Saturday, July 22, 2017

Nostalgia

Florida Weekly Newspaper runs an annual writing contest based on a random photograph they post as an inspiration.  I had one of my writings published several years ago (See my blog "Stuff") based on a photo of a doll in a basket on a staircase.  This years photo is an open, European window, which immediately flooded me with memories.  This is the result.
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The photograph in the Florida Weekly immediately flooded me with nostalgia. There is no hope a memoir will ever make it through the gauntlet of astute critics who judge the writing contest, but perhaps I will find a glimmer of understanding when I explain why a photograph of an open, European style window, overlooking a courtyard or narrow street, a scene that most of us have only seen in movies, brings tears to my eyes: A friend of mine fell out of one. He did it backwards, and with his pants down around his ankles.

Nostalgia, by Internet definition, is “a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past.” Aah, the unrecoverable past. That period when you alone remember exactly what happened. Even those with you at the time may not share your nostalgia, such as Tom’s recollection of landing on a stack of trash cans in the alley behind the Flamingo Bar in Luxembourg.

Parlez-vous français?” asked the gendarme, staring down at the semi-conscious, intoxicated young American tangled up among the trash cans. Tom had no idea which country he was in. After all, he arrived in Germany from the United States only that morning and never before heard of Luxembourg. It was also the first time in his life he was legally old enough to drink.

Frank and I also had a problem. We had driven Tom and five other newly arrived airmen to Luxembourg from nearby Bitburg Air Base in Germany for their introduction to the night clubs which surrounded the main train station in Luxembourg City. They’re all closed now, with the changing times of finance and world respect, but in those days, they were a right of passage for many young American servicemen. Tom’s marvelous adventure started without us, and that was a problem.

We were official sponsors for the new arrivals from stateside, all recent graduates of technical school. Our duties included walking them through the procedures of arriving at their new assignment. After myriad sign-ins and drawing their bedding and equipment, assigning them rooms and bunks, getting their paper work squared away, as soon as Retreat, the bugle call played on the base loudspeakers to signal the end of duty day, blared across the base, we became “unofficial” sponsors, and our duties changed.

Who wants to go to Lux for a drink and a chance to meet a French girl?” was the question. The response that night was unanimous. Back then, before European Union, the border crossing at Echternach was at a two-lane, stone bridge, with an old fashioned red and white cross bar that had to be quaintly raised and lowered for each car. Today, you zip across the autobahn bridge high above the town and the Sauer River and don’t realize you’ve crossed a border. But, in those days we had to stop and show our military identification cards, before we were given the priceless, limp wave of the hand that said, “Oh, you again. Go ahead, go ahead!”

Us old guys would sit and drink the fifteen cent beer while the new guys ran around like, well, kids in a candy store. After half an hour or so, we realized Tom had gone to the toilette and had not returned. It got very serious quickly as we had the owners search for our missing ward to no avail. He had disappeared into thin air! To make matters worse, the bars closed exactly at midnight.

The gendarmes walked in at closing time. “Allez!” they said, and we found ourselves standing in the dimly lit street wondering what to do next. We split into teams, slowly driving around, looking in vain through the oddly yellow-lit streets. Soon, Frank said, “Let me head back to base. I’m almost out of gas.!”

Federal prison crossed my mind as I finally headed across the tranquil Luxembourg countryside headed back to Bitburg. Court martial was obviously unavoidable.

Frank ran toward me as I walked into the four-story barracks. “He’s here! Tom is here!” We ran to the fourth floor, where Tom was snoring in his bunk. We dumped him on the floor and demanded an explanation.

The Luxembourg police drove me to the border crossing, flagged down the first car headed to Bitburg, and put me in it! The driver dropped me off in front of the barracks.”

What were you doing sitting in the window?” We asked.

Well, I wasn’t going to get one of those diseases from the toilet seat!” he said.

Aah, Nostalgia.



Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Genius!

I’m a genius! I know because I just took a test on Face Book and they told me so!

The post in my feed said, “Only a genius can see the hidden figure!” then showed a number written in salmon colored, globule style patches on a speckled green background. I saw it immediately, so, to establish my undoubted intellectual superiority over those who couldn’t see the number, I quickly clicked on the link, and lo and behold, the genius that I must be, I got sucked down the rabbit hole of click-bait.

Oh, not the insidious ads that pop up on your screen every search you do, magically presenting your old searches so you can’t possibly continue without some interaction on my part. You know, like clicking on whatever pops up just to see what colors they have. No. I’m talking about click bait. Those are the feeds and sidebars that catch your eye that usually state, “You won’t believe what...” followed by something based on your past searches. Or the other perennial favorite,"Thirty-seven images you won't believe..." 

Trust me, ain’t nothing accidental in the Internet wonderland.

One of the most common bait for clicktraps is the fourth grade English test passed off as “Only one in 100 can pass this test!” then they give you a sentence where their, they’re or there is the proper answer to a meaningless question. I always love to see tests I had to pass to get into Junior High School being passed off as intellectual prowess! Good ol’ Southwest High School. Or was it West Miami Jr High? Maybe it was Olympia Heights elementary! I remember Mr. White in sixth grade explaining gerunds, and Mrs. Saunders in tenth grade trying to unravel the three year reign of confusion with a frustrating but memorable lesson on present participles.

Amazing, I can conjugate a verb – within reason – and always remember loose with two “Ohs” is the opposite of tight! Hey, I nail quite a few of those tests, and even share the results with thousands and thousands of new fans around the world.

According to Wikipedia at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clickbait

  • Clickbait  - is a pejorative term for web content that is aimed at generating online advertising revenue, especially at the expense of quality or accuracy, relying on sensationalist headlines or eye-catching thumbnail pictures to attract click-throughs and to encourage forwarding of the material over online social networks.[ Clickbait headlines typically aim to exploit the "curiosity gap", providing just enough information to make readers curious, but not enough to satisfy their curiosity without clicking through to the linked content.”

  • "From a historical perspective, the techniques employed by clickbait authors can be considered derivative of yellow journalism, which presents little or no legitimate well-researched news and instead uses eye-catching headlines that include exaggerations of news events, scandal-mongering, or sensationalism”

My very favorite click-bait, though is the first one, where color vision is misrepresented  to represent intelligence instead of visual acuity. Since – or is it sense – I have 100 percent color accuracy, I got to twist wires together for the Air Force and later a computer manufacturing company that no longer needs people like me since they no longer make computers.


Regardless – or is it irregardless, since that strange aberration has now been added to Webster’s Dictionary as a real word – geniuses with my native ability have been relegated to taking meaningless tests on Face book and supplying data mining companies around the world of our likes and dislikes, much less our friend’s lists and all their – or is it they’re? - contact info.

But, hey I’m a genius. Facebook told me so!






George

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Cruising - In the Beginning

The unidentified captain of the M/S Sunward
congratulates Mrs Versie Stubblefield Mindling
My mom got me interested in leisure cruising at the beginning of the fledgling industry. Not the port-of-call cruising made famous in the movies of the pre-World War II era, where ships sailed from New York to London or Honolulu to Hong Kong. Those transoceanic cruises may still exist today, but the world of cruising was forever altered by Knut Kloster and Ted Arison in Miami. Their first ship, a converted car ferry, the M/S Sunward, started an entire industry. 

The Port of Miami was a commercial port back then, before the basin cruise industry was created, revolutionizing more than just Miami or a way of vacationing. 

The Dodge Island passenger terminal construction project was well underway when I shipped a Volkswagen from Antwerp to the P&O dock at Pier 2 in 1965, but it would still be a year before Knut Kloster and Ted Arison, the original owners and founders of the Norwegian Caribbean Line, initiated their first cruises from the new Port of Miami. There was no terminal dedicated just for passenger ships then, just a working port that butted up against Bayfront Park and shared space with local charter deep-sea fishing boats and freighters of all shapes and sizes headed to and from ports all over the Caribbean. 






With the allure of the exotic, nearby Bahamas - which incidentally supplied almost all of the ships with waiters, maids, cooks and just about every non-officer position - Miami was the perfect place to initiate a three or four day leisure cruise. 

Miami had a huge para-mutual market that enticed tourist dollars during the "season," or winter months, from horse tracks such as Tropical Park, Hialeah, and Gulfstream, and the many dog tracks and Jai Alai frontons that tourists loved. But, while the glamorous hotels on Miami Beach may have had Sinatra or Sammy Davis, Jr, they didn't have gambling.

The new cruise ships picked up the missing piece as soon as they passed outside the twelve-mile U.S. territorial boundary headed on its easy going, laid back trip to Nassau or Freeport. Croupiers pulled the velvet covers off the roulette wheels and dealers broke open new decks of cards, and the one-arm bandits, the slot machines, were unlocked as soon as the ship cleared the imaginary line and the crowds poured in. 


A Chalks' seaplane takes off in front of the M/S Starward in Government Cut, Miami, 1969

Drinks were cheap - the cruise lines paid no alcohol taxes as they didn't buy it in the U.S. - and the food was outstanding. Word spread quickly and cruising began to find a dedicated following.

My mother was Executive Housekeeper for the Lindsey Hopkins Vocational School hotel, part of the Dade County school system in 1969. The school hotel was nationally renowned for the staff and students it produced, and Norwegian Caribbean Cruise Line approached Dade County Schools to have a hotel housekeeping instructor teach on-board classes to the ship’s staff about hotel housekeeping. 












That instructor on several cruises was my mom, accompanied by my dad, who dutifully inspected the quality of the bar stock. The photos they brought back had always been in the back of my mind, and when my wife and I finally got to take our first cruise some twenty years later, a three day weekend cruise to Nassau, also aboard an NCL ship, the M/S Sunward II, we were hooked. 

I still have the M/S Sunward's original ship's memento plate from my mom's teaching cruise mounted on the wall in my office.










The S/S Norway and us.





©  George Mindling 2017  All Rights Reserved
All photos by George Mindling © 2017