The Secret Life of Wal…O.Leonard

Rio OlympicsYeah, a lot of us grow up with childhood dreams of being great athletes.  Professional athletes.  Olympic atheletes.  Some of us actually do… become world-class atheletes, or at least end up being pretty good at some sport or another along the way.  Last night I was watching the Rio Olympics, and I started thinking about all the things I tried in my attempts to become one of those world-class athletes, or just be pretty good at one sport or another.

Bart StarrFor example:  I wanted to be a professional quarterback.  At the time I saw myself as another Bart Star, the Hall of Fame quarterback of the Green Bay Packers.  Also, at the time, I was a sophomore in High School, weighed a massive 118 pounds, was slow as a snail, and could throw a football maybe 20 yards.  I was a quarterback on the Junior Varsity team, third string, and rarely played in games which nobody went to see anyway.  I read every book I could find, studied playbooks, worked out, practiced hard, and hoped that all of the effort would make up for my total lack of natural talent.  It was never going to happen, and of course, it didn’t.  I got discouraged after my junior year, realizing I would never start varsity, never play in college let alone get a scholarship, and gave up football to work at a fast food restaurant

Tom WatsonThen I decided I was going to be a professional golfer.  I hit a few golf balls with my Dad, and decided this could be something I could be good at.  You didn’t have to be big.  You could be thin and wiry, and you could still hit a golf ball a country mile.  My hero at the time was professional golfer, Tom Watson.  I again started reading everything I could find about how to play golf, practiced hard, and hoped my efforts would make up for my lack of natural talent.  I wasn’t any good, never got any good, and still play some to this day, although “play” has a totally different meaning for how I hack  a round of golf.  For a time, in my 40s, I even thought I could be good enough to make the Senior Tour.  Well, no, I finally gave up when I discovered I couldn’t drive a golf ball straight and over 100 yards no matter what I did.  Most of the time my drives end up on the women’s tee box or just past it, if the ball should actually land in the fairway.

Maybe football and golf weren’t my games, so I decided to try track and field.  Remember, I was slow as a snail, so the only events at the high school level that I might be able to compete in were distance races; the mile, or the two-mile.  So I practiced and ran and ran and ran.  Dreaming, of course, to be a State Champion and then get a scholarship to run for USC, then on to the Olympic Trials, and Olympic Gold.  I ran the mile, once in competition and took third at a time of 5:32.  I was third out of a race of four and beat the fourth place finisher by maybe a half second.  I was damn proud at the time though as you can tell by the fact that I still remember the actual time.  I ran the two-mile twice in competition and finished last in both races, way last, and felt like I was going to die.  It only took me one year to realize that State Champion was not ever going to be in my future.

wrestlingI tried wrestling as a freshman.  We practiced in a room that had the temperature turned up to over 100.  You could lose 5 to 10 pounds every practice, and weight was important.  When I wrestled, I needed to get at or below 103 pounds at weigh in. After you weighed in, you ate 20 candy bars, six oranges and drank as much as you could get down.  I wrestled in competition once against a Crow Indian from Hardin, Montana.  I was losing the match by more than 10 points so my only hope was to pin this guy in the last period.  I took the up position, cross-faced the dude so hard that his nose started to gush blood, and I flipped him over and drilled my chin into his chest until I felt like I was going to drive through his ribs.  The referee hit the mat and blew the whistle.  The fans who were there that night said that I jumped up three feet off the mat.  It just so happened that the junior college was playing a game after the meet, so there was a pretty good crowd gathering in the gym.  When I pinned the Indian dude from Montana, the crowd roared.  It was pretty exciting to hear the cheering as the referee raised my hand over my head.  I quit wrestling the next year.  Beating some guy from Montana as a JV wasn’t going to get me into the Olympics, and I really just didn’t like it much.

I gave basketball a try.  I had never played basketball, when I tried out for the team as a sophomore.  I practiced hard but didn’t make it past the first cut.  I had actually scored a basket in the final basketball scrimmage the night of the cut, and I remember distinctly the coach telling the team that I was “the best player he cut this year.”  Three of us got cut that night, and the other two could barely walk and chew gum at the same time as I remember.

bowlingMy last attempt at sports stardom was bowling.  Not many people will admit that bowling is a sport, and frankly, I agree with them.  I bowled in a drinking league that had a bowling problem, and, as expected, I wasn’t very good.  And yes, I read everything I could find, and practiced and tried different equipment, and took lessons, and still sucked.  There were “moments” during the three or four years that I bowled in league though.  I bowled a few games over 200.  I have some patches and pins recognizing my accomplishments, but the biggest win was the $1,500 I won on video poker at the bar before the bowling started one night.

Needless to say, totally without need, in fact, I was never destined to be good at any sport.  I could try archery, or ping-pong, or cycling, or diving, or swimming, or volleyball, or baseball, or marathons, or shooting, or soccer, or it wouldn’t matter.  As much as I want to be good at some sport, something, I have no natural talent.  I don’t care what they say, you will never be a world-class athlete without natural talent.  It’s in the genes, just not in mine.  And I’m comfortable with that fact, now that I’m older.  It wasn’t like I didn’t try.


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Never End a Sentence With a Preposition

Clarence Darrow 1“When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President. Now I’m beginning to believe it.”  Clarence Darrow.  He died in 1938 so he wasn’t talking about the 2016 Presidential Election.  Let’s see, who was president during his adult life:  Ulysses S. Grant (hard to spell), Rutherford B. Hayes, James Garfield, Chester Arthur, Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, Grover Cleveland (again), William McKinley, Theodore Roosevelt, William H. Taft, Woodrow Wilson, Warren G. Harding and Calvin Coolidge.  I wonder who made him say that?

I can’t find the date for this particular quote attributed to him, but I’m guessing he wouldn’t be “quoted” until he was somewhat famous as a defense attorney, so I’m going to narrow it down to the last three: Woodrow Wilson, Warren G. Harding and Calvin Coolidge.  Calvin Coolidge was the Vice President for President Harding, who assumed office after Warren G. Harding died of a cerebral hemorrhage on August 2, 1923, so I think he could be eliminated.  I’m going to further assume that the election of Warren G. Harding, whom many considered an “also ran,” who wasn’t nominated at the Republican National Convention until the 10th ballot, prompted Clarence Darrow to say that.  Darrow was a Democrat and had grown up in a fiercely Republican area.

President Harding was the first sitting senator to be elected president, and, although he was a popular president at the time, after he died in office, a lot of skeletons fell out of the closet.  The most notable skeleton came to be known as the “Teapot Dome Scandal.”  He was also accused of a number of extramarital affairs.  Things haven’t changed a whole lot have they?

Clarence Darrow also said, “I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure.”  That would be my favorite Clarence Darrow quote, followed closely by, “I am an agnostic; I do not pretend to know what many ignorant men are sure of.”  He ends that quote with a preposition though, and I think he should be chided for incorrect grammar.  I still feel threatened by my second grade teacher, Ms. Goe, who told us unequivocally that you NEVER end a sentence with a preposition.

How many of you can recite from memory the prepositions?  I can.  That might give you a little idea of the terror that Ms. Goe put in me during my short time in her class in Hardin, Montana.  I’d do it for you, but you’d think I was showing off, or worse, looking them up.  “About, above, across, after, against, among, around, at….”  Okay, I don’t know all 150, but that preposition cadence has been in my head for 55 years.

 donald-trump 1If Clarence Darrow were alive today, I’m almost certain that he would have made that famous quote.  He wouldn’t “begin to believe it though,” he would be certain of it.  Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton.  Of all the qualified candidates for the Office of President, this is what we have for Decision 2016, or Election 2016, or whatever else the press is calling it this election year.  A billionaire real estate tycoon who won’t divulge his income, and a female lawyer who probably hasn’t truthfully reported her income most of her life.  Yeah, she’s a lawyer foremost, not just a woman.

Hillary Clinton 1I’m afraid the only things that will keep Hillary Clinton from winning the White House in 2016 is a strong third-party candidate, a lot of Republicans who won’t vote at all, and a well-run campaign that will keep all the skeletons stacked in the closet.  They’re all going to have to happen though. I’ll probably be moving to Australia.  I’ve been threatening it for years. WTF.

Bill & Hillary Clinton

Future leaders of the free world.  That’s some scary shit.


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I’m Hot, And Not In The Preferred Sense.

swamp cooler 1

Okay, it’s officially hot.  I’ve been hot for the last two weeks, and not the preferred kind of hot.  I’ve never even been considered for the preferred definition of hot.  I’m sweating.  It’s been over a hundred degrees every day, and I don’t have air conditioning.  I have a swamp cooler.  Aptly named because it smells like a swamp when it gets really hot.  It’s a few gallons of mostly stagnant water that is pumped down a swamp-smelling permeable pad.  Air is drawn through the pad with a large turbine fan that blows the expected cool air through the ductwork in the house.  Except when it’s over 100 outside, the water is over 100 in the stagnant pool, and very little “cool” air is produced.  Somebody needs to lynch the guy who invented the swamp cooler.  I might be that somebody.

This process of evaporative cooling has been around a long, long time.  Something like 4,500 years, to be inexact.  There are frescoes in Egyptian temples that depict servants fanning pots of water to cool the dudes that could afford the servants.  There are other discoveries in ancient Egypt indicating that they had figured out how to use water in porous containers, for example, to cool the surrounding air.  It was damn hot in North Africa.  It still is damn hot in North Africa.

It turns out that no one wants to take credit for inventing the swamp cooler.  I’ve searched the Internet for an hour and can’t find any first patents or reference to inventors for the home evaporative cooler.  I’m going to assume that they didn’t take credit for its invention because they knew at some point, someone like me was going to be looking for them.  It is credited that Leonardo da Vinci took the first steps to designing a mechanical air cooler as we know it today.  His design used a water wheel to guide cool air into a room.  But it’s easy to find out who invented the air conditioner.  Takes only a few clicks.  It was Willis Carrier in 1902.

Some of you probably don’t even know what a swamp cooler is.  It’s because it only really doesn’t work very well in certain parts of the country.  Those areas that have low humidity, dry air, and are hot; not in the preferred sense.  Like the southwestern US, where I live.  States like New Mexico, Northern Arizona, parts of Nevada (but not Las Vegas?), Montana, Wyoming (I grew up there and don’t ever remember seeing a swamp cooler.), Washington and Oregon, (but they seem like they would be humid to me), parts of Colorado, Utah and Idaho. 

evaporative-cooler-map-best-locationsThe swamp cooler is up to 1/8 cheaper to operate, it’s cheaper to install and costs a lot less than an efficient air conditioning system.  That’s why they are still being installed on new homes around here.  They work better if they are shaded, but they’re almost always installed on the roof, in the hot sun beating down on asphalt shingles.  You can burn yourself climbing up on the roof in July to check on the weak performance of your swamp cooler.  When you burn yourself, you lose your balance and you fall off your roof.

When we lived in Tucson, Arizona, we had a swamp cooler that was mounted on the ground behind the house, somewhat in the shade.  We would load the reservoir with ice to cool the water down.  It still didn’t work worth a damn when it was 115 outside.  We had a small window air conditioner in a back room that we would sit around most of the day and watch television.  We would go to open houses, the library or the grocery store, or just drive around in the car to stay cool.

There is only one way that people can live in Phoenix or Tucson, Arizona.  They go from their air-conditioned houses, to their air-conditioned cars, to their air conditioned jobs, returning to their air-conditioned houses in their air-conditioned cars.  Just so you know, it doesn’t cool down much in the evenings in the desert.  It might drop 10 degrees to 102.

On one of those Sunday open houses, when it was 115 outside, we walked into a model home on Via Galapagos, in Tucson.  The cold air washed over me like a welcome blizzard.  We walked around the three bedroom house, immersed in the cold air coming from the ceiling vents.  I looked out the back sliding door, turned to my wife and said, “We are buying this house.” 

And we did.  We had around $7,500 in the bank at the time, and we figured out a way, with a second loan and a lot of negotiating with the owner to buy the house.  Not because it was the house of our dreams, but because it had air conditioning.  You should click on the link below to read more about the infamous Via Galapagos house.

I know, if I ever buy this house, the first thing I’m going to do is figure out how I can come up with the money to put in an air conditioning system.  I’ll take the swamp cooler off the roof and sell it on “Craigslist.”  It will sell too. WTF.  

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Las Vegas Metro Police Suck (Continued)

Ceasars Palace 3

The immense parking garage behind Caesar’s Palace.

In the rear view we could see three police officers huddled around my documents, handing them back and forth, one of them pointing at the truck; none of them watching the traffic violations occurring right in front of them; none of them attempting to direct traffic.  Horns honking, illegal lane changes and probably lots of cars making illegal turns on yellow arrows, while they looked for anything that might be amiss on the documents in their possession.  Since when does it take three uniformed police officers on dirt bikes to write a traffic citation to an older gentlemen, his wife and two older daughters who obviously pose no threat whatsoever to the public safety?  I lit my cigarette back up and managed a few puffs before we saw him head back towards the window.

He handed me a clipboard with a citation attached and said that by signing it I wasn’t admitting guilt, only that I agree to appear in court on the date of August 30th.  He made it clear that it was voluntary.  That I did not have to appear.  The ticket, of course, states the opposite, in red, that if I don’t show up, it will be constituted as a separate offense.  I signed the damn ticket and was curtly given the pink copy.  He asked me if I had any questions.

“Yeah, do you know where the parking garage is for Caesar’s Palace?” I asked.

Ceasars Palace 2His response, in his rude, abusive, blunt, course, impolite, insulting, impertinent tone, was “It’s farther down.”

The traffic citation clearly, (well not clearly, it took me a while to decipher the correct statute), states that the violation that occurred was relative to NRS484B.3o7.  He, and, of course, it is impossible to make out the officer’s name, cited NRS484B.377.  I checked the statutes.  There is no 377.  NRS484B goes to .367 dealing with school zones.  Here is an excerpt from the correct statute: “(b) The vehicular traffic in question had already completely entered the intersection before the red signal was exhibited. For the purposes of this paragraph, a vehicle shall be considered to have “completely entered” an intersection when all portions of the vehicle have crossed the limit line or other point of demarcation behind which vehicular traffic must stop when a red signal is displayed.”  This is precisely what happened.  The officer’s response to my statement that the light was yellow when I entered the intersection, “That’s what the courts are for.”

There is no amount on the citation, so I have no idea how much more I’m going to have to donate to the Las Vegas economy.  A quick check online says that the fine could be as high as $1,000.  If that’s the case, they’re going to have to come and get it.

My daughter discussed the incident later with an Uber driver.  His first response was that he couldn’t believe I’d been pulled over for that.  Everyone does it, he said.  Then he asked if the truck had out-of-state plates.  When my daughter told him yes, he said that was why I was pulled over.  They know you won’t be here to answer the complaint, they won’t have to go to court, and the whole issue will be handled by a default judgement sent to my address with the amount due on the citation.

Here’s my problem.  A police officer’s job is to “Serve and Protect.”  I appreciate that.  But they are also, in the case of traffic and other minor offenses, a customer service representative of the community where they work.  As with any business, a customer may have only one contact, ever, with the business, and it is through that representative.  The customer’s whole impression of that company is going to be made through the interaction with that company’s representative, in this case, the police officer.  Thus, through his mistreatment of the events, I now believe that the entire Las Vegas Metro Police Department SUCKS.  It’s probably not true, but it’s the basis for the problems throughout the country.  Why can’t a police officer be friendly, helpful, courteous when they are interacting with the public?  Why isn’t it absolutely required?  We are the ones paying them to serve and protect us after all.

I have been stopped for traffic violations five times in 47 years of driving.  I have never been given a warning ticket.  I am never rude, discourteous, disrespectful, or a smart-ass to the police officer.  Yet not one has decided that maybe I should let this one go.  In the Las Vegas case, it was questionable as to whether the entire vehicle had crossed the limit line when the light changed to red.  And what exactly was I supposed to do?  How could I back up out of the intersection?  My only choice was to continue through the intersection.  The police officer had a choice to consider a lot of variables and let the citation go.  He chose not to.

So there you have it.  The reason why the Las Vegas Metro Police suck.  I’ll let you know how much running a red light in Las Vegas costs me.

I thought this was interesting.  Look who owns most of the casinos on the Strip:


a map with the latest projects overlaid on a satelite image. reflecting the accurate placement of hotel and cando projects. Redevelopment, entertainment, medica, arts and other zones.


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Las Vegas Metro Police Suck

Las Vegas Police 4Yeah, I know, not a good time to be writing a disparaging story about police, but I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.   Two days after this incident in Las Vegas, in which the Las Vegas Metro Police truly sucked,  five police officers were gunned down in Dallas by a crazed sniper. 

 “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore,” is often the misquote attributed to Peter Finch in the movie “Network” which premiered on November 27, 1976.  What he actually said in the movie several times, in increasing volume, after he asked everyone who was listening to his telecast to go to their windows and shout it out, was “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore.”  The quote is used a lot, especially when discussing election issues.

I was on vacation and Las Vegas was on the itinerary for two days.  It was stifling hot as expected and I was already wondering what possessed me to travel to Las Vegas in July.   We were staying at the Oasis RV Resort.  Of course, “resort” is always a bit of an overstatement when linked with the initials RV, but it’s a pretty nice place and a short distance from the Las Vegas Strip.  We’ve stayed there before and it’s decidedly cheaper than staying in any hotel in the city.  We arrived from Williams, AZ around 2:30 pm.  After setting up the trailer and taking Domino to the Pet Resort, also a considerable overstatement of luxury accommodations for dogs and cats, we decided to head out to the Strip to donate some money to the local economy.  Believe it or not, we were traveling with two of our older daughters and were having a pretty good time thus far.

We were told that the Oasis RV Resort has an agreement with Caesar’s Palace for parking.  It really doesn’t matter, because you can park anywhere, and we didn’t really get any benefit from parking, or attempting, I should say, to park at Caesar’s.  If you’ve never been to Las Vegas, Caesar’s Palace is enormous, and starts at the corner of Las Vegas Blvd (The Strip) and Flamingo Road.  After much discussion amongst us, we decided we needed to turn left on Flamingo Road to access the parking garage which we knew had to be in the back of the casino.  I was able to manuever into the left turning lane in the usual bumper to bumper traffic on the Strip, and began following the cars in a left turn with the green arrow.  As I entered the intersection, which is six lanes in either direction, two turning lanes and four traffic lanes, the light turned yellow, then very quickly red.  I had no choice but to continue with another car on my left, through the intersection.  I did not impede traffic.  No horns were honked from oncoming traffic that hadn’t even started to move yet.  No pedestrians were in danger of being run over as I slowly moved through the intersection.  We are talking, bumper to bumper traffic.  No way to speed through the intersection.

Ceasars Palace

This is the intersection where I turned.  Las Vegas Blvd is on the right.  You can see the bus turnout on the left just past the pedestrian walkway.

Within seconds, and I have no idea where they were hiding, I was surrounded by three Yamaha XT250 MX bikes with sirens and lights.  I’m not kidding about the surrounded part.  They came off the sidewalk, and were in the back and on both sides of the truck.  I immediately pulled over into the bus lane and was greeted at the window by an LVPD officer in a Star Wars helmet, still on his dirt bike, who told me to pull forward.  I immediately did so, and he parked his bike in the traffic lane causing an also immediate backup of traffic on Flamingo Road, and strolled up to the open window with the helmet under his left arm.

Las Vegas Police 2“You ran a red light.  Put out the cigarette.  License.”  Rude, abusive, blunt, course, impolite, insulting, impertinent.  I handed him my license which I had already pulled out of my back pocket before he arrived at the window.  I’ve seen too many videos of issues being raised reaching for something in a traffic stop.  He looked at it.  “Insurance.  Registration.”  My wife handed me the documents and I handed them to him through the window.  He walked off.  (TO BE CONTINUED.) 





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How to Give a Cat a Flea Bath

imagesAs you can imagine, cat and bath are two words that indubitably do not belong together.  Cats HATE water.  Almost as much I hate cats.  I have my reasons for hating cats.  They may not be good ones, but it comes down to I simply don’t trust them.  At all.  Cats look at me like they know that too.

I’ve owned cats before.  I remember distinctly one black cat.  A stray kitten that we picked up somewhere in Laramie that we named Boo.  Yeah.  That turned out to be a very fitting name.  One evening, while I’m home alone with the kids, Boo starts running up the walls and flying off like a bat.  He just lost it.  His eyes were glazed over and he kept running up the walls and backflipping and running up another wall.  I grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, threw it over the cat, scooped it up like a bag and launched him out the back door.  I never saw Boo again.

And then there is that dire superstition about black cats crossing your path.  What happens when you’re driving home from work and a black cat runs in front of your car and you accidentally, and I clearly did not mean for it to happen, run over it?  You hear the telltale thump, thump and you realize that you have just turned the black cat that crossed your path into road kill.  I didn’t stop to look.  Two thumps was a clear indication that the cat didn’t make it.  It was going to be bad enough that the cat crossed my path, but now I’d killed it.  What misfortune was I facing now?  I drove home hoping beyond hope that I wouldn’t have a fatal accident four blocks from the house.   Thinking back on it now, it could explain a lot of things that have happened to me over the last 50 years.

But my youngest daughter likes cats and her cat had a flea.  I say “a flea” because she claims that she saw the flea on Leroy’s nose clearing thumbing it’s nose at her while the cat was sitting next to her on the couch.  This meant war.  Being who she is, this positive identification of a flea required immediate action.

And in to action she sprang.  Purchasing the all important flea shampoo, flea powder, flea collar, and other flea eradication paraphernalia, she set out to insure that her apartment and Leroy where flea free.

She put the cat in the back bedroom and started dusting the apartment with the flea powder.  A white cloud of said powder started rising around the room and she panicked when she saw the cloud forming above the fish tank.  Running for a towel she covered the fish tank and hoped for the best, quickly scanning the label precautions for dangers to exotic fish.  With the apartment visibility down to a few feet, she removed everything from the bathroom in anticipation of the shit storm that was going to take place when the cat was submerged in the water for the all important shampoo treatment.

She put a few inches of water in the tub, and went to get Leroy.  In case you didn’t know, cats are not dumb.  Within a few seconds of being in the bathroom with the door closed, Leroy knew good things were not going to happen.  Now I believe that she was wearing some protective clothing, but mentioned she could not find the latex gloves that she wanted to go up her arms which she probably would have duct-taped to secure.  In her haste to eradicate the flea, she didn’t want to waste time stopping at another store.

Finally securing the cat who was, yep, bouncing off the walls, she submerged him in the tub.  The thrashing cat turned the bath water into a spectacular water feature not unlike the fountains at the Belaggio in Las Vegas, and drenched, well, everything.  Holding the cat with one hand, she grabs the shampoo and squeezes the bottle.  Nothing happens.  She realizes she has left the protective seal under the cap, and has to let go of the cat.  He’s outta there.  Catching the cat for re-insertion into the bath was not an easy task.

Resized_20160619_003159This is Leroy post bath.  I’m assuming the flea is dead.  I don’t see anything on his nose.  That flea won’t be thumbing his nose at Leroy’s owner any time soon anyway.  The girl may be petrified of spiders, but she ain’t afraid of no fleas.






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From Coffee Breaks to Barcaloungers

250px-Barcalounger,_vintage_-_01I spend a lot of time wondering about things.  For example, I was wondering this morning about who invented the coffee break as I was pouring my morning coffee.  How did it come about that businesses gave their employees two breaks a day to essentially have a cup of joe?  In this day of computer searches you can find that out pretty quickly by asking Google. ( I guess you could ask Bing, Yahoo,, Aol,, Wolframalpha, DuckDuckGo, WayBackMachine, or too.  Those are the top ten internet search engines in order.) Turns out the Barcalo Manufacturing Company gave their employees, in 1902, fifteen minutes in the morning and fifteen minutes in the afternoon to drink coffee.

So coffee breaks, mostly just called “breaks” now because of the implied dangers of drinking coffee, have been around since 1902.  A year earlier The Larkin Company, in Buffalo, NY, gave their employees free coffee, but not a specified time to drink it.  So the invention of the coffee break goes to Barcalo Manufacturing, also, at the time, based in Buffalo, NY.  And what did Barcalo Manufacturing make?..Barca Loungers, the first mass-produced recliner chair.  Edward J. Barcalo, founder, also holds a patent for the invention of the bed spring.  U.S. Patent no 719,685.  And, get this, he also had patents for canned synthetic snow and mint-flavored ice cream.  He started the business making tools, went into furniture, then canned sythetic snow and made ice cream.  Wrap your head around that.

But here’s the thing, they didn’t do it to benefit their employees necessarily.  It was pretty well assumed that a cup of coffee essentially wakes up a sluggish worker and makes them more productive.  In fact, a report done in 1961 by UCLA, confirmed that drinking coffee during the work day boosts an employee’s work performance.  Barcalo and Larkin were decades ahead of their time.

That, expectedly, led me to wonder how we got to calling a cup of coffee a cup of “joe?”  There doesn’t appear to be a verifiable theory after my extensive five minute search.  Of the two most promising theorems, I like the idea that “joe” refers to the common man, and a cup of joe is the common man’s drink.  You know, like, “GI Joe” for the common soldier, and “Joe College,” and “Joe Blow.”  Other theories abound, so you can search and find the one that you like.

I don’t wonder about important things very much, if you were wondering.  Most of my cranial storage is used for trivial things like who invented the coffee break.  WTF.





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