It is possible that I've mentioned it here before, but my paternal grandparents were absolutely enchanted by the Emerald Isle. Having seen The Quiet Man(1952) one too many times, my Yugoslavian grandfather and his Swiss wife named their kids Patrick Joseph, Jeffrey Logan, and Michael Anthony. If they'd had a daughter, there is no doubt in my mind that her name would have been - now you have to imagine this in my best John Wayne impression - "Mary Kate....Danaher." Yep, they totally would have changed their last name to accommodate the ruse.
The Quiet Man (1952)
A wonderful movie starring John Wayne & Maureen O'Hubba Hubba...err...O'Hara
Committed to their charade, we were raised on a strong Irish-American diet of corned beef, boiled potatoes, and malarkey. Carrying on in the faux-Irish tradition, I decided to turn to the March issue of Every Woman's Magazine from 1952 (the very same year that The Quiet Man was released) for some wacky tacky St. Paddy's inspiration.
Every Woman's: The Woman's Guide to Better Living - March (1952)
I was anything but disappointed to find a fitting recipe for our type of St. Patrick's Day festivities (totally devoid of actual Irish heritage). I daren't fiddle with the traditional fare, but our dessert course allows for the taking of some liberties; Mary Alden's St. Pat's Peppermint Candy certainly fit the bill.
I was sold by the first check mark; "So easy - youngsters can make it!" I 'll take Mary Alden's word for it.
If a youngster can do it, then chances are I will think I can do it and then be shocked at my own ineptitude!
As it turns out, May Alden was not only the Director of
Home Economics for the Quaker Oats Company, she
was a successful cookbook author. Mary Aden's Cook Book for Children is now on my wishlist!
(Source)
Full disclosure: I used generic crispy rice instead of the called for Quaker
Oats Puffed Rice; I didn't even know they still made the stuff. Crispy Rice may
be an adequate substitute but "Shot from Guns" it ain't! Looking more like
Fruity Pebbles than Rice Krispies, I decided in retrospect that I should have
shot the works on name-brand cereal and upped the Irish ante with Lucky Charms!
As per usual, the outcome of my culinary effort is decidedly less spectacular than my initial desire. Although, I'm not sure what I had hoped for as my St. Pat's Peppermint Candies look very similar to Mary Alden's. And really, how life-changing are crispy rice squares supposed to be anyway???
One thing I might change for future St. Patrick's Day sweets is crushing
the peppermints finer. Allowing for larger pieces of candy (so more of
the green would show) also allowed for the possibility of a broken crown!
Because Mr. Tiny is hopping a boat for a weekend wedding, we decided to celebrate St. Patrick's Day a little prematurely and everybody dug in; the consensus was that Mary Alden had a pretty bright idea when she added crushed peppermints to the standard, rice square recipe.
By the look on his face, I knew I had at least one raving fan!
Do you get creative with your Rice Krispie treats? What is the craziest thing you've ever added to the mix? Whether your St. Patrick's Day is spent with all the "traditional" fixings or with a few pals down at the pub, we hope that this March 17 brings you all the luck of a rabbit's foot, a penny, and a four leaf clover!
"I'm Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover" - Art Mooney
There are those signs with which we are all familiar - Hollywood, Las Vegas, Seattle's Public Market. Those world-famous landmarks are maintained, photographed, celebrated, and revered (and deservedly so). There are, however, many less-glamorous signs along our nation's roadways that are just as deserving of our admiration. I hate to be the guy who goes on and on about the way things "used to be," so instead I will spread the joy of what is still here - glowing, towering, neon signs that continue to beckon us off the highway for a few frames of bowling, a good night's sleep, or a refreshing RC Cola!
Rainbow Oaks Restaurant - Rainbow, CA (est. 1946)
The importance of the Rainbow Oaks sign can not be overstated. Situated in a roadside town of less than 2,000 residents, the sign put Rainbow on the multi-fold, AAA roadmap for motorists who otherwise might have breezed right through town without ever knowing there was a place to stop for a cold beer. In its heyday, the sign was probably as bright and shiny as a brand new penny, but I love the faded beauty of its many components - market & motel, RC Cola, cold beer, the neon Rainbow Oaks, and the pinnacle light box with a cocktail glass that is drunk on its own contents.
My very favorite part though is the spooky, rusted, multicolor, baby-faced chef!
The combination of the faded, colored bulbs, new flood light bulbs, empty sockets, and sawtooth, shark teeth
in the chef's murderous mouth will have Mr. Tiny's nightlight burning until the wee hours for at least a couple weeks!
Instead of fat pictures, I might hang this picture on my refrigerator to keep me from sneaky snacking!
Being a early bird, I always seem to capture these neat signs in the bright light of midday - still beautiful but dim.
To catch this sign in all of its neon glory. you can drive to Rainbow, CA after dark or follow this link.
It is tough to go for a drive with Mr. Tiny because the car makes frequent stops and dangerous, whiplash-inducing maneuvers to get a good photograph of an inspiring sign. If we stopped as much as I wanted to, we would never make it past the county line! Rainbow Oaks Restaurant's sign was definitely worth the stop, with or without a refreshing RC Cola.
I realize that the title of this post is a terribly-insensitive way to begin a discussion of Alzheimer's Disease. But, as I've mentioned before, I make a conscientious effort to maintain a tone of silliness above all else on this blog. After rummaging through a box of family photos and finding this picture of a three-year-old Mr. Tiny (give or take) and his grandfather, I determined that the subject had to be broached somehow. In my family, we definitely deal in laughter; very little is sacred, even when it comes to a devastating illness. Plus, the marbles will become a salient point in very short order.
Mr. Tiny & Grandpa Bob
Beyond the horror that all good looks can obviously be bred out of a family in just two generations, I was struck at how vital my grandpa was in this photo - tanned, toned, well-coiffed. The son of Yugoslavian immigrants, who arrived in the US as indentured servants, my grandpa was raised in Canton, OH. His mother died when he was a toddler leaving his eldest sister to raise the rest of the children. Married to his childhood sweetheart for 47 years, he was the generous father of three loving sons and the doting grandfather to seven grandchildren. In the days of the "Company Man," my grandfather was loyal to the United Parcel Service and retired after decades of much-commended service. He was an impeccably-sharp dresser and had style to spare; ladies on his route referred to him as the "Silver Fox." He loved spending time with my siblings and me and always found ways to treat us. I never attended a school where a small carton of milk was more than fifty cents but he would often stop by our house in his big, brown, UPS truck to palm me a five dollar bill for "milk money."
When I was still quite young, his memory began playing tricks on him and his behavior became increasingly unpredictable. Eventually, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. The last few years of his life were pretty difficult, but the legacy he left of hard work, dedication, generosity, love, and a wicked sense of humor, allowed my grandmother, my dad, his brothers, and our entire family to manage our grief. He passed when I was fifteen years old and lo, these many years later, we continue to discuss him daily.
Leona & Bob on their wedding day, 1949.
Out from the same box which I plucked the photo, I discovered a Ziploc baggie labeled "Dad's marble championship 1st Place award when he was 11 years old." I knew my grandfather was an Ohio State Marble Champion but I had never seen an actual medal.
I was thrilled to see the blue ribbon holding the cast-metal medal. I was touched because the note on the bag was written in my own father's hand (he is a poet of the highest order who doesn't have the option to write anymore). Inspired by my father and his father before him, I decided to reflect on the legacy created by these two men. I know it is silly and self-indulgent to write a poem but I am a silly, self-indulgent type, so I wrote a poem. After all, what's more wacky tacky than a poem about a Depression-era, marble champion from Ohio?
In his twelfth year, he was a champ
And won the yearned for prize.
To neighbors, family, schoolyard chums,
A hero in their eyes.
Before the day of tournament
few folks knew his name,
But reputation preceded him -
Marbles was his game.
With one swift flick of steadied thumb
He let the aggie roll.
From all awaiting victors,
Indeed, the spoils he stole.
Right there upon his puff-ed chest
they pinned the ribbon blue.
No baseball star nor boxing great
Such royal treatment knew.
The medal was a source of pride;
He had the chance to crow it.
But knowing what goeth before the fall,
Of course, he'd never show it.
And so through life he wore the badge
If not in act, then spirit.
He still knew the loud "Hurrahs!"
Even if others couldn't hear it.
Wedding bells and three young boys
muffled childhood bliss.
The marbles found a dusty shelf
On which to reminisce.
Still, the medal's grandeur shone
throughout all his born days.
A gentle calm and dignity
characterized his humble ways.
But life is fickle, that's well known,
Not always a game-winning roll.
Still young by any measure,
Age and illness took their toll
Forgetting now the names of friends,
And times, and dates, and places,
He'd never forget the reverent look
Upon his children's faces.
They knew the man who was inside.
They saw through present foibles.
They knew the joy of that Spring day,
Before he lost his marbles.
I treasure the jar of marbles that belonged to my award-winning grandpa (in storage, otherwise they'd be shown here). I am honored to hold the ribbon that I know was more to him than a just a prize for playing marbles; it was validation given to young boy of modest heritage that life is good. That little medal set the trajectory for a successful life full of victories - perhaps none so great as Ohio State Marble Champion of 1939!
Alzheimer's is one of many terrible diseases for which I hope a cure will be found - not only because of the genetic implications (it runs on both sides of our family). For more information on prevention and care, please visit alz.org.
"Marian the Librarian" from The Music Man
Because he talks about marbles and this was
a favorite of both my dad and grandpa.
Do you have a family heirloom that inspires you? One that tells the wacky tacky chapter of your own family's history? Let us know!
Would you believe that we've been experiencing a bit of a heat wave for the past week?
I have probably mentioned in passing that the weather we enjoy in Southern California is blessedly temperate. In fact, some days leave it difficult to distinguish the difference between winter and summer. To really get an understanding of the dramatic changes in season that others experience, we have two options - one, we book a flight to a remote destination and two, we resort to make believe. Sadly, this practice drastically alters our perception. When we do travel and come face to face with snow-capped mountains, falling snow, and icicle-lined roof tops, our only point of reference is Disneyland or Hollywood movies; we're so conditioned to making believe that we can't quite comprehend the reality. One place where we get the opportunity to play make believe is at a small chain of restaurants called Clearman's North Woods Inn. In our weekend meanderings, we found our way to the location in Covina, CA.
The wacky wagon is in the shop so Mr. Tiny had to arrive the old-fashioned way.
North Woods Inn is an enormous, themed restaurant that tries to capture the wild atmosphere of a rustic, Yukon Territory inn catering to lumberjacks, fur trappers, and miners. Isolated in a subarctic climate, there were a few necessities that these great frontiersmen of the north would need.
Food, check.
The menu at NWI is not particularly vegetarian-friendly, aside from their duo of salads and famous cheese toast.
Drink, check.
Heat, check.
Quickly checking off the items on the list, North Woods Inn establishes the fact that sometimes frontiersmen need a little bit more than just the basic necessities. That's where the wacky tacky checklist comes in; a swift scan of the sprawling interior shows that patrons are sustained by more than food.
Taxidermy, check.
This photo is not upside down, the bear skin rug is mounted on the ceiling.
Swingin' fire ring, check.
Ornate, Victorian-style lighting, check.
And check. I've always been told that I had a perfect face for radio; NWI makes me think I have a great face for near total darkness!
Tasteful nudes, check.
Check.
Aaaaaaannnd, check. What's a lumberjack to do? The north was a bitterly lonely place.
All of this photography left us even hungrier than when we came in. Which was a good thing because at North Woods Inn, one better be as hungry as a...
...Bear. The portions are generous and the salad and cheese bread are endless!
Mr. Tiny lacks patience and has a hard time sitting still. Here he is performing his famous, floating-knife trick for the surrounding tables as he waits for his dinner.
Mary took video of my act but it included the floating-knife theme song, as sung by Mr. Tiny, as well as some spoilers on how the illusion is performed. Pay no attention to the fork behind the curtain!!!
Finally the food arrived. Since the new year, I had stuck, very strictly, to a gluten-free lifestyle. After two months of only mild suffering, and not achieving the desired results, I gave up and ordered a sandwich on REAL BREAD!
Mary treated herself to a chocolate sundae!
North Woods Inn is not one of our usual haunts; we save it for adventure days and special occasions. Upon reviewing the doggy bag, however, we realized that we are quickly becoming regulars; we have been to four of the five Clearman's outlets (you might recall our visit to Clearman's Steak 'n Stein Inn - a wacky tacky favorite).
Clearman's Restaurants
So, if you are a Southern California native looking for a quick trip to the "Great, White North" or a homesick visitor from a colder clime, be sure to check out Clearman's North Woods Inn - snowshoes NOT required.
Clearman's North Woods Inn
540 N Azusa Ave
Covina, CA
(626)331-7444
Whatever happened to the automat? A major advance in the movement towards convenient, casual, and cost-conscious dining, the automat was the unprecedented, and brilliant, invention of Horn & Hardart. Yes, before McDonald's, before KFC, before Taco Bell, the biggest names in "fast food" were Joseph Horn & Frank Hardart.
Proprietors of dinettes in the late 1800's, Horn & Hardart developed a novel style of food service that had never been seen before. In 1902, the first Horn & Hardart Automat opened its doors to the hungry residents of Philadelphia, PA.
Reduced to its essence, the automat was a living vending machine - a wall of louvered doors behind which sat perfectly portioned roast beef, mixed vegetables, fruit salad, or bread pudding to be had for mere nickels. On the other side of the wall was a fully-functioning kitchen and a staff of food service specialists placing and replacing food in every window. I don't know about you, but the novelty of a coin-operated food dispenser would not have been lost on Mr. Tiny; I would have been the first in line!
Patrons of an automat would make a brief stop at the cashier to exchange their folding money for coins; with a handful of nickels, an empty stomach, and a dream, the possibilities would have seemed endless!
Wrong or right, I most closely associate automats with the 1930's, because warm, hearty food bought for mere change seems like a practical option during a time when many city dwellers, reduced in means by "The Crash," would have found even a nickel a pretty dear price to pay for a meal.
By the the early 1940's, Horn & Hardart
operated over 150 automats.
(Source)
Basically everything I know was learned by watching classic movies. Does that leave me with a sub-public school level, Hollywood-revisionist's understanding of history? I guess so. Does that leave me constantly shouting, "Chuck Heston" when the correct answer to the Sunday School question is "Moses?" Yea, it doth. Does that leave me breaking into musical numbers every time it rains in California? Sue me.
My favorite classic movies that feature the function and unique atmosphere of American automats are Easy Living and That Touch of Mink.Could you hope for two better heroines - Jean Arthur and Doris Day - I ask you?!!! If you've never seen one or both of these movies, do yourself a huge favor and rectify the situation.
Easy Living (1937)
with Jean Arthur and Ray Milland
That Touch of Mink (1962)
with Doris Day, Cary Grant, Audrey Meadows, and Gig Young
A fixture of America's largest cities in the first half of the 20th Century, automats began a steady decline in the 1960's, owing to post-war suburban sprawl, increased mobility of the average citizen, and the rise of America's most infamous and long-lasting culinary tradition - fast food. I guess the shenanigans shown in both films (a pessimistic, albeit realistic, portrayal of an automat's deficiencies) probably did nothing to aid in perpetuating this particular dining innovation.
In my mind, the automat should still be a viable source for feeding hungry folks of the 21st Century. It goes without saying that modern food could not be had for pocket change, but card swipers would be a practical alternative. Although as I said, my mind is addled by the unholy amount of cinema I have viewed and the facts show that my theory is baseless and totally without merit.
Horn & Hardart tried unsuccessfully to revive the medium in the 1980's. As recently as 2006, a short-lived revival was underway in New York City, subsequently hammering the last nail into the automat coffin.
The inherent problem with Dutch import, Bamn Automat, was that it strayed from the original Horn & Hardart formula with menu offerings that were subpar versions of food that could be had at any number of familiar, adjacent fast food restaurants. The beauty of Bamn's forebears was that the menu consisted of hearty, homestyle cooking. Moreover, the originals had gleaming dining rooms with clean tables attended by uniformed employees. The differences are glaringly obvious, making this just another edition of "Why can't things be like they used to be?"
Fortunately, in our neck of the woods we have a Great Depression survivor/holdover in the form of Clifton's Brookdale Cafeteria (see our "Chow Time" post here). It is currently under renovation in the hands of new ownership, but we are promised a revived and restored Clifton's to be opened this year; if we can't have an automat, we'll happily survive on cafeteria fare. Where else can you get a bowl of shimmering, shimmying, confetti Jell-O?
"Automatic" - The Pointer Sisters
Because "The Neutron Dance wouldn't make any sense.
I wear a uniform - not because of work demands, not because I am the oldest student left behind at St. Cosmas of Aphrodisia's Preparatory School (it's a real Catholic saint, I swear), and not because I am a convicted felon writing to you from deep inside the state penitentiary. I wear a "uniform" because I am a creature of habit, laziness, and ultra low-maintenance.
As much as I love, ponder, and design fashion, my own personal style can best be described as "Mr. Rogers revisited." On any day of the week, you will probably find Mr. Tiny wearing a version of the iconic look made famous by Fred Rogers - in his casual, I'm-home-so-it's-time-to-get-comfy-and-change-my-shoes state. Unwittingly, I have created a small collection of a wardrobe item that is almost always associated with golfers, octogenarians, or both - the cardigan.
Mr. Tiny's cardi collection
Winter white, yellow, orange, the many shades
of red, black, navy, aqua, baby blue, gray, and tan.
In calling it a collection, I get mildly self conscious. It is like the scene in the original Hairspray when, during the audition process for "The Corny Collins Show," Penny is asked how many sweaters she owns. Honestly, what is the right answer to that question? Obviously five was too few, but is thirteen enough? Too many? Most of my sweaters are vintage, but I am not snobby on that issue as the same came to me courtesy of the thrift store's discount day.
One of my favorites to wear is this aqua/deep green, acrylic cardigan with an embroidered monogram. Everyone asks what the letters stand for and I have fun making names up or saying that it was a hand-me-down from an oddly-shaped giant.
Obviously, I have no shame, as with this tag you have woven proof of my
size and my official relegation to shopping in the "For big men" department.
Not only do I like the tag's font, this piece of "exclusive
sportswear" makes me feel like the Squire of Canyon Square.
A cardigan is so often a part of my outfit that I feel nearly naked without one.
And nobody wants to see me naked...nobody...
It is a wearable security blanket. It is a finishing touch. It is a layer that offers warmth without too much (and very unnecessary) bulk. It is an homage to one of the best creators, writers, performers/puppet voices in the history of children's programming.
"Garden of Your Mind" - Fred Rogers
An exceptional use of Auto-Tune
What do you think of Mr. Tiny's cardigan obsession; is it bordering on the pathological? Obviously I haven't gone too crazy - no stripes, multi-colors, or patterns. What about you? Is there a wacky tacky wardrobe staple without which you would just cease to live?
I'm not going to exhibit any false bravado; this makes me extremely uncomfortable.
The word on wacky tacky is out and people are now giving me ideas/items that they think will work for the blog. Such was the case when I received a bulging file of newspaper and magazine clippings that once belonged to the grandmother of our pal, Nicole, over at Swellegant. Apparently, granny was a fan of DIY home improvement because the file was brimming with ads and articles for tile projects, wallpaper hanging, and clever uses for contact paper and cork board. By far, and I mean faaaaaaarrrrr, the most unusual and disturbing article came from the July 1970 issue of Popular Science.
"Turniture" by Lester Walker, designer of "Living Machines"
This piece, entitled "Turniture II" is a 4-in-1 Rocker Table that "serves
all the patio functions" for which any popular scientist could desire.
I am willing to play along with the idea of two, maybe three, of the functions. Picnic table? Sure. Playhouse? Why not? Bar? Well... When one reviews the design of the picnic table turned playhouse turned bar, it becomes evident that the bartender would have to shimmy under the brace/divider piece, in essence locking himself into the role of bartender until the time came to turn "Turniture II" to its tabletop formation. Giant, four-person rocking chair/boat? As wacky as it may seem, I think I'm going to have to take a pass. The models in the photo do nothing to ease my discomfort; Edgar and Rhonda look like rejects from the Glen Valley Country Club key party - alienated due to a total disregard for proper personal hygiene and a wild refusal to play by the rules.
"The passing of the front porch left a void in neighborly relaxation that has been filled
by the backyard patio. I designed this four-man rocker as a replacement for the old
porch swing, but realized it would have to earn its space with other outdoor functions."
So, Mr. Walker, we are to believe that your intention behind this giant, plywood behemoth is something as homespun as front-porch sitting and neighborly inetraction? I'm not saying - but I'm just saying - drugs obviously played an integral role in the design.
Admittedly, I am no popular scientist (or unpopular scientist for that matter), so this one-
page set of instructions for "One-man, thirty minute" assembly is insufficient for my
meager abilities. I'm much more conditioned to the IKEA brand of furniture assembly.
And what's with the name? "Plywood Rocker Table?" Give me a Spirflunkt any day.
In doing some research on the designer of this plywood behemoth, I learned that just one year prior to the printing of our article, Walker debuted and coined the term "Turniture" in the July 1969 issue of Popular Science.
Bed, cafe table, dining table, and "discreet 'tete-a-tete' couch."
(Source)
Not only was Walker a forerunner of owner-assembled, multi-use furniture, he also pioneered the idea of space conscious dwellings in a series of books about Tiny Houses. Truly, I can appreciate Walker's concept. My counterintuitive practicality, however, makes me wonder if there is something about the execution of his "living machines" that leaves something to be desired; patent leather pillows and adult-sized playground equipment just give me the creeps.
I acknowledge the fact that furniture building is beyond my realm so the 4-in-1 will remain unmade for the time being; Mr. Tiny will not be rockin' that boat. Now that I have the article as part of the wacky tacky library, I think I'll file it under "Bizarre, 70's Fads" (see: life-size pantyhose dolls).
