I was recently in Ohio and it rained. A blustery wind was pushing everything around and the conditions were cold. That’s exactly as it should be.

A week later I was in Alabama. More rain, a little wind. And it was warm outside. As I once heard a guy say during a television commercial, “That just don’t make no sense.” I don’t remember the guy’s name or the name of the store he was advertising, but his words have stuck with me for decades.

Warm rain just don’t make no sense.

If we have clothing out on the line to dry and we get a warm rain, will the clothing shrink? I need to know this stuff. I mean, think about this: If the little tags in the clothes say you must use a cold wash, will the colors run in a warm rain?

And what is the government doing about this warm rain issue? Nothing, that’s what. Congress hasn’t done anything constructive in years about anything. Those do-nothings could kill some time by drafting a law saying that by 2020 no clothing sold in the United States will shrink or lose color in a warm wash, thus eliminating any chance of a wardrobe malfunction due to a warm rain.

I’m telling you, we’ve got to be more proactive.

Thanks for reading.

King Henry's horse

          One day, King Henry VIII was just sitting around. Having nothing else to do (he was between wives at the time), he decided to hear the pleadings of several prisoners who wanted to appeal their death sentences. Henry was the King, you know, and once in a while he had to do a little King work.

          So came to the court a man twice convicted of stealing bread. The criminal lost a hand for his first conviction and was about to lose his head for the second. Bread was worth a lot of dough back then.

          “Your Royal Highness,” the two-time loser began, “the Kingdom should not lose my services for I can make horses talk.”

          “Really,” asked the King. Henry was a sporting man and he figured he could really make hay with a talking horse. “Could you make my horse talk?”

          “Of course, your Royal Highness.”

          “And how long would this take?” the King asked.

          “It usually takes a year,” the one-handed felon replied.

          “Well then,” said Henry VIII. “Bring me my horse a year from now. If he talks, you may live. Otherwise, off with your head.”

          The guard charged with walking the criminal to the royal stables laughed at the soon-to-be free convict as they traversed the distance. Only a fool would make such a deal with the King, the guard sneered.

          “Well, as I see it, three things can happen,” the poor little man told the guard. “I might die before a year is up. Or the King may die. Or,” the wretch told the guard, “the horse might talk.”

          It is not always easy to remain optimistic. But sometimes, when I feel optimistic, I think to myself, “Or the horse might talk.”

          You never know.

          Thanks for reading.

Mustangs, Cobras, Snake and Jones

Here is a classic Mustang.

          I took in a terrific car show today, a collection of Carroll Shelby cars on the property of the Wally Parks Museum in Pomona, California. A parking lot full of Mustangs, Cobras, GT 40s and some of Shelby’s other race cars. There was at least one Dodge Viper.

          Just a terrific collection of classic, high-horsepower vehicles. There was a 2013 edition Mustang, too, and that thing was a real treat to see.

          I have a few images here of some of the cars.

          Mustangs are a great favorite of mine, especially the old GT 350 and GT 500 models. Great old cars and the ones my friend and I saw were in terrific condition. Most of them were in perfect or very near perfect condition.

Parnelli Jones in a Cobra.

          Racing Hall of Famers Parnelli Jones and Don ‘The Snake’ Prudhomme were there and they participated in a parade of some of the cars around the grounds. Jones, of course, was one of the greatest race car racers of all time and he was an accomplished sports car racer. Prudhomme is one of the best drag racers of all time, but people don’t realize how big a fan he is of all other forms of racing. ‘Snake’ is also one of the coolest men alive.

A Cobra. The thing looks fast even when standing still.

          If you don’t like Mustangs, Cobras or anything with horsepower, there is still the nostalgia of the day. Remember when the engine compartment of a car was easy to work in? The cars we saw today are cars I’ve always enjoyed. They remind me of an era now passed by.

          Once in a while I’ll hear a car go by and the sound of the engine will make me smile. I heard that sound a lot today and I grinned. I grinned a lot.

          Thanks for reading. I hope you grinned today, too.

My pal, Bucky Weber, is in awe of those Goodyear tires. I guess he liked the car, too.

No Bragg, just fact

            Among the most vilified figures in the saga of the American Civil War is Confederate General Braxton Bragg. A West Point graduate and veteran of the Mexican War, Bragg usually goes down in history as a failed army commander and a political favorite of Confederate President Jefferson Davis.

          Fair enough. Bragg managed to give up nearly the entire state of Tennessee without a fight during the summer of 1863. Out maneuvered constantly by Federal General William Rosecrans, Bragg repeatedly retreated that summer and capped his non-violent military methodology by giving up the key railroad city of Chattanooga through abdication.

          There is plenty to criticize in the body of Bragg’s work. He was not popular with his troops or with his unit commanders.

          But closer scrutiny reveals something else about Bragg’s tenure as commander of the Confederate of the Army of Tennessee: He was not well served by either his Commander-in-Chief or the men Bragg commanded.

          Bragg’s request for help from Confederate President Jefferson Davis was answered when Davis sent General Daniel H. Hill from the Army of Virginia, Robert E. Lee’s army, to Bragg’s Army of Tennessee.  There Hill joined, among others, the unhappy General Leonidas Polk.

Polk, it turned out, was disinclined to follow orders. First at the botched affair at McLemore’s Cove and then days later at Chickamauga, Polk routinely ignored direct orders from Bragg or obeyed orders so slowly as to render his service non-existent.

The pair managed to delay the Confederate attack scheduled for daylight on September 20, the second day of the battle of Chickamauga. They delayed the attack for hours. That delay may have cost the Confederates a chance to cut off the Federal retreat toward Chattanooga.

Finally, both Hill and Polk signed a letter to Davis requesting the president remove Bragg from his post after the victory at Chickamauga. Other commanders in the Army of Tennessee, including James Longstreet, signed the letter as well, sure, but it strikes the observer that Hill, Polk and even Longstreet performed at a level below what could have been expected from them by their commander.

The soldiers in Bragg’s army fought with great tenacity when their wing- and corps-level leaders finally started following orders. No Civil War battle was harsher or more difficult than the blood-soaked struggle at Chickamauga. Even the soldiers of Polk’s right wing, when they finally moved forward, fought very effectively and drove the Union troops in front of them from the field.

But the Army of Tennessee’s costly victory at Chickamauga could have won much greater results had Polk and Hill been in the mood to follow direct orders from their commanding officer. That those orders were ignored probably cost thousands of Confederate lives and might have cost the gray coats a chance to retake the important city of Chattanooga.

Even Longstreet, who spent his years after the end of the war sounding wisely critical of Bragg, Lee and other Confederate leaders, could have performed better at Chickamauga.

Braxton Bragg was not a wise leader of men. But had his wing- and corps- level commanders served with a better level of professionalism in September of 1863, Bragg might have a better reputation today.

Thanks for reading.