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Flashback Friday




I was going through some old boxes and came across a couple of items from college days.  The first, a card with Hymie was on my room at Hershey Hall, commonly called Hymie Hall.   The nickname derived, ahumphh, from a certain female item that, well, get out your anatomic books and read up on it for yourself.  I think I know who coined the phrase, we still keep in touch, and is a  nurse in Iowa City.  Nicknames are fun - they engender a kind of casual friendly familiarity.  This one didn't survive college - when I graduated it went to nickname heaven.    









I wonder where Bebe Brooks is today?  On the occasion of my 21st birthday, my frat bros took me to Gulfport and the nudie bars.  G-Port was a real den of sin back in those days.  Later they would introduce dwarfs to the miasmic fog of the place and sink even lower.  It was wonderful.  G-Port isn't anywhere what it used to be today, but then neither am I.  But at one time it was a place where young guys, and old, I guess, could enter a kind of fantasy world where, for enough money, you could spend a night drinking and ogling.      

After plying me with alcohol they somehow got me on stage with ole Bebe where she put on a show with a feather boa, spotlight and moves that could raise the dead.  Such nights need remembering, thus the old faded tabletop décor and feather.  

Bebe had her way with me, on stage anyway, and then back to the studies.  Some lessons are best learned in the company of others, rather than in the pages of books.  Much in the same vein as sinners sinking to the depths in order to rise to the heavens.  Bebe was both that night.    

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Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless.  Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001.  It was one of those things that can generate crime:  two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job.   Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things.  Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold.   But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find.   His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead.  He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds.  He will be paralyzed for life.   None of this is pleasant.  Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant