The largest person I will ever meet

 June 6: I went with Nadine to her doctors appointment.  Since we were a little late, I parked the car while she went into the office building ahead of me.

When I got to the lobby, I was asking the elevator attendant (another story there) which floor the doctor was on.  Turns out, there were two possibilities and he helped me figure out that I wanted the 2nd floor.

He called for an elevator to the 2nd floor (part of that other story).  As I was waiting I saw from the corner of my eye a Very Large Person who had just come up and was waiting also.

The elevator door opened.  I got on first, then the Very Large Person.

I finally got a close look at him.  He was Very Tall, Very Large and somehow familiar.  So, I blurted out: "You look familiar?"

He said one word, but with a smile on his face: "Shaq".

His presence was incredible. The top of my head was about at the level of his shoulder.  So large and so tall.  Hard to imagine someone being this big.  Unbelievable, except I experienced it.

Finally I said exactly what I felt: "You're much larger in real life than on TV."

Just then, mercifully, probably for both of us, the elevator door opened and I got off at the 2nd floor.

John Wheaton (1938-2022)

 Leslie sent me this obit notice.  Just thought I would tell you a little bit more about John Wheaton.

John was two years behind me at Dartmouth.  In 1956, before my junior year, his freshman year, we were grouped together in a group of me and about six or seven freshmen, on what was called the Freshman Outing.  This optional program gave incoming freshmen a chance to experience the outdoors of New England with a upper classman “leader”…in this case, me.

We were given a compass and a map and some food and water and set off on a two-night hike into Vermont.  I had never done anything like this before…but what could go wrong?  As you can read in John’s obit, he had already had a lot of experience in the outdoors, and he really provided most of the leadership on this short expedition..thank God.  We all survived and it was a great outing…picked wild blueberries in Vermont.

A year later, during Rush, John became a Theta Delt, as I was.

I graduated with my MSEE in 1959, and came to California.  In December of that year, John was home to Pasadena for winter break, and invited me to Pasadena for the Rose Parade and Bowl and numerous parties surrounding that weekend.  He had a date with Leslie, and they recruited a date for me, Joan Gaskill.  We partied and drank a lot on NYEve, and then John and I slept at his parents house that night.

The next morning, I had a terrible hangover, but was awakened by John quite early eagerly informing me that the next event was the Rose Parade.  With a pounding headache, off we went.  Then he had tickets for the Rose Bowl game, and we attended that also.  The Washington Huskies defeated the Wisconsin Badgers, 44–8.

As John was preparing to go back to Hanover, I asked him if it was OK by him for me to ask Leslie out on a date.  He said it was, and you know the rest of that story.

After our wedding, I don’t remember ever seeing John again.  We did exchange a few emails in recent years. John was a great guy, and very accomplished.  I’m sure his family and friends will miss him a lot.  I remember him fondly, as a very happy and energetic gentleman.  RIP.

Coleman

(After I had written the above, Leslie informed me that she and I gave a party at our Pasadena house for John and his wife, Jane.  This would have been around 1965-1966.  All I remember was that someone got locked into the powder room just under the staircase, and we had to take the hinges off the door to let them out!!)

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JOHN WHEATON OBITUARY

John Rodgers Wheaton 
March 12, 1938 - August 12, 2022 
Sacramento, California - John Rodgers Wheaton, 84, died peacefully August 12, 2022, at his home in Sacramento. John was born in San Francisco, and as a child moved to Pasadena. John's high school years at The Thacher School in Ojai, CA were formative. The school's emphasis on horseback riding fit John perfectly. His horse, Doc, was a longtime companion, the two competing in gymkhanas and taking pack trips in the Sierra Nevada. 
At Dartmouth College, John earned his BA and MS in Mechanical Engineering. He rowed on the crew team, and was a member of the Dartmouth Ski Patrol, prompting a life-long passion for skiing. Only months before his passing, he took a weeklong ski trip with his daughter and the Kandahar Ski Club. 
John served as 1st Lieutenant in the U.S. Army at White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico, and later in Alaska. After his service, he moved to Honolulu, where he helped develop an early, deep-sea submersible at the Oceanic Institute, affiliated with Sea Life Park. It was in Honolulu where John met his future wife, Jane. Married in 1967, they moved back to California where John earned his MBA at Stanford and Jane her teaching credential. 
Upon returning to Honolulu, John held several corporate positions at Dillingham Corp. When Dillingham purchased CalGas, John and Jane moved to Sacramento where John integrated CalGas and its subsidiaries into Dillingham. Later he became VP and CEO of equipment leasing and real estate financing at the Dowdell Corp. John created and was President of Mariposa Petroleum, a natural gas investment company. John served as Assistant Director of Ticketing for the 1984 Olympic Games Organizing Committee. 
Curious about other lands and other peoples, John and Jane traveled to many diverse places around the world. In Antarctica, John was one of the few who dared to plunge into the warm waters of an up-welling hot spot in an Antarctic inland sea. 
John was a member of Rotary, where he and Jane hosted numerous foreign exchange students. He was a member of the Bohemian Club, Grandfather's Club, the Society of California Pioneers, the Sacramento Historical Society, and the Kandahar Ski Club. He also served as Board of Trustees Chair of Sacramento Country Day School. 
If there was a heaven on earth for John, it was the family cabin in the Sierra Nevada. Built by his parents the year of his birth, the rustic summer cabin was a favorite summer destination for flyfishing, hiking in Desolation Wilderness, and sipping cocktails on the front porch overlooking the American River. John was passionate about flyfishing, a zeal he shared with his son on fishing trips to Idaho, British Columbia and Michigan. John loved swimming and scuba diving in the Hawaiian Islands. 
John was known for his humor and his desire to assist others. When he met people, he liked to ask about their life stories. When hiking or traveling, he always wanted to see over the next ridge or around the next corner, and often took off to explore. He will be remembered for his curiosity, determination and open-mindedness. 
Survivors include his wife, Jane, brother George (Sarah), son Cal (Aimee), daughter Mele (Ryan Goebel), granddaughters Serena, Isabel, Denison and Cora, as well as many nieces, nephews and cousins. 
John's ashes were buried September 17th at Mountain View Cemetery in Oakland, CA, after a family ceremony. A white orchid and maile leaf lei adorned the urn. His family suggests that any memorials in John's name be made to a school of the donor's choice, Trout or Ducks Unlimited, American River Parkway Foundation, or The Smartest Forest Fund, a part of the Tahoe Fund.

Coming of Age in Aurora

 Months ago, I had a conversation with my friend David, who grew up in Aurora, Ohio. David is now openly gay, and I felt comfortable to ask him at what point in his life he realized that he was not straight.  Here's David's story.

David grew up in Aurora.  His best friend's father was a local Lutheran minister.  This man also had a driving problem.  Despite being a "man of God", the local police had ticketed him several times for speeding, to the point where his nickname among David and his friends was the "Faster Pastor".

The Faster Pastor also had a secret stash of porno magazines, which his son, David's friend, knew about.  One day, David's friend invited him into his family home (presumably no one else was at home), to view his dad's porno collection.  It was then that David realized that he was not particularly stimulated by looking at erotic pictures of nude women.

Weeks later, David joking told me it was "OK" for them to be looking a the porno mags because the women were all Lutherans.  I responded that I had never dated any Lutheran women, but the word on the grapevine was that they were hot.  At least, that's what Prairie Home Companion implied.

Going to Samburu

(August 2007, Nairobi, Kenya) 

Wake-up call at 5AM from our group monitor, Natalee.  Our bodies still getting used to the ten-hour time zone change, having left LA just three days ago.  So this is not easy.

Decisions to be made.  What to leave behind at the Karen Blixen Cottages in Nairobi, and what to include in our weight limit of one checked bag to Samburu, limit of fifteen kilos = 33 pounds).  What to take in our carry-ons.  We scramble half-awake to get it all organized.

Breakfast at 5:45.  Load up into the vans at 6:30, departs for Wilson airport, for an 8AM flight to Samburu Park. Some light traffic on the way to Wilson..arrive there about 7AM.

Wilson is a local airport, appears to be for in-country flights only.  Young soldiers with automatic weapons.  Reminds me of Athens in 1989, or Israel anytime, or NYC after 9/11.

There are sixteen persons in our party.  We check inland turn over our luggage at the counter.  Despite all the warnings about the fifteen kilo limit, I see no evidence that our bags are being weighed.

The primary aircraft headed to Samburu only holds thirteen persons.  We have to split our group.  Nadine volunteers for she and I to be in the second plane.  Leslie volunteers to be the third person needed.  We proceed to the tarmac, more soldiers there.

The primary plane is a twin prop.  Ours is a single-engine Otter.  Leslie informs us the Otter is very reliable...she has traveled a lot, and flown in Otters on several occasions.

We board the Otter.  Seating is one and two seat per row, not more than six rows.  Nadine agrees to go to the front row, behind the co-pilot seat.  I sit next to her.

Our pilot boards, and introduces himself: "Fakim".  Soft voice, Pakistani accent?, rimless glasses.  In another place I might have guessed that Fakim is an associate professor at a university.  Fakim is business-like, but pleasant.  Our flying time to Samburu will be about one hour, and will pass by Mount Kenya.  He passes back a plate of mints.

I ask Fakim if I can sit in the co-pilots seat.  He says yes.  I scramble over and sit down.  Fakim has to help me with the seat belt.

The weather is Nairobi is cloudy and overcast.  Fakim checks all his controls and starts to taxi out to the runway.  There are two other small planes ahead of us for take-off.

Soon, it is our turn. Fakim turns to the right and down to the end of the runway.  Then left, and the runway stretches out in front of us.  One last check of controls.  Words whispered into his headset.  Throttle out, and the Otter accelerates.  Tail up. and soon we are airborne and climbing to the east.

As we climb, Fakim circles to the right for 270 degrees.  We are passing over Nairobi, then heading north.

After about 5 minutes, we break thru out of the clouds.  On top of the clouds, sparkling and billowing, the warm morning sun.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Mount Kenya comes into view.  A classic volcanic mountain, reminds me of Mauna Loa.  A few clouds clinging on the east side of the mountain, otherwise it is clear.

The clouds below begin to break up.  We can see the countryside below.  A few large plantations; each appears to have its own long green airstrip.  Many smaller farms, all very green.

After about 45 minutes, we pass beyond the western flank of the mountain, and begin our descent.  Now the terrain is much dryer, with virtually no signs of human activity. Rather quickly, Buffalo Springs runway comes into view.  Fakim descends quickly and levels out.  One big bounce and we are down on the gravel runway. The Otter slows quickly.  Fakim turns us around, and taxis directly back to the end of the gravel. We have arrived at Samburu.

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The primary plane is now arriving.  The are about eight vehicles waiting for us, and other parties.  Some locals have their stands set up with wares for sale.

Our luggage had made it.  Our crew loads up the luggage, and we jump into our four Land Cruisers, which will be with us for the next ten days.  Our driver is George.  We are going directly to a game drive this morning, before going to our campsite in Samburu Park.  It's now 9:30AM.

Our first game drive. Over the next three hours, we see many antelope, giraffes, elephants, baboons, monkeys, many birds....and one leopard.  She is lying in the shade of a tall bush, only half exposed to view.

12:30.  We arrive at the our first campsite, on the north side of the Samburu river.  Later that day, a late afternoon game drive along the river.  Babboons, two crocodiles, a pair of giraffes courting in a graceful ritual of rubbing necks together. Buzzards flocking overhead..for what?

Foraging for Blueberries in Vermont (1956)

One of the subjects that I find interesting these days is the development of our species, from ancient times.  

I got half-way thru “The Dawn of Everything” and had to return it to our local library (which I so appreciate).  I will get “The Dawn of Everything” again, but the wait list is long; I am currently #141 and there are 82 copies in distribution, which means about two months from now for me.  Currently reading “Why The West Rules - For Now” by Ian Morris.  

These books spend some time on our ancient forerunners, the so-called hunter/gatherers or foragers.  This got me to thinking of my first experience foraging.

It was freshman trip of the fall of 1956.  As a junior, I had signed up to be a group leader.  I think the only qualification, if any, was to be a member of the Dartmouth Outing Club, which I was.  But that did not mean that I had any significant experiences of hiking or camping!

I assembled with my group of about six incoming freshmen.  We were given maps and water and food, and dropped off at our starting location, somewhere in Vermont, for I believe two nights on our own.

Fortunately the weather was fine; warm and dry.  But more fortunately, one of the incoming freshmen in the group was John Wheaton, class of 1960, who actually knew what he was doing in the outdoors.  John actually told us what to do, and we all survived; if fact, had fun.

As for foraging, it was my first time.  We came upon wild blueberries and ate them right off the vine, and they were delicious!

Thanks to Dartmouth for my first experience of hiking and camping out, and to John for guiding us thru the wilds of Vermont, and finding those blueberries.

(That was not the end of my connection to John Wheaton.  Later, for New Years, 1960, John invited me to come to Pasadena for the Rose Parade and Rose Bowl.  It was there that he introduced me to my first wife, Leslie Collins, whose father Bob was class of 1935.)

Baseball Memories

The fact that the Dodgers and the Giants will meet starting on Friday, Oct 8, 2021, in a National League playoff series, and that this is the first time that they have met in a league championship playoff series, has triggered my memory back over 70 years. 

This year, the Yankees lost to the RedSox (6-2) in their wild card game, so their season is over.  But the Dodgers beat the Cardinals in a thriller (3-1) on a ninth-inning, two-outs, two-run walk-off homer by Chris Taylor.  One rabbi called this win "epic...biblical".

In the late 1940s, we lived in Havertown, a suburb of Philadelphia.  My dad was a Phillies fan, and therefore I was a Phillies fan.  One ritual for us, weather allowing, was to wash the car (we only had one in those days) on Sunday afternoons in the driveway, while listening to the Phillies game on a radio perched on the dining room window sill. If the game was played in Philadelphia's Shibe Park, the broadcast was live.  If the game was out of town,  a local at the game would teletype the basics to Philadelphia, and the Phillies announcer would "recreate" the action for the listeners.  You could hear the clack-clack-clack of the teletypewriter in the background.  He would add the color to the otherwise prosaic teletype text.

My dad did take me to a few Phillies games in Shibe Park.  The stadium was in a Black neighborhood.  He would be directed to a curb parking space by some local boys, and then he would pay them to "watch" the car for us during the game.  I don't remember how much, but I am guessing 25-cents.  That seems small today, but in those days 25-cents bought a pack of cigarettes or a gallon of gas.

You might have thought that the Phillies big rival would be the Pittsburgh Pirates, they being the other Pennsylvania MLB team.  But it was the Dodgers.  But for the Dodgers, their big rival by far was the cross-town Giants, and likewise for the Giants.

In 1950, the Phillies won the National League pennant, with a young team called the "Whiz Kids".  The average age of their roster was 26.1 years old.  They won the pennant on the last day of the regular season, beating out the Dodgers by two games (Giants came in 3rd).  The Phillies were light on heavy hitters, but strong on pitching: Robin Roberts, Curt Simmons, Jim Konstanty.

In the World Series that followed, the Yankees swept the Phillies in four games in four straight days, no "travel days".  (It's a short train trip from Philadelphia to New York).

In those days, both leagues had just eight teams each.  National League: Boston Braves, Brooklyn Dodgers, New York Giants, Phillies, Pittsburgh Pirates, Cincinnati Reds, Chicago Cubs and St Louis Cardinals.  American League: Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Philadelphia Athletics, Washington Senators, Cleveland Indians, Detroit Tigers, Chicago White Sox, and the St Louis Browns.  All of MLB was contained in the northeast quadrant of the United States, approximately 1,100 miles on the diagonal from Boston and St Louis.  

During the regular season, there were no inter-league games at all.  There was only one post-season playoff series: the World Series: National champs vs American champs.  Players often played for just one team for their entire MLB career.

On to 1951.  At the end of the regular season, the Dodgers and the Giants had identical records.  The Giants won their last seven regular season games, and 37 of their last 44. The Dodgers needed to defeat the Phillies in the final game of the season to force a playoff; they did so by winning 9–8 in 14 innings, leaving both the Dodgers and the Giants with identical records of 96–58. 

Which brings us to the 3-game playoff to determine the 1951 National League title.  This series is famous, especially the last game; just Google "The Shot Heard 'Round the World baseball".

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shot_Heard_%27Round_the_World_(baseball)

Fast forward 70 years to 2021.  The Dodgers record this year was 106-56, but the Giants were one game better at 107-55.  Game 1 of this year's Dodgers/Giants playoffs starts at 6:30 PDT tonight in San Francisco.  May the best team win.

Summer (Camp)

 July 23, 2021

Our granddaughter Lina is headed to Great Books camp (for one week) at Haverford College this Sunday.  Our grandson Elior started 3 days ago at Camp Ramah Wisconsin (for four weeks).  Got me to thinking of my own childhood summers long ago; late 1940s.

I never went to a "summer camp".  I just was not something anyone in my family considered, nor did any of my childhood friends.  But my neighborhood friends and I did  have great summers right around the block we lived on.  This neighborhood, called Havertown, is about a mile or two from the Haverford campus where Lina will be.

Our bicycles were freedom for us.  No one wore helmets to ride your bike.  We would leave our houses after breakfast, and return only for lunch and for dinner, and then later after dark when our parents insisted that we come home.  As far as I remember, my mother never asked me where I was going, who I would be with, or what we were doing.  Of course, she personally knew all the families and kids that lived on our block.  Mostly boys; I don't remember any girls in my age cohort.

About half a mile from where we lived was a large woods.  (It seemed like a forest to us at the time.). Acres and acres of trees, with a stream running thru it, and an old dam which created a small pond.  In the pond where minnows, which we caught in Mason jars.  We tied a long piece of string to the mouth of the Mason jar, and put in a crumb of bread, then lowered the jar into the water.  Soon enough, a minnow would enter the jar to get the bread, then we would yank it up quickly and the minnow was inside.  Of course, there was really nothing to do with the minnow (about the size of a very small sardine) so we just let them go.  But catching a wild animal of any sort must fulfill some primitive hunting instinct.

Some older kids had slung a rope down from one of the trees.  You could take the rope, and climb another adjacent tree, and, holding on to the rope, swing down Tarzan-style.  I was a risk-averse child (still am) so this took a long time for me to screw up the courage to give it a try.  The older boys were much more daring.

Our street was on a slope (good enough for sledding down in the winter), but that did not stop us from playing football and baseball in the street.  Almost no family had more than one car, so there were rarely any cars parked in the street.  Sometimes we would go to the public grammar schoolyard three blocks away, and play baseball there. After the war (which ended in 1945), my father came home from the navy, and put up a basketball hoop over our garage door, so we could play basketball there as well. 

Another activity we enjoyed was building model airplanes out of balsa wood kits.  We would do this on Jimmy Dwyer's porch, which was very large, then try to fly them in his back yard.  This usually ended in a crash, which destroyed all the hours of work we had put into them, but there were always more to build.  We also had long games of Monopoly on that porch.  (In those days, the average home price was probably $5,000 or so.)

My parents joined a private swim club called Martin's Dam, on a man-made small lake maybe 50 yards wide and 100 yards long.  The membership was all-white, but in those days white people were all I knew of.  The water was cold and refreshing.  There was a platform on the edge of the lake with a long rope hanging down from a large tree limb that hung out over the lake.  The rope had large knots in it, which you could sit on, as you swung out over the water, and then let go, plunging down into the water.  There were docks you could swim to in the middle of the lake, and occasionally a water snake would swim by, usually near the banks.  Large changing rooms for men and for women.  Picnic tables and BBQ grills.  So, it was sort of like going to camp (except your mother and father were there).

After dinner, we boys would reconvene back in the street, and play RedLight-GreenLight or HideAndGoSeek, or just sit on the curb and talk until our parents called us to come home. This was all before anyone had a TV.  Although we did listen to a few radio shows, like Lone Ranger or Jack Armstrong; these came on about 5PM, just before dinnertime.

About the only summer "job" I had was mowing our lawn about once a week. Later, I would also do this for a neighbor, to earn a little cash for myself.  I don't remember getting an allowance, but who needed money in those day; not us!

A big event for me for a few summers was August at the Jersey Shore.  For several years, my grandparents rented a large house at Beach Haven NJ for the month of August.  We would go down there with them, my mother, two aunts, one uncle, my four older cousins and my younger brother (born in 1944).  The men might work the week in Philly and them come down for each weekend. (My father was off in the war until the summer of 1946.). These were carefree days on the beach and in the surf.  ("Don't go into the ocean for an hour after lunch; you'll get cramps and drown".). Boardwalks and SkeeBall games, ice cream and cotton candy, bicycles and Ferris wheels.

So, that was summer in the suburbs of Philadelphia when I was a boy.  And when it was nearing an end, we treasured each day that remained before school started (the day after Labor Day).  

So, Lina and Elior, I hope and feel sure you will enjoy every moment of your summer camps.  

Love, Zayde

And here is another boy's remembrance of his summer camp experience!!